A light drizzle soaked the back streets behind the seedy bar. The neon lights flickered dimly.
Old country music drifted faintly from inside the building, mingling with drunken laughter and the clinking of bottles.
Inside the black sedan… the atmosphere was much colder. The man in the front seat finally received a text message on his phone.
"The target will be out in five minutes. We have to take him out!"
He turned around.
"Everyone's ready."
The man in the backseat nodded slowly. Not nervous. Not emotional.
Because people like them were used to doing the dirty work for the rich who didn't want their hands to get bloody.
And tonight…
The name Sean Weasley was the reason they were there.
The bar door finally swung open roughly.
Mr. Freddy stumbled out, laughing drunkenly to himself.
His shirt was rumpled.
His steps were unsteady.
A bottle of cheap alcohol was still clutched in his hand.
