It's probably just some rando. I have to keep coming back to that thought, because it was all over. No more assignments, no more checking every new room for exits, no more assessing everyone for threats.
The job—the last job—was done. So why is this guy following me? It's probably just some rando. Right? Had to be. But I still can't shake the feeling that it's a threat. Old habits.
He's not fast, he's not particularly subtle. Not a pro then, probably no backup. I'm tired, but not too bad. Maybe I can just book it. Three blocks to the car, slide in, drive away, forget this all happened.
Unless he's just good enough not to need subtle. Hands are in the jacket pocket. Christ, he could have anything in there, and I've got shit. Alley to my right. Shout, see what he does; if he pulls out a gun, I can duck in the alley... and then what, dumbass? You have no recon, is there even an exit from that alley?
I'm getting jumped up. I can feel the heartbeat quicken, I can feel my training stat to take over. No. Dammit, it' s probably just some rando. I'll scare the shit out of him and he'll call the fucking cops, and then I'll have a whole new set of problems. Fuck that. Deep breaths, calm down.
Ok, walk. Walk to the car. Pay attention, keep looking for exits. Don't have to decide now. If he makes a move, book it. There's plenty of cover on the next street, just pick up the pace. Two more blocks.
Pizza joint on the left. People. If I'm a target, is he nuts enough to open up in the shop? Patient enough to wait it out? Can't risk it, too messy, and I'd still be dead. Besides, gotta remember, it's probably just some rando.
Did he just pick it up? Shit. Closing distance. Can't be a rando, no one does that. Gotta move. Get to the car, get the Ruger from under the seat. No. Just drive out, get somewhere I know the ground. Yes. Move it. Don't run, just move fast.
Heart rate's back up, my senses are sharp, it's the old feeling. The one I used to get high on. The one I was damned excited to be done with.
There's the car. Wait to unlock it, don't let him know which is yours. Aaaand, now. Unlock, slide in, start car. Can't get out fast. Fuck! Grab the Ruger from under the seat, chamber a round, flick the safety off. This is it. But damned if I'm going down without getting a round off.
Here he is. Get ready. I see his hands!
Wait. I see his hands. He's got a wallet. Looks a lot like mine, actually. What the fuck is this?
"Hey! Buddy! You dropped this like two blocks back! I been callin' at you, you deaf or somethin'?"