This is my first ever attempt at something like this. Hope you enjoy

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"Fuck. Not again"

Sarija mutters to himself as he sits on the edge of his bed in a cold sweat. Woken up by the dream he always seems to get after he finishes a job. It was just a name and location on a piece of paper. No different from any other job but, that dream.

"Who is she? "

It never used to be like that. He used to open the envelope, read the note inside, do the job and forget about it. But lately, the dream has been more vivid and frequent. The face he keeps seeing is slowly coming out of the shadows. He can almost see it now but he wakes up just as she turns to face him.

He walks over to the wash basin and splashes the stale water on his face. Staring into the mirror, looking at the grey hair on his temples,wondering when he got so old. Sarija grabs his badger hair shaving brush proceeds to work the sandalwood soap into a nice thick lather. Unfolding his straight razor, he tries to remember how many necks felt its cold steel glide across them before they realized what was happening.

Having finished his morning grooming routine, Sarija grabs his shoes, polish and the half empty bottle of Canadian Whisky that Nikki_Swango gave him as a special gift when she made him a Boss and sits down at the rickety old table. He pours some into the glass and takes a long hard swallow of the amber liquid. "Ahhhhh. Those Canadians might not know shit about building cars but they sure know their whisky" Sarija pours another then corks the bottle and starts to polish his oxfords to a high shine. "Who is she dammit? "

Sarija grabs his black 3 piece pinstripe out of the closet and gets dressed. Strapping his Colt revolver to his ankle. It was a gift from an old friend years ago. He used to use it as his main gun and was still deadly accurate with it but, times change and he needed something with a bit more bang for his buck. He checks his Colt .45 and makes sure its loaded and the safety is on before sliding it into the holster under his jacket.

He grabs the envelope that was slipped under the door this morning, reads it, the puts the zippo to it and uses it to light his smoke. One last look in the mirror as he adjusts his fedora. "Perfect."

Sarija winds his pocket watch and finishes the last swallow of whisky in the glass and walks out into the hallway of the cheap hotel he has been staying in while in Detroit, locking the door behind him. " Just who in the hell is she?" he says to himself and he steps into the early morning sunlight and hails a cab.