Once a Hitman...
"Nice place you have here, Striker."
The grocery bags slipped off the cowboy's arm and spilled their contents unto the floor.
Jake stirred at the loud noise and tried snuggling deeper into his father's other arm.
But the rattlesnake demon clad western attire, cloak-like poncho and black cowboy hat eyed the peeking impling curiously.
"So that's why we haven't heard from you for some time now."
Striker held Jake tightly to his chest.
"Deathslinger," he whispered, tail rattling. Striker's eyes never left the demon as he made himself comfortable on the couch.
Deathslinger's own tail rattled in response. "No offense, but I thought you lived in a smelly barn or something."
"What the fuck are ye doin' inside my house?" Striker hissed, eyes narrowed.
"Do you really need to ask, Striker? Why do the members of the Deadly Court contact one another?"
He knew. Of course he knew. That's the only reason the Deadly Court would seek each other out.
Forgetting about his groceries—and the unwanted visitor—for the time being, Striker carried Jake all the way to his room. Careful not to wake the one-year-old up, he tucked his son into his crib.
Unfortunately, the impling stirred and opened his eyes once he realized he wasn't in his father's arms anymore. "Dada?"
"Shhh, it's okay, pup." Striker stroked his son's hair. "Everythin's okay, go back to sleep. Daddy will still be here when ye wake up."
Jake seemed to calm down somewhat, and went back to sleep. Striker kissed Jake's head before going back downstairs. Sadly, Deathslinger was still on the couch. He was examining one of the many photo frames adorning the living room.
"Who was the lucky girl? Let me guess, the hot-headed beauty that kicked Sanguine's ass that time?"
Striker snatched the photo away from Deathslinger's hands. "I'd thank ya if ye stopped touchin' my stuff." After placing the frame back in its rightful place, Striker sat across Deathslinger, crossing his arms. "Spill it out."
"See, Plague Doctor and I got a big gig that requires your... assistance. There's a poor bastard whom the client wants dead, but he's... how to put it... out of reach." Deathslinger flickered his serpent tongue. "That's where you and I come in."
"I'm not followin'."
"Let me put it out simply for you, then. Plague Doctor lures the target out by creating a diversion with his concoctions, and then we take him out."
Striker narrowed his eyes. "No."
"You didn't even think about it."
"I don't need to. I ain't takin' those jobs no more." The imp went to open the door." Now, if ye don't mind, I gotta clean up."
"If it's about the child, surely your current bosses could keep an eye on him for a few days, couldn't they?"
Striker's grip on the doorknob tightened.
"Leave my boy out of this, Deathslinger."
"I'm just saying that the extra cash might do good to you right now. I doubt a simple farmhand's salary is enough to support the two of you. All of those bills, some of which are close to being overdue, plus having to feed a fully-grown hell horse, re-stocking food..." Deathslinger narrowed his eyes. "...And from what I've learned, your child has been quite ill these days, hasn't he?"
His eyes widened in shock. "How did ya—?"
"I've been keeping an eye on you these past days before coming to see you. It's one of the first rules of a professional, remember?" Deathslinger leaned into the couch. "Learn everything about the target before making a plan. And judging by the look on your face, most of the information I got is correct, isn't it?"
After some seconds of hesitation, Striker closed the door. "Why are ye bringin' that up?"
"Help us with this hit and Plague Doctor will make your child a medicine that will leave him like new."
Tail rattling.
Then a sigh.
"I'll think about it."
Satisfied, Deathslinger finally left the couch and went towards the door. "You know where to find me! Don't take too long," he added in a cheery tone before the door was slammed shut.
Once he was certain he was alone, Striker murmured under his breath and ran his fingers through his hair.
Damn it.
As much as he hated to admit it, Deathslinger wasn't wrong in his 'research'. Striker had been struggling financially for quite some time ever since he stopped taking assassination jobs.
His salary as a farmhand covered the basic living expenses, nothing more. But even it wasn't enough sometimes.
He's still got some savings from his days as a hitman, but that money was untouchable. He and Jane had agreed that it would be for Jake.
Speaking of Jake, he better go check on him just in case. Thankfully, the little one was still asleep.
Striker smiled at the peaceful sight, fingers stroking his son's hair tenderly.