This is the begining of my third story, and where as it's not rated M yet it's going to be. Warning- Slash. I don't own any characters from Newsies.
"Guns are neat little things, aren't they? they can kill extrordinary people with very little effort."
-John W. Hinckley, Jr.
Target:
Pay: 2500$ cash
Connections: Gang
Location: New York
Well the message was straight forward enough. Of course by now all that was really legible was the price and location. He had rubbed the rest off with his constant re-reading. The lean man had gotten the note a week ago in Boston and now sitting in the dingy Queens apartment room he'd done enough digging to find out exactly who his target was.
He was a young man 22 or 23 now, and had once been a newsie who was part of the 1899 strike. It seemed he'd done a lot to keep the strike alive. Then the boy had gone and joined a gang. The pale haired man sighed; pity, he could've done so much more with his life.
Walking to the window he looked onto the street. Nothing unusual, just the same beggars and garbage cans.
No wait…
There.
A tiny flame jumped into existence as he watched, no doubt to light a cigarette. He narrowed his eyes. His icy blue gaze trying to find out more about this late night smoker. As the match moved upwards it cast light on the hunched figure.
Long black coat, brown pants, comfortable shoes, silver chain with a cross, gun with a silencer.
A trained assassin, how interesting. The man thought. He reached into his coat, and maneuvered himself so he could not be seen from below.
Shot. Straight in the head. No one had noticed, no one had cared, and in this neighborhood no one would remark on another body in a dark alleyway.
Still better safe than sorry. It would be a pity for someone of his caliber to get caught. He turned and grabbed his coat, the same style as the man outside had worn, but in brown. With one last look at the room, his tall figure silhouetted against the door, he made sure he'd left nothing behind, nothing to identify him, his employers, or his target. Then he walked out, shutting the door softly behind him and not looking back.