He looked out onto the ocean, the pre-dawn moonlight sheen glowing a neon blue and mixing with the first hint of sun. The silhouette of the palm trees, an early morning runner with her dog. The waves crashing in the distance, their faint sound creeping through the floor-to-ceiling glass he stood behind, the shiver across his skin.
“Connor, it’s time.” His friend stood up from the breakfast bar, putting out his cigarette and tucking in his shirt.
“I know.” He waited, just a second more, breathe it in, this moment.
“Come on, old buddy, we’ll be back before dusk, ten million richer.” His friend came up to him and put his hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve got a feeling we’re not coming back from this one.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes tight shut, watched the oils wash over the back of his eyelids and let out a deep breath.
“You say that every time.” His friend let go of his shoulder and made his way to the car, the soft click of his shoes on the titled floor, the door opening, the car engine starting.
He looked at the ocean again, just another moment, helping him forget. The waves rolled and rolled and his heart thumped in his chest, the skin on his arms stood on end, flickers of sensation running up his spine. How had he got here? All those years of killing, and now one more job, the big score, the one to retire on. What choice did he have? Nothing this big would come up again.
“We’re not going to make it back from this one.” He said to the ocean as he turned his back and walked towards the car.