He would've done the job Wednesday night. Had it not been for the smells. He suddenly craved a provolone, arugula pizza. That was his favorite. Marc had ordered it the one night they had stayed at a big city. They had been passing by Kansas City. Marc said, let's go in for the night. BAKA had looked at him, thinking it was a joke. But then he said 'why the fuck not?'
So they spent the night in the city. Got a decent hotel. Neither of them seemed keen on saving money. They were getting paid for the hit, and for some unspoken reason neither of them seemed like they needed the money. They were both doing the hit for some other reason. Black mail maybe. Neither shared their side of the story.
For dinner they went to a brewpub with good reviews for
pizza
. They ordered pilners and lagers, and some brick oven pizza.
In the parking lot off of French Boulevard the smell of freshly baked dough drizzled with olive oil, lathered with tomato sauce entered into BAKA's nose and he couldn't help it. He needed pizza that night. He called it in. Wondered if the voice on the other end was the mark.