The Last Request (Part One)

"Pffff..."

"Heh." I hand another grand. I give her a kiss and walk upstairs.

I walk down the coffee stain brown carpet, scuffing my boots. I walk up to my room, well rooms actually. 78, 79, 80. Sometimes I open the doors between the rooms and I have a pretty spacey suite. Also it’s pretty cool that three guys with different names that look similar all live here. I switch what room I go to everyday. Whatever room guys are looking for me in, I ain’t in that one. I walk into 78, and lie down on the bed.

I like to listen to those twelve-credit discs, with the ocean sounds. Never been an ocean, always wanted to... Lying on my bed, listening to the waves crash against the rocks, I imagine the sand in my toes. I imagine drifting off in the water, peaceful, not having to think about anything.

Falling into deep meditation, finding peace, I reach a place that’s black. Like I could get to harmony if it wasn’t for my sins. Am I sorry? I don’t know; I’ve developed a callus on my soul so stiff; I don’t even know what I feel anymore.

I’m interrupted by a knock on the door. "Jones! Isn’t it time for your appointment?" That’s Carla, and that’s what I pay her for. I smile. Well it’s time to go to work.

I strip down, get into some comfortable underwear, essential in my work. Heh. I put on a pair of slacks, and put on a white undershirt. I strap some holsters onto my chest; I clip the straps together, so I kinda look like I’m wearin’ some big black suspenders. I take my leather sheath and hoist it over my shoulder. I take my sword and place it in. The hilt is about as long as my head, and the blade is about as long my body. Thin too. Pretty damn sharp as well. I take my two glocks; eleven thousand models and I place them in the holsters. I take out a duffel bag, and I place some stuff in that hopefully I won’t need to use. I strap a few throwing knives to my back. I tie my black boots, and take out my trench coat. I brush it off and put it on. I put on a pair of sunglasses. Time to go.

I like to walk; driving is so unpleasant. Plus in this city, walking probably saves a good half-hour. I don’t have anything to fear, and I like the cold air. Tekolan Hotel is what the guy said. If this Johnson guy is there, then the whole hotel is full of criminals. Geez, should’ve taken out some more jobs before coming here.

I walk into the hotel. I go up to the desk. Big black guy’s at the desk, reading some comic book. "Hello, I want a room."

"Full."

I look at the check in list. One name, John Claymore. Heh, Clay Pigeon is not one for originality. "All I see is one name."

"He’s got a party."

"Well that’s good, my name’s Mr. Jones."

"What’s the first name."

"Mister."

"Funny, well you’re not on the list."

"Well check again." I jump onto the other side of the counter, grab his tie, take one of my knives and stick his tie into the wall. I kick his stool out from under him. "The name’s Donador, what’s your last request?"

"Fuck you!"

"Maybe later." I put a bullet in him.