not in PEACE & {NOT IN war}

 

He'd never felt so apprehensive about a job before in his life.

Well, that was sort of a lie. It had been a very long time since he'd felt so apprehensive about a job, though. The last one he could remember as his first ever frame job, and that was when he was...what, twenty, twenty-one, maybe? And that one had had a damn good reason for him to be nervous – frame jobs were sensitive operations, and one slip up could drag the entire thing down the drain. But this – this was enforcer work. Threatening someone to pay what they owe? Yeah, it was beneath him, but he was used to doing jobs beneath him due to his constantly racking up 'favors' from all the family heads, so that wasn't the issue.

No, it was the fact of how this job came to him. He hadn't told Rayna – hell, he hadn't told anyone – and the only other person who knew about this was his boss. Even that made him...extremely jumpy. He felt as if he was doing something wrong, as if he was going against his very organization, taking a job that hadn't be relayed through them first. He'd been given the choice, though, so he wasn't really going against them...but it sure a hell felt like it. But the direct call to him...it still left him feeling sick. He was honestly debating getting a new phone, but after he'd already had one of the techies wipe the information of the call from his phone, there was no need.

It didn't make him feel any better, though. As he peered out the tinted window of the car that was driving to drop him off near the construction site, he decided the weather was fitting for his mood – not ten minutes before he'd left home, the dark clouds had started to roll over the city, and fat droplets of rain were starting to trace rivulets along the side of the car. He suspected it would start pouring soon – fitting for the doom and gloom feeling he kept getting. He had an impending sense of trap, or ambush. It was for this reason he was going armed to the teeth – or, as armed as he could be in public.

Fake ID that claimed him a government agent so he could carry a firearm? Check. Derringer at his heel, handgun in a shoulder strap at his chest, butterfly knife held cleverly under his sleeve and held there by his watch, and a karambit in his blazer pocket? Check again. You'd think he was going to a territory war, not a simple threatening job – and to be honest, he wouldn't be surprised if it was. Especially with the mention of the Italians – he suspected that my have been a dropped hint as to what me may be facing. Kravec offered him backup, but he'd turned it down – if there was one rule Lukas followed, it was the rule of you deal with your own shit – you don't drag the others down with you. His survival instinct hated this rule.

His driver stopped a block away from the instructed spot, and Lukas grabbed an umbrella and thanked the driver, before sliding out of the car carefully, pocketing his disposable phone. He slid his sunglasses on and hopped onto the wide sidewalk, grateful for the lack of people due to the threatening storm above – it was only just starting to rain at the moment, but it was enough to drive people indoors. He unfolded the umbrella and propped it on his shoulder carelessly, heading northward towards the construction site that he could actually see from hi position. He narrowed his eyes at the crane critically, wondering how cliche it was for a showdown to happen at a construction site...the only thing more cliche was an abandoned warehouse.

It only took him a few minutes to arrive there, and he was quite surprised when he found it not abandoned, or full of Italian mooks, but bustling with activity with hardhats as they scrambled to get as much done before the weather made work condition impossible. His eyebrows rose to disappear beneath his hair at he stood the on sidewalk, gaze sweeping furiously over the area looking for the potential ambush. Of which there seemed to be none. His eyes narrowed, but before he could properly sized up the situation, he was put on the spot very abruptly.

“Ey, mister, this place is dangerous, we can't have bystanders 'round here.”

The switch flipped, and he was suddenly a totally different person. “Oh, my apologies – I'm here to talk to someone named Scott MacGreggor – I was told I could find him here.” he responded, pulling his sunglasses off his face and holding them carefully with his free hand that didn't have the umbrella, maintaining a straight, no-nonsense expression as he spoke. The man seemed to size him up.

“Who askin' for him?”

Feigning a put-upon expression, he reached into his blazer and pulled out his 'wallet of the day' – meaning by the end of the day, it would be disposed of – and flipped it upon, exposing a very convincing ID with the emblem for the LAPD and boasting the name Matthew Cadwell and SIS division ranking. He didn't even flinch as the man leaned forward to inspect the information, fully confident of it's 'legitimacy' – he was damn good at making fake IDs. “It's a matter involving his family, and should be something only for his ears, if you don't mind.” he expressed calmly, before he could be asked why he was here.

“Alright alright, stay right there.” the man ordered, pointing at the spot Lukas was standing. The assassin made no arguments, and simply stored the wallet of the day back into the inner pocket of his jacket. He slipped his sunglasses back on casually, and ran a hand through his damp hair, fidgeting despite trying not to. He hoped the name wasn't a signal. He wouldn't be surprised. He was just waiting for something ridiculous, like a thug twice his height and width to come swinging down from the crane like Spiderman. Honesty, with all that happened to him recently...it wouldn't be surprising. It was for this reason that, even though he looked relaxed, he was on the balls of his feet, ready to run, to dodge, to move out of the way of oncoming bullets or whatever life decided to throw at him today.

WORDS!: 1093     TAG!: Scott M.     DATE!: April 9th, between 10-11am