A Black Cherry

But that didn’t matter, not anymore. If he was dead inside he still had to keep fighting, fighting was all he had left anymore. “So, what’s this guys deal? Is he really that good or more someone that uses a reputation to put the fear of God in his targets?” He’d met more than a few people in his life that relied on a name and a look without actually doing much hurting.

Her comment about criminals or heroes having it easier made him life and fall in beside her. Smirking he softened his eyes when he looked at her. “Take it from someone that has been on both sides.” Pausing for a moment he let the memories of his die as a criminal wash over him before continuing. 

"Yeah, sounds like family. Can't say I'm good at that either." The Russians didn't think she was very good at loyalty anyways. Everyone wants to get ahead when they're young. Now, Penny simply wants to keep her head above water.

"Anyway. The Polish man has this whole story- it's long- strange. It's on my voicemail- never mind." This was going to sound totally foolish and full of shit. Maybe it all was.

"The mob saved this kid after'a war broke out. His family owned'a circus, and these rebels burned it down." The words spilled together as she was getting to the more flavorful parts of the story.

"Not Mormon, huh? Good. I was gettin’ worried there for a sec. Not wanting to walk down the aisle again anytime soon." Figuratively or not.

"Keystone Light?" He grimaced. "I mean I ain’t quite got the beer gut yet. Ain’t sittin’ on a recliner watching the football game."  

Standing, he opened up the fridge and popped the lid off of two cold Heineken bottles. He handed one to her before taking his seat again.

>>Why they want this place empty anyway?<<

The young red-head was by no means a master detective, but she did understand a certain way of looking at decision-making. Criminals were smarter with their money than many give credit for. While there is a lot wasted on booze, drugs, and apparel, they managed their discretionary funds to remain successful. Clint Barton seemed content spending his "riches" on old buildings in bad neighborhoods, classic -now beater- cars from strangers, saving a mook's dog, and hospital bills.

>>Should'a known he was no typical hoodrat. He can't spend money for shit. Bu' damn him he's sexy.<<

A grin emerged from her thoughts, so she took advantage of cutting the quiet with a tangent.

Rubbing his eyes he nodded, of course he hired some bat shit guy to take him down, because a normal killer for hire was just too easy. “Fucking awesome, like I don’t have enough shit to deal with.” Grabbing a beer from his fridge he held one up for her while taking a very long drink. If he was going to have to deal with this guy he might as well get drunk beforehand.

"Yeah, well, he ain’t the only one trained to take down whatever mark they can find. I’ve been hitting targets since I was a kid." Clint was afraid of a lot of things. Of the blowback. Of who else was going to get hurt. Of who else was going to leave him. Of himself. Mostly himself. But he wasn’t afraid of some hired thug that fancied himself a marksman.

Taking a drink, she repeated her mantra as she listened to his words.

>>It could be worse.<<

"What's after sendin' an assassin who thinks he's some sort'a demon of vengeance? I think all involved are watching this first. Not that e'ryone is confident he can kill you. But your neighbor dying was a clue- old school, ya' know.

"Everyone is payback. No one is safe." The words came out sing-songy, as if to emphasize the bore of old threats. Then she swallowed; realizing that sounded bleak.

En yakın zamanda bir Pole Dance kursu bulmak gerek.

"You keep yappin' about gettin' naked." She grabbed the paper bag of toasted bread rounds and walked them over to the table to set down.

"It's hard not to prioritize that over food." He had the greatest shade of blue eyes she'd seen in a long time (and she'd seen a lot of faces). But she left their gaze to finally plate the tomato and basil mixture. She finished the beef medallions in the pan by topping each with the Parmesan and butter. Once melted, she transferred each to plates and drizzled the remaining sauteed onions and oil over top. She was no stranger to high-end eating in truth.

A calm shrug responded to the comment of beverage selection as Penny brought the food to the table.

"I'm not Mormon. I can drink." She sat down as she thought a moment.

One with enough INTERPOL red flags to be the Fall Man for killing said Old Man."

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