>>5750323>>5750334>>5750662You decide the best thing to do is going to be scouting out the potential route of the target. You don't have her exact schedule but most people in New York end up taking the same routes, paths of desire worn into dirt and concrete by years of the city sharing a shortcut, it shouldn't be too hard to find a general area around her home to get your work done.
You hail a cab and have the driver take you to a hotel in Hell's Kitchen on the off chance he's the suspicious type you make sure to spend the drive gushing about your wedding date coming up and how excited you are about the honeymoon. The drivers eyes glaze over in a familiar way and you find yourself letting the diatribe trail off. That used to be your go-to for developed urban cover stories: The Blushing Bride. But it wasn't a story anymore, you had lived it once and lost it. You push down the burning feeling in the back of your throat and use the ride as a chance to settle your nerves.
Stepping out of the cab you walk confidently towards the lobby doors watching for the cab to begin it's exit, the moment it rounds the corner you turn from the hotel doors and set off towards the general area of your target. The Porter Building, a brutalist tower in the heart of Hell's Kitchen, recently built and already filled to near capacity. The good news about a populated area with people out at most hours is the fact that the bodegas nearby run 24 hours or close enough to it that it doesn't really matter. You decide you'll grab a cup of coffee and maybe a few other small things, colored tape for marking certain areas discreetly, maybe a hat and glasses for tomorrow morning as a quick and dirty disguise. You sigh, you miss the resources of Hydra, you miss how easy life used to be. Without time to dwell you enter the store, the scent of fresh ground coffee hitting your nose is already shaking cobwebs loose.
"Hello my friend!" Calls out an accented voice from behind the counter. You see a scrawny man with a flamboyant turban and a long styled moustache. He smiles at you warmly.
"Please my friend I can see the red all across your nose from the cold, get a coffee or hot chocolate!" He nods in affirmation of his own suggestion and moves to the brewing station behind the counter.
From the corner of your eye you catch movement, someone very large shifting from between the cramped aisles of the bodega, a black man with a bald head and a well trimmed goatee stands awkwardly holding a plastic package in his hands.
"Uhh, excuse me chief. I didn't see a price tag on these I was wondering if.." He trails off as he notices your gaze. He smiles and gives you a nod. "Ma'am."
1/2
