One of Case City’s most skilled assassins, Jackson Cole is a wanted man. After annihilating his latest target, he quickly learns the prominent man’s identity. Now, a perilous enemy seeks revenge, and rival guilds look to take advantage of his vulnerability. For Jackson, it’s become kill or be killed, but will a steady aim be enough to take on the entire city?
The sun was setting, and the city’s lights replaced its glow with neon brilliance. I called Skai to see how her day went, but her auto-responder informed me that she was asleep. I had to laugh when I saw that. She was taking full advantage of her break. Eventually, I found a clear spot on the ground where I sat and watched the sun sink into the ocean. Busy day, and I had forgotten to eat, but I had no appetite at that moment.
Despite being on the run, it was hard to break out of the life of a guild member. For an entire week, I had been home, closed in, bored, and tortured out of my mind with my thoughts. I liked television, movies, and sports as much as any other person, but only in short spurts. You could say I was more of a hands-on guy. I liked to feel and experience life, not sit for hours watching a proxy play out theirs.
Guild members spent their time in bars and fun houses from the lowliest burro on up to my level. The same allure made me leave the beach to head into the city to find a drink and opportunity. I chose Rania’s bar. Why not? The drinks were free, the escorts knew me, and there would be little chance of a run-in with an enemy or law enforcement. I was also without my trademark roller. Anyone looking for Jackson Cole would be on the lookout for my chariot of doom.
Coming up in Case City, if you were a gangster or enforcer, you were associated with your roller or hover. For professionals of the underworld, it was practically a way of life. It was time to look in on Porter Nash since we hadn’t spoken since our deal. I called a hover-cab to take me over and sat for thirty minutes watching the many lights below me on the twisting highways.
Pulling back on my sports coat, I ditched the visor and slid my handgun into a special section of my jacket that would conceal it from Rania’s archaic door scanner. I normally felt safe there, but after the day’s excitement, there was no way they would catch me lacking an answer if someone was to come at me violently. My blood remained up, and my claws were out with no signs of them retracting before I drowned myself in liquor to push those demons at bay.
“It looks like your destination is a bar or nightclub,” the synthetic voice from the cab informed me. “Would you like me to return later to take you home, Mr. Cole?”
“Sure thing,” I announced. “Come pick me up around 2:00 a.m.”