Christian
No one gave him a second glance as he entered the foyer of the hotel. That was the way he liked it.
"Can I help you sir?" the woman behind the desk asked.
"Ah yes, I believe I have a room booked," he replied, watching the people walking past.
"Certainly sir. Can I see some I.D.?"
He fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, took it out, and handed her his driver's license.
"Ah, Mr. Thomas. I believe someone has been waiting for you."
She smiled as she handed him the room key.
"Room 545, sixth floor."
"Thanks," he nodded, his slightly long blonde hair bobbing with his head.
He picked up his suitcases and made his way over to the elevator.
As he finally got up to room 545, he fiddled with the key for a moment, and leant over to unlock the door. It opened. He jumped.
"Ah, you've made it," came the deep but happy voice of his contact.
"Dustin," he nodded, putting the key back in his pocket as he bent to grab his suitcases.
"Don't worry about them!" Dustin exclaimed, "I'll have one of the bell boys bring them in!"
Dustin put an arm around his shoulders, and led him back into the room before he could object. Dustin closed the door behind them, then indicated the table and chairs in the eating area.
"We need to talk," he smiled.
"Yes, we do," he replied nervously, going to sit down.
Dustin followed, sitting opposite the young man.
"First, I want to discuss payment," Dustin ordered.
"Payment?" he raised his eyebrows.
"Yes. You want information that will have to come at a price. I am no spring chicken in this business, all right?" Dustin raised his eyebrows.
He didn't move.
"Five thousand US dollars per alien."
"WHAT?!" he exclaimed, bolting from his chair.
"That's my offer, take it or leave it," Dustin shrugged.
The young man fumed as he looked out the window.
"If you don't have the money, I can wait," Dustin offered.
"There won't be any money," he growled.
Suddenly, he spun around, flinging his arm out. Dustin flew from the chair and froze against the wall, gasping for air.
"Now you listen in," he demanded, going over to him and placing a finger on his chest, "I don't care about other aliens, all right? I mean I will go for any alien you give me, but I want the one responsible for the death of my hero. Got it?!"
Dustin didn't respond. He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Ok, I'll over you a deal. You tell me the name of this one alien, and we can forget this whole thing. With any luck you'll get out of here without a broken bone," he began.
"You're one of them," Dustin snarled.
"If you offer me more information, I'll consider maybe a grand. No
more."
"The deal is off," Dustin gasped, his face going red.
"No, the deal is not off," he demanded, holding his hand over
Dustin's throat as his telekinesis began to apply pressure.
Dustin choked slightly.
"Give me a name," he warned.
"Go to hell," Dustin coughed.
"Give me a name," he repeated louder.
Dustin hesitated.
"I am not known for my patience Dustin," he warned, before grinning
slightly.
"It's fine for you to die right now, isn't it? But you have your
wallet on you. If you die, I can find your family, and they can die
too. I am not afraid to kill again."
He raised his eyebrows. Dustin looked around, before he added
pressure again.
"ALL RIGHT! All right!" he exclaimed, as he felt the pressure lessen
slightly.
"Hanson..." he began, "Clarke Hanson."
He grinned. He'd finally got what he wanted. With one swift motion,
there was a sickening crack, as Dustin's head fell limp and his body
fell to the ground.
"Thank you so much," he smiled down on him.