When the messages stopped coming BAKA missed them immediately. For a day he thought maybe a new one wouldd arrive the next day. This is what he kept telling himself. But the first day, deep down he knew he would never hear from The Cambridge Kid ever again.
BAKA sipped a mocha frappuchino from
Starbucks
while watching the Mark from the parking lot. The Mark worked in a pizza joint within a strip mall. A lot of cars parked there. Easy to blend in without raising suspiscion.
It confused him. Why the hell did they want thiss guy dead. He just worked at a pizza shop. BAKA was raking in forty grand alone for the job. The people who coordinated the hit were getting money on their own end. So whoever was calling the shot was probably paying 120 or 140 grand total for this. Seemed unusual to kill a man who worked just a regular wage job like this. Seemed unfair.
BAKA felt this injustice. The nit faded. The cold blooded calculation swam through his veins as the cold frappuchino swam down his esophagus and into his belly.
