[ WP ] The world 's best hitman prepares to kill the world 's luckiest man .

He read the name on the greasy jean jacket. The sleeves had been removed and now the jacket turned vest covered a well-worn leather jacket. There were several patches on the vest but the one he was looking for was right over the pocket, “ Lucky. ” Travis grinned. I ’ m changing your nickname biker. On the other pocket was the word “ Prez. ” It was dark in the bar but Travis could pick out several other members of the Black Dogg motorcycle club. This wouldn ’ t be easy but it would be done. It had to be done. He stepped outside and retrieved his colors out of the iron horse ’ s saddlebag and slid them on over his own leather jacket. He walked back inside. He only made it a few steps when he was stopped at the door. 
 “ Hey, this is a Black Dogg bar. You can ’ t wear any colors in here. ” 
 “ I ain ’ t taking them off. ” 
 “ We ’ ll help ya. ” 
 `` What's the problem? Get out of my way.'' 
 It was “ Lucky. ” He stepped out in front of the group of dirt bags in the lobby. Travis took a step back. He didn ’ t want anyone working their way behind him. 
 “ You lost, ” Lucky strained to read the patch over Travis ’ s pocket, “ Hitman? ” 
 “ Nope. This is for the girl. ” 
 The Colt 1911 came up so fast that no one could react. The explosion put a perfect hole in Lucky ’ s face, blowing out the back of his head. Blood and brains covered the dogs behind him. He was out the door and on the iron horse before anyone else cleared the club. He barely heard the shots following him out of the parking lot. He would stop once he crossed the border. 
 
 

