Watching Jess head out of the coffee shop, Morgan felt a wave of relief wash over her. That had been close. Too close, really. She was going to have to be more careful. Which reminded her...
Picking up her order (a venti White Chocolate Mocha), she took a seat in one of the oversize armchairs and pulled out her phone, texting Gavin. As always, she told him where she was headed. And she arranged for him to be her alibi. Up until now she hadn't really worried too much about that, but tonight it just seemed the right thing to do.
Then, once fully caffeinated, she headed out. It wasn't a terribly long walk to George Hall's apartment building. There was nothing particularly special about George -- he wasn't a pimp, he didn't run drugs, he was just an average guy. Except for the part where he was beating his five year old daughter. Morgan had found out about it when seeing the police report on one of the desks at the precinct. Of course, due to red tape, nothing had been done yet.
Well...she was about to fix that.
Ducking into an alley beside the building, she slipped out of the sneakers she had been wearing, tugging on the boots. Morgan still wasn't completely used to the heels, but they were unfortunately necessary as they put her at the same height as her father and uncle. She was smart. If she was going to impersonate the Saints, she was going to make sure to cover all her bases. No height difference was going to give her away.
Boots on and weapons ready, all she had to do was wait for George to come outside for his nightly cigarette. Once he did, it became a scene from a bad assassin movie (Hey! Blame Connor!) -- impersonating a hooker, she managed to get him to follow her into the alley, the promise of barely legal sex hanging in the air. Then once he had her against the walls, the guns came out and he was on his knees. Morgan may not have been physically threatening, but two loaded guns gave her a bit of persuasive power.
Standing behind him, elbows crooked, she repeated the words she had heard her whole childhood -- words she only truly understood when she started this mission a month ago...
"And shepherds we shall be. For Thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, so that our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command. And we shall flow a river forth to Thee. And teaming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomine Patri. Et Fili." She paused for a moment, cocking the two weapons. "Spiriti Sancti. Amen."
The problem with firing two firearms, in six inch heels, on snow is that it sets up a scenario in which the shooter can end up flat on her ass. Which is exactly what happened to Morgan. Oh, the scumbag was dead. That was no problem. But now she was on the ground, cold and wet, and making a complete mess of the scene.
Though...maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. This little mess had destroyed her footprints. Yes? No? Hopefully.
Slowly getting to her feet (no doubt that was going to be sore in the morning), Morgan brushed herself off and pulled the pennies