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"Alright. We should have a nice, long talk."
The bearded man rubbed his hands together, joints cracking. The female assassin scowled and nodded.
Fighting wasn't allowed inside the Continental Hotel. Their original plan had been to threaten Morin, trick him out of his gold coins, or wait until he left the hotel to make a move.
They hadn't expected Morin to provoke them directly.
Or to suggest going outside to "talk."
They knew he probably had some confidence. But there were two of them. There was no reason to think they'd fail.
In their eyes, Morin was just an unknown kid. Not even a full assassin yet. Handsome, sure, but sloppy. Relaxed posture. Casually flashing gold coins.
The bearded man and the woman were reckless by nature. Otherwise, they wouldn't have approached him without knowing his background.
And they weren't particularly skilled either. If they were, they wouldn't be targeting four gold coins.
Morin led the way.
The bearded man and the female assassin followed closely.
The three walked out together.
As they stepped outside and the hotel door opened, then closed, the elevator arrived with a crisp ding.
Its doors slid open.
The person who had called it stepped inside-then paused.
He withdrew his foot.
Then he slowly walked away.
The elevator waited.
No one came back.
After a long moment, the doors closed, waiting for the next guest.
Behind the desk, the receptionist and the assassins who had been watching the situation showed rare looks of surprise.
The hotel door opened once more.
Then slowly closed.
...
"Should we talk here," Morin said after walking a short distance, stopping and turning around, "or find a better place to finish things?"
The bearded man sneered and stepped forward.
"That depends on where you want to end up as a corpse, kid."
"If you don't want that, hand over your gold coins and we can have a nice talk about your options-ah!"
He never finished the sentence.
A fist slammed into his forehead with a dull thud.
The force sent him flying back nearly ten feet. He hit the ground and didn't move again.
"For the record," Morin said calmly, "I don't think I have anything to talk about with you."
Bang!
The female assassin snapped out of her shock, drew her pistol, and fired.
There was no sound of flesh being pierced.
No body falling.
Just a crisp-
Clink.
Metal rang sharply in the quiet street.
"...Good shot."
Morin looked at the slightly deformed gold coin in his hand and sighed.
"Let me ask you something, Mr. Wick. Can a gold coin like this still be used?"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
She ignored him and fired again and again, desperate to kill him.
She was terrified.
"..."
John Wick stepped out of the shadows.
"It seems you don't need my help."
"What interests me more," Morin said, flicking his wrist, "is why someone like you would help a person you've never met."
The gold coin flew.
The female assassin collapsed.
"A probationary assassin who just registered."
"I wanted to try something new," Wick said, already taking out his phone. "This is Wick. Two dinners. Three blocks left of the Continental."
"Something new?" Morin smiled.
"Yes." Wick nodded. "I was going to advise you to quit this line of work. Now... that seems unnecessary."
"I appreciate the thought," Morin said. "Can I ask why?"
"You talk too much," Wick said, his tone impatient, almost scolding.
"In this business, people who talk too much don't live long. No matter how strong they are."
"..."
Morin's eye twitched.
Is he showing off?
Is he really showing off to me?
"I don't like owing people," Morin said.
He pulled a pen and a sheet of paper from the inside of his suit-actually from storage-and wrote quickly.
He handed it over.
"My business card. If you ever need help, call me."
"A business card..."
Even Wick was briefly at a loss.
Then he noticed the other line beneath the number.
"Templar?"
"That'll be my codename," Morin said. "And the name of an organization that will oppose the Continental."
"...Oppose?" Wick repeated.
"I didn't join the Continental to be an assassin," Morin said. "I joined to understand it. Then dismantle it."
"I think you'll find that number useful someday."
"You have big ideas."
Wick was silent for a moment before slipping the note into his pocket.
If he hadn't seen what just happened, he wouldn't have listened at all.
But he had.
And he knew that as long as Morin didn't grow careless-or die early-he was bound to reach the same level.
Maybe higher.
That alone made the number valuable.
Wick had once killed three men with a pencil.
But just now, in front of him, Morin had killed someone with a gold coin.
Casually.
Effortlessly.
Wick didn't believe he could do that.
So despite Morin's lack of reputation, despite his probationary status, Wick already regarded him as an equal.
As for being superior-
That was impossible.
Wick still had his pride.
The pride of the Boogeyman.
A few seconds after he pocketed the note, a van pulled up.
An old man in a top hat stepped out, followed by several burly men.
"Your two 'dinners,' Mr. Wick."
The old man removed his hat and bowed.
"Charlie the Vulture is honored to serve you."
The men moved immediately.
Efficient. Professional.
They searched the bodies, packaged them, and loaded them into the van.
In the distance, police sirens wailed.
When the patrol car spotted Charlie's van, it braked hard, stopped far away-
Then turned around and left.