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The Hit Man By The Black

Part I

It was hot.

Blazing hot.

Africa hot.

Duncan drove the rented Nissan Altima down Highway 13 just south of Goldsboro with the air conditioner blowing full blast. Still, his bare forearms felt like they were frying under the blazing noon sun, and he could swear his skin had darkened by two shades since he left the motel room a half an hour ago. Why the fuck did the target have to pick the bowels of North Carolina as a hiding place?

The Organization contracted him, a black assassin, for the hit because he was less likely to stand out in a small town like Faison, North Carolina. There weren't too many Italians down here, and in a small southern town anything or anyone out of the ordinary became the talk around everyone's dinner table. A hired killer didn't need that kind of attention.

The other reason the boys in Jersey picked him was because he was good. ...

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