It had been three and a half hours with Jerry suffering from a severe case of frustration, wanting to leave his job for the day. The nineteen-year-old was cleaning up room 103 previously rented by a bunch of partygoers.
It wasn't a pleasant experience. Not only was it messy, but the entire room would have to be redone to take away the monstrosity. Beverages covered the floors, staining carpet. Tables, chairs, plates, glasses, etc. all broken and opened condom packages scattered around.
This wasn't anything new to the Croatia Inn. Dealers, gang members and others come here as well every week day doing the same thing but bring more clutter.
Normally, three or more people would help Jerry with this disaster but since he pleaded "sick" for the past week, his boss made him do it alone as punishment.
That didn't sit well with him, but he kept the thoughts dormant since he needed the job. It was the only one near his household, paid his bills, rent, and toddler especially since momma decided to leave for stupid reasons.
He piled the final pieces of chairs and stools into garbage bags, sighing as he finally finished the disgusting kitchen and living room, leaving two rooms left. He grabbed an unused bag and moved into a corner bathroom next to the bedroom. From what he saw so far, the teenagers kept the bathroom clean.
He moved to the toilet, pushing up the cover and grimacing at the sight. An age-old puke aroma flared his nostrils, making him almost barf himself. The Caucasian dashed out, closing the door behind him. There was no way his boss could sway him into cleaning that . . . thing.
"How's da cleaning J for no pay?" A black man said, entering the room.
Jerry turned around, happy to hear the voice of his friend Rodney. The only worker here that brought humor to the grim co-workers.
"Some ol' bullshit chocolate."
Rodney laughed as they did their welcoming handshake. He pulled a small yellow parcel out of his pocket and showed it to Jerry.
"True dat'son. Eh man, I need you to take this package to a...., room 1 down the hall next to the EXIT sign a'ight?"
"If I do?"
"I clean up what is left."
He didn't have to hear anymore. A simple task with no cleaning of the muck in the toilet and whatever in the bedroom. He grabbed the package, noticing it was kinda heavy and walked out the room, taking a left turn. The hallway was somewhat long, narrow with chipped molding walls and creaky floorboards. This always bothered him. The manager of this Inn thought it was better to have the newest technology instead of repairing or replacing the necessities to keep the building in shape and giving workers low pay was a way of saying "your fault for living in this place." On the plus side for Jerry at least, stepping on the boards in certain formation's make good rhythms for him as he strolls along.
He stopped at room 1 about to knock before a thought came into his head. The package was pretty hefty and could possibly hold some well needed income. He wasn't one to commit thievery, but the idea of walking out of here with fifty large or more made his mouth drool.
The thought grew more likely as he noticed there was no return address on the parcel as most dealers did to ship drugs to one another. The door opened wide, revealing a bald man in his early 30s, dressed in a well-tailored suit.
This threw Jerry off balance. A man with good taste whose more than likely rich staying in a rundown Inn. He still had time to get away with the package, but he just stood there.
"That Mine?" The man asked, pointing towards the package.
"Oh yeah. Sorry, blanked out."
Despite his craving to steal it, he handed over the package sighing. The blue-eyed man took it, turned around and closed the door behind him.47 heard what sounded like a bang to a wall before the white man treaded off.
He waited until he couldn't hear any footsteps before he dropped the package on a disgusting couch and dragged a body into the bathroom. The body weighed a lot, but his workouts every morning since his insurrection from Romania made him able to pick the obese man up and drop the corpse into tub. I
t was a local drug cartel leader named Joe Johnson, (The Jackal on the streets) that needed to be put down by a client for killing his son with tampered drugs. 47 followed Johnson's trail to this room, killing him twenty minutes ago with his handy fiber wire.
It was time to make this look like a suicide and go back to the states. He grabbed some rope, tossed it over a high pipe, wrapped a noose around the corpse's neck and heaved. He heard a nice crack of the neck as the body moved upward before tying a knot on a pipe to keep it in place. He walked out of the bathroom and grabbed the package.
It said only to an old friend on the front. 47 dumped the items inside on a table, revealing a bony hand with long fingernails with a ring. He looked awkwardly at it, thinking it was a sign for death to Joe. Great timing. He grabbed the hand, turning it over to look on the palm side. Words written in black ink sort of smudged was left on it.
"Greetings Tobias. We meet again though on deadman's hand. Our father, -Meyer. I'm betting you don't believe this to be truehearted in anyway. No matter, you will see when you look at the ring . I see you are on a trip back to the states anyway so why not stop by Washington, D.C. and gather more truth. Go to the National Library of Congress on July 4th and search for my favorite book Nineteen-eighty-four. Turn to page 47 and you receive a clue. How's that sound Tobias, becoming a detective for a while instead of a hitman?"
Gretel
His face filled with shock, a feeling he's never felt ever before as finished reading and took the ring off the finger. It held a red diamond shape rock with an insignia. The insignia of Dr. Otto Ort-Meyer, the creator of 47 and his deceased brethren.
He couldn't believe this. The thought of someone finding the lab in a cloistered area, retrieving the hand and ring of the creator and finding out that he was doing a hit in Croatia sounded absurd in all ways. He placed the ring back on the table feeling distraught and out of place.
He breathed in deep and exhaled, pushing his emotions out of him again. It was a technique he learned from the asylum as a defense mechanism in case a clone was getting weary of doing the kill. He had to know for sure. So, he packed up his supplies along with new ones, checked out and drove off to an airport.
Across the street from the Inn stood more buildings of various sizes. One which had a figure standing on top looking through binoculars at 47 driving off smiling. He drew out a cellular device and texted that 47 was leaving. When he hit send, his phone activated a small bomb placed inside, incinerating him....
