The Blister Hit

Glase chose his moment carefully. Picking between the shoppers he made his way to his tag, a mid fifty with a slight limp and a trench coat. Around the hanging meats people clustered and the man nestled himself amongst this new protection. Glase let the blade slide down his sleeve until his thumb and finger gripped the metal. He stepped closer behind the man. The butcher at the counter began to sell and people started to scramble. Now was the perfect moment. A push, a shove, something cold and the man fell.
Glase fell back and vanished. He always enjoyed watching how long it took people to give a shit. It wasn't till he had made his way to the supermarket entrance that he heard the first screams.
This was Glase's game. The wind curled his long coat about his boots as he paced steadily out of the car park; his heart beating steadily, his thin lips curling into a satisfied grin.

"Good job," belched the Argomaith, his belly juddering with the effort of conversation, "there's high things to be said for a marker like your self. You could have good juice in your blood if you play your cards right."
"I don't juice, but thanks for the compliment," muttered Glase, shifting from one foot to the other.
"Fine, fine." laughed the black creature before leaning forward. His webbed hands made awkward work of the intercom by his side, but he managed.
"You can transfer now, Dot. Thank you!", he boomed.
"That was the full thirty thousand?", enquired the hitman, his fingers hovering over his holster.
The Argamaith raised his eyebrows and smiled.
"Be carefull not to insult me, human. I've made a name for my self by being fair, not double crossing everyone who works for me."
Glase bowed quickly and said, " in that case, it's been a pleasure.", and then turned on his heel.
" Wait,wait,wait.." growled the creature, " I have more if you want it."
Glase stopped, glaring at the cave entrance and the waves crashing in the slick shore beyond.
" Go on." he said softly.
" Two days from now, in the Yetti fair. One tag, big stakes."
" Who's the lucky man?"
" Lady, actually. The dutchess of Goerd..."
Glase turned to face the Argamaith again, eyes wide.
" You want me to take out the dutchess of Goerd? A femoilyx?," Glase stepped forward, " given the current politicle climate I would say that could be indused as an act of racism. I'm not a racist."
" No," spat the Argamaith, " you're an oportunist. So here's your opertunity. Take it and you could find your ass off this ball. Take yourself in-system, maybe."
Glase's eyes shifted from side to side as he accessed his acount details. The money had transfered. This blob was good for his word.
" How much are we talking here?"
" Two million."
Glase's lips bowed as he considered this.
" I'll get my kit ready."

The Mars city blister gleemed in the morning sun bellow as Glase swurved from the flight conveyer. The red horizon reflected in the base of the dome like a tide of blood and dust storms kissed its silver carapace. About the dome flew ships like Glase's, wasp-like in their darting and swurving. Thousands of Gaping air locks embedded in the blister lit up as they past, inviting them in to the city. Glase eyeballed one and banked his ship. A careful negotiation of gears and booster sighs and his ship had sidled up to the idle docking clamp. A hiss and a deafening clunk later and his side hatch was ready to unlock.
Glase checked his particulars before meeting the welcome droid: battered and warn like a phone kiosk yet still embued with a programed civility symptomatic of the tourist friendly bill the Mars gouvernment prided themselves on.
" Welcome to dome city, please take your lock tag," chirped the twitching metal figure before handing over what looked like a small red keyring.
" Thanks," said Glase as he took it from the droids clamp.
Infront of him now, Glase saw a metal walkway curve down towards a plaza. He made his way down and joined the chattering throng that was the saturday rush.
In the crowd the hitman felt his proffessional reflex bubble up within him. Like an allergic reaction, he felt his body tense to the surrounding hubbub. It was in crowds that he killed, or could have been killed. It was amongst people he made his trade.
The Yeti festival was in full swing now and everyone was adorned in something or other shabby. Some wore great over coats with long white hair hanging from the shoulders. Others decided a grizzly mask was enough to depict the once mythicle creature of Lapvia. Regardless of what everyone had decided to wear, one thing had become a constant: No one stood out. Amongst the blankets of material and the drums, Glase could hardly make out a pulse or a nervouse shuffle or a diversionary cough. He felt blind in this mess, while everyone jumped and wailed and threw their hands about the place.
Then, without warning, a deep horn sounded throughout the section of the city. The cheering swelled and people kicked and thrashed at a whole new level as the drumming bands slammed new volume into their rythm. In it's heightened extacy the carnival had become something even more blinding, but for once Glase knew where he was. The horn was a marker. The dutchess was coming. Glase supressed his butterflies and made way to his point.

