On Target Read Online Free PDF

dude. That’s not going to happen.”
    Slattery’s eyes began to water before he tossed down another shot. He did not refill the glass afterwards this time. “I figured you for a man with a soul. My mistake. So it’s off to state care for me lad.” He smiled a little. “All’s not lost, though. There is some wee consolation. I know someday Sid will send some bloke after you.”
    Court lowered the pistol slightly.
    “Sid?”
    “You’re Sid’s new lad, yeah? I’m Sid’s old lad, so you see your future before your eyes, don’tcha? He’s sent you on this wee errand to make room for yourself in his organization. This is your audition to replace me, ya know.” When Court did not speak for several seconds, Slattery’s watery eyes widened. “He didn’t tell you, did he? What a bastard he is! You thought he was passing on a contract from someone else that wants me dead? No, pal, this is Sid’s doin’, all of it.”
    Gentry lowered the pistol farther. “Why?”
    Slattery poured another shot glass and tossed the contents down his gullet. “Five years back, Sid came to see me. I’d been doing some . . . some stuff for another Russian. Sid tells me he likes my work, wants me to come work for him. I say, ‘What’s the catch?’ Everyone knows Sidorenko gets the juicy contracts. He tells me the only thing I have to do is rub out the guy holding the job I wanted. Create the vacancy myself, ya see? Seems this bloke, an Israeli, had outworn his welcome. Dunno why. Sid tells me once I sort out his Jew, I’ll be top stallion in his stable.”
    “So you killed him.”
    “Bloody well right, I did. ’At’s the business we’re in, ain’t it? And now I’m too old, too broken and beaten to execute the big contracts anymore. I’m not making the cash I once was, so he’s sending ya to shut me off, so ya can take over. He figures if there’s a one percent chance I’ll talk, call a newspaper or Interpol and tell on him, then he might as well off me just in case.”
    Court was stunned. Sid had lied about the very existence of a contract on the target. It was only in the personal interests of his handler that he should kill this man. He recovered a bit and reminded himself of some of the dirtier parts of Sid’s dossier on Slattery. “He told me you’d done some ugly hits in your past.” The Makarov rose again with new resolve.
    Slattery cocked his head, genuinely surprised. “Ugly hits? Ugly hits? What the feck is a pretty hit?”
    Court took a moment. “You’ve killed innocents, I mean.”
    “Bollocks. You gonna sit there and judge me, based on what Sid has told you? A feckin’ joke you are. Go on then, be done with it. Put a bullet up me nose and feel good about yourself! Ugly hits? Innocents? Aren’t you the most pretentious fuck for a hit man that’s ever soiled this godforsaken planet!”
    Dougal Slattery’s nostrils flared as he stared down the suppressor at the end of the barrel of the little Makarov. The alcohol showed in his eyes, but not a shred of fear.
    After a long pause, Court lowered the gun to his side. He pulled out the wooden chair and sat slowly down at the table across from the Irishman.
    “I guess I’ll take that drink now.”
    Slattery did not take his eyes off the American as he poured for them both.

FOUR
    Ten minutes later Court had reholstered his weapon. He’d decided not to kill the man in front of him. He’d told him as much. The Irishman did not smile or breathe a sigh of relief, but he did strike out a hand, and they shook. They sat mostly in silence in the dim light from the streetlamps outside the tiny room. Court was careful to leave his hands on the small wooden table to keep Slattery relaxed.
    After a while Dougal said, “Sid’s not gonna be happy with you.”
    “We had an agreement. I told him I would only execute contracts I approved of. If he gave me bad intel, I reserve the right to pull out. Fuck him.”
    Slattery lifted a Bushmills into the air.
    “I’ll