6
Damen, Dryas, and I are holed up in a little apartment in Tower Hamlet, waiting for a mark to leave his house. I can’t stand the crumbling walls and the moldering carpets in this apartment. Still, this shithole apartment’s value is not in the peeling linoleum tiles or the oddly painted rooms.
No, this apartment is valuable because it sits across from John Libbey’s house, looking out over his front porch. And seeing as how John Libbey is the next on a long list of people who we’re assigned to kill…
We’ll be here until John Libbey is no longer breathing.
I lean forward in my seat, using my fingers to part the blinds. Glancing at Libbey’s door, I see no change. Same pale blue door, beaten all to hell. Same brick facade, dingy and worn. The postage stamp-sized yard is still totally empty
