Eagle in the Roost

         The sun was shining and the gulls were calling as the man known as Adler strode down the halls of the Mirror Lagoon Resort. His assistant, Eule, followed closely behind. They looked like everyone else at the resort; light clothing, deck shoes, sun glasses, and carrying luggage. Eule, clutching an unremarkable black suitcase, was the shorter and less impressive of the two. Adler was a tall and strong-looking man, with a surf-board bag clinging tightly to his back.
         Eule, brushing his greasy black hair out of his face, jogged a bit to walk beside his stoic companion.
“So, uh, what am I supposed to call you again?” he asked.
“Adler is what I was assigned.”
“Uh huh... and me?”
“Eule.”
“Which means...”
“Owl.”
“I see,” he said, stroking his pencil-thin mustache. “What does Adler mean?”
“Eagle.”
“Ah. Did you choose it?”
“ I just told you that it was assigned to me, just like your name was assigned to you.”
“Gotcha.”
Eule winked as he passed by an attractive lady, who tried not to show her disgust.
“This is it,” Adler said, stopping in front of a door. The golden plate read the number “1346” in a swirling, elegant font. Reaching into his pocket, Adler retrieved a black key-card. He nonchalantly slid it in and out of the slot on the door handle. With a satisfying click, the door opened.
         The two men immediately entered the luxurious suite. The main area was a kitchen and living room, with sleek modern furniture. Opposite the entryway, across the living room, was a sliding glass door that opened onto a balcony that overlooked the resort's pools and lounge areas. After setting their luggage on the glass and steel dining table, they began unpacking. From his suitcase, Eule produced a black M4 assault rifle. The gun was surprisingly well-kept, with almost no scratches or scrapes. Eule popped the magazine into position, Adler watching as he did so.
“That yours?” he asked.
“Yep. I call her La Cazadora.”
Adler couldn't help but chuckle.
“Cute,” he said.
Unzipping his surfboard bag, Adler revealed his treasure: a scoped Karabiner 98k bolt-action rifle. The smooth German elm stock was stained a deep, rich brown, giving the weapon an almost-regal appearance. Gently, Adler picked up the gun and pulled back the bolt for effect.
“Dies ist Charlotte, mein Gewehr.”
“It's beautiful,” Eule gasped.
“I know.” Adler replied as he loaded the gun.  Sliding the bolt back into position, he walked to the glass door, slid it open, and stepped outside.
         The moist ocean breeze ran over him. Adler basked in the sun's warmth, but only for a moment; he had a job to do. Stepping up to the safety railing, he looked down at the pools and outdoor lounges below. From this height, the people appeared smaller than his fingernail. However, his target was obviously discernible from the mobs of regular vacation-goers.
         Hernan Hernandez: at thirty-two, he was the youngest boss in his crime syndicate, Los Gallos. He was lounging near a pool in the VIP section, and was flanked on each side by sets of tough-looking body guards. Adler took aim with his rifle, and then fired.
         The shot hit Hernandez, that much was certain. The man fell off his chair, clutching his neck. All of the guards drew their weapons, and a few knelt down to tend to their wounded leader.
“Did you hit him?” Eule called out.
“Yes,” Adler replied.
“Well c'mon! We have to go!”
“I need to confirm the kill first.”
         Adler kept watching through his scope as the thugs far below shifted nervously, trying to find the shooter. The crowds hadn't noticed much, however: between the ambient noise and fun atmosphere, most were contained in their own little worlds.
“C'mon man, they're going to spot us!” Eule moaned anxiously.
         Adler didn't reply. He coolly observed the men trying to find him. One of the bodyguards scanned the building and ended up peering right into Adler's eyes. The man quickly pointed, and another thug next to him nodded. In that moment, the ones trying to save their boss got up and shook their heads. Adler got a clear view of his target; the man's white clothes were now covered in his own blood, which poured out of a gaping hole where his Adam's apple used to be. Adler shifted his aim slightly and fired again, hitting the pointing man in the chest.
“Ok, we can go.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Eule said in honest relief. He was just about to put his gun away when Adler stepped back inside.
“No,” the shooter said, throwing his surfboard-bag on his back. “We're going to have company.”
“Shit.”
         Eule nervously opened the suite's door and peered cautiously into the hallway. There was no one to be seen. He jogged out of the room with his taller companion following closely behind.
“The stairs,” Adler called.
         Eule kicked open the stairwell door and pointed his gun inside. Still encountering no one, they descended. Around the fifth floor, they heard yelling and stomping further down the stairs. Then, around the third, they encountered their enemies. Eule rounded a bend and saw the thugs. Out of instinct, he yelled and squeezed the trigger. Deafening gunshots echoed all the way up the staircase as the men fell back down, blood pouring from holes in their bodies. The two men continued on and kicked open the door to the first floor lobby.
         The grand room had already been cleared of bystanders, and mean-looking men stood there with weapons drawn. Alerted by Eule's shooting, they were already looking when the door flew open. The thugs immediately started shooting with their automatic weapons, causing Eule to leap behind a nearby counter in panicky self-preservation. The former bodyguards focused their attention on him.
         Adler, still in the stairwell, peeked around the corner. Two of the men were behind a bar, one was behind a leather couch, and two more were hiding behind half-walls. The exit to the parking lot, where their escape car was parked, was to the right. Losing no time, Adler aimed and fired at one of the men behind the bar. Blood erupted from the man's face, and he fell back.
“Behind the couch!” Adler called.
         Eule quickly peered over the counter, but was met with a barrage of gunfire. He snatched his head back down. The shots stopped, and Eule poked his gun over. He pointed it towards the sofa and blindly fired. Adler looked out just in time to see bullets rip through the leather and hit the man squarely in the chest.
“Did I get him?” Eule yelled.
“Yeah,” Adler responded. He took aim at the other man behind the bar and fired. A bottle on a rack behind the man exploded, spraying liquor on the man, bar, and shelving. In one fluid motion, Adler pulled the bolt, ejected the spent round, pushed the bolt back in, and fired. The bullet hit the man at the base of his neck, shattering his collarbone and taking him out of commission.
“Two left!”
         Eule stood up and, yelling once again, opened fire on the two last men. Bullets planted themselves into the walls and floor all around their position. A gun popped over the partition and made an attempt at blind suppressive fire. As it did, the other man looked over the half-wall and aimed. Adler seized the moment, and put a bullet through the man's head. Seeing his friend go from alive to dead in a single moment pushed the last man over his limit. He threw down his weapon and bolted.
“Let's go.” Adler said urgently. They jogged out the door and to their getaway, an unassuming black station wagon. In the distance, a police siren wailed.
“Why are we taking a car? Can't they trace our tags?” Eule questioned nervously.
“Our cars are untraceable... somehow.”
Adler started the car and pulled out of the lot. They were down the road as police arrived at the hotel. Eule looked at Adler.
“So... does this mean I'm in?”
Adler glanced back.
“Welcome to Los Muertos.”