As Jack opened the door and brought Tacky into her office, Kathryn gestured to the seat across from her. After he was seated, Kathryn flipped open the folder on her desk and leaned back in her chair.

"Good to see you, Tacky. I'll get right to business, because I've got a time sensitive job for you. There's a target here in Vegas that I'd like you to remove- permanently. His name is Max Saunders, and he works for the Paul Moreau."

Kathryn notices Tacky sit up straighter. Kathryn wasn't the only one with a history there.

"I thought that might interest you. He's their major eyes and in ears here in Vegas. You know that we're heading to New Orleans to finish off Paul Moreau sometime in the next few days. Saunders needs to go down before that happens, or Moreau will know that we're coming. He's usually hanging around the airport, taking note of who's coming and going. Here's his picture."

Sliding the folder across the desk, Kathryn looks steadily at Tacky.

"Is this something you're willing to do for the crew? For me?"

Tacky looked down at the picture of the man. Although is was clear he played a vital part in this world by the lavish way he was dressed, Tacky didn't ignore the family man look he carried. Tacky had never pulled a trigger in anger. That wasn't to say he was a bad shot, in fact after years of hunting down in the bayou he was quite the shot. But to kill a man. He stiffened up in his chair and looked at Kathryn, a moment of relisation as to how important this was to the crew coming across him.

'Aye' Tacky said as he scratched his chin and pocketed the photo. 'He works for Moreau after all'

Kathryn nodded, understanding the gravity of what she was asking Tacky to do.

"This is the first step towards our trip to New Orleans. No mistakes- and let me know when the job is finished. Good luck, Tacky."

The bandanna over Tackys mouth and nose kept most of the sand and dust away as the wind picked up and turned the Las Vegas desert into a distasteful place where one could barely see a meter ahead of himself. His driver, Sammy a young mechanic from the garage drove through the maze of roads that littered the outer suburbs of Vegas. As he pulled into the airport car park, Tacky triple checked that his revolver was tucked tightly into his waist band and took one final look in the rear view mirror at his eyes. The last time he would look at himself as a man clean of the one true sin. 

'H-h-here we are boss' Sammy said with a fear riddled voice. He's never intended for the kid to get this caught up in the life he'd chosen, hell he never intended for himself to get this caught up but maybe this truly was for the better. He'd lived a life without cause for far to long, sat idle down in New Orleans as his brother and father worked hard to keep the family afloat. As his mother always said, idle hands make work for devil. And here he was working for the devil himself. Taking a life.

'Try get a park directly outside the front door, turn the engine on and be ready to drive exactly two minutes after I enter the building' Tacky said with a voice full of fake confidence. Two minutes would be all he needed, the target was last confirmed to be in the lobby five minutes ago. He'd decided that he would take a direct approach considering there were no security present in the lobby and even if there were, he didn't plan to stick around. He pulled his hat down low over his eyes and tightened the handkerchief in an attempt to cover his face before limping towards the front door. He knew the limp would be recognizable but hell, maybe it would be something he could soon become known for. 'The lame legged killer'. He took one last look at Max's photo, confident it would be the last look he needed.

He reflected exactly on where the target was. Sitting outside the book store reading a news paper, white suit. He replayed the location he was told over the phone just 6 minutes ago, his confidence picking up. Alot of concerned looks were sent his way that day, not that Tacky noticed, his attention diverted towards one task. After a short walk he finally came across the store and there he was, the man who would soon lay lifeless in his chair, who'd leave his family - who worked for the Moreau brothers... A spurt of confidence overcame Tacky as he pulled out his 6 shooter and walked briskly towards the man, face down in his paper. A gasp came from the left of him and a scream from the right but Tacky didn't worry. He was the one with the gun. It only took two slight squeezes of the trigger to send the mans head backwards and his newspaper to the floor. Tacky stepped forward and looked at the man, oblivious to his surroundings much like Tacky himself. One more shot rang out and Tacky knew he'd accomplished what he came to do.