"Board is 78 a night. As you can see, there's an internet connection and a fridge and any channel you want." the squat human stopped mid-rant and turned to Glase, a conspiritorial leer creasing his face, " and I mean any." he added.
Glase dropped his bag by the bed and looked out of the window.
"Nice view," he said as he opened the window a crack. The noise of the carnival bellow oozed into the tiny, dark room.
"It's not bad. You going down or what? I didn't see your costume." said the landlord, a leathery finger excavating his left nostril.
"I have the flu," he said simply, not even bothering to affect a symptom.
The landlord shrugged at this and left. Glase dived into his bag and pulled out the matt metal componants of his love, his apendage, his Dora. Click, click, slide, clunk and the weapon was ready. Sleak and black it's handle fitted beautifully into the hitman's palm, his trigger finger resting yet tense. Glase rested the tip of the gun's nosle on the window frame and aligned his eye with the cross hairs in the lenticular glass of the weapon sight.
Bellow, everyone was smiling, jumping, singing, hugging. The climax of the festival was brewing within the masses as the bulk of the prosession squeezed it's way between the narrow street. Guards in different uniform were begining to make their way through the sea of hair and material. Gleaming red and black and masked to hide their tepidation the femoilyx stamped through the frivolity with obvious purpose and dangerous poise. The main float poked round the corner.
Glase stored enough oxygen in his blood vat to allow for the closure of his respiritory system enabling his concentration to dart to the flamboiant dress of the Dutchess's company. Then she was in sight.

"Beautiful work, droid." spat the Argamaith through mouthfulls of wormshit.
"I'm not a droid," stated Glase without emotion, "transfer the money."
The dark bulk laughed, letting sputem fly from his undulating from.
"You've done me a great service, so for that I will ignore your inpertinance. Now, allow me to return the favour."
The creature leaned forward and made the comand into his intercom again. the hitman checked his account and smiled.
"Again, it's been a pleasure. If that is everything, I have a transporter to catch."
Glase clicked his heels and bowed slightly. The sound ecoed throughout the silent cave. The Argamaith froze, glaring absently at the hitman. Something odd happened to his eyes for a moment. Something Glase had not seen before. The blob looked emotional, abandoning his impiric malice.
"But that won't be all, Glase," he said softly, " I have just one more, if you're interested."
Not wanting to commit Glase simply tilted his head in silence.
"It'll be one more both for me and you. Will you accept," said the Argamaith wetly.
"Depends. It has to be pretty special to top my last bill."
"Oh, it is. Much more."
"Go on."
" I want you to go in system and from there you will find your next tag with but a single clue."
Glase rolled his eyes.
" I don't play games," he said.
" Oh, but I do droid. And with the evidence I have on you I would say you do too."
" Don't bribe me, sludge" Despite his anger Glase's tone remaind placid.
" I'm going to download the tag's details onto your ships computer. Humour me."
The hitman allowed his human counterparts to over ride and thrust a rigid finger up into the air.
"Fuck you," he said, before turning out of the cave.

On the blustery shorline, nestled in the black sand, Glase's ship sat against the spray. Inside Glase checked his equipment for tampering. Everything was operating on nominal basis. He then fell into his chair and spun round to face his on board computer. There was a new message in his inbox so he clicked the Icon.
Along with a tag quote, which was far more than he had ever accepted for anything, a file sat attatched. It would be the particulars of his next hit. Glase sighed and drew his mouse to the link. The file opened instantly and the hitman sat up, eyes wide. It was the Argamaith. He wanted Glase to take himself out.

To be continued......