He’s not used to doing the grunt work anymore. This is probably the first mission he’s been on in well over a decade, so I understand his excitement. He practically foams at the mouth every time he looks up at the corner unit where Edgar Vargas is supposedly sheltering for the night.
Luca pulls out a sleek knife, the blade glinting in the moonlight. “Well, then we might as well get this over with.”
The four of us trudge up the steps of the motel, having already secured a second key card from the receptionist’s desk. Shura has his gun aimed at the poor schmuck manning the front desk so he can’t alert Vargas about our impending visit.
“Who’s going in first?” Luca asks.
“I think our fearless leader ought to do the honors,” Cevdet suggests.
That subtle thread of sarcasm running through ev
