Spoiler! :
Mark "Bullseye" Johnson
Mark, or "Bullseye" as his... Associates... Addressed him by, sat in a dusty warehouse, teeming with pests; cockroaches, spiders and other things among the group. There was a simple desk at one side of the warehouse with a computer on top. Bullseye's cell phone was perched on the edge of the desk. Two others sat by the desk. Johnnie Mulcahey and Alena Thompson. Both part of his crew. Alena had a four year old son named scout that she always kept near her. How does a caring mother get into this line of work. Johnnie was a kltuz that lacked coordination. From what he's seen, of course.
The cell phone rang. "Mulcahey, get that," Bullseye demanded. Johnnie rose from his seat and stepped over to the desk, nearly tripping over his own two feet.
"Y'ello?" he answered.
"Put it on speaker," Bullseye said. He did so. Johnnie remained silent throughout their conversation.
"Hey! Guys! It's your 'manager', Mark!"
"What do you want, Mark?"
"I got you a new safehouse. You're going to like it."
"Anything's better than this shithole."
"Get down here, then!" Johnnie hung up the phone and tossed it to Bullseye, who caught it effortlessly.
"We're relocating," he said as he slung his machine gun onto his back, and grabbed some rather large duffel bags. "It's about time, too."
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