Fester sat on the rooftop, his mood growing darker by the minute. If he had to sit like this much longer he was going to shoot Milo and the Marshals just on general principle. Slowly he forced himself to breathe calmly as he reviewed the assignment.
It had been so simple at 4:00– go to the airport, set up for a take down, wait for the signal and eliminate a former co-worker who had decided that turning state's evidence was better than serving time.
That had been 5 hours ago.
In that time, he'd seen the Marshals arrive– a small private plane taxi to their location. And then the power had gone out. He could understand the feds not wanting to move– but dammit, he had better things to do. With the power out he and the boys were missing some prime ‘shopping' opportunities.
"I say if they're not out of there in 10 minutes we go after them," he heard Rodney complain.
He looked down to where the mage had stood for the past 3 hours and smiled. At least he was prone.
"Will you look at this keeb?" Bash asked from the van. "He's obviously out of gas and he's just sitting there playing with his engine."
"Bash, go back to watching the office– the man's a nobody– collateral damage... just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Keep your eye on the ball..."
Bash reached out the window and flipped Fester off. The rigger wasn't known for his sense of humor– or subtlety. That was fine- the boss didn't want subtle, he wanted this to be a message to anybody else who would dream of talking to the ‘man.'
"Fine– but the keeb is mine."
"Yeah, yeah– whatever," Fester wondered about the others sometimes. But then he caught movement at the terminal office. "Heads up," he called. "We've got movement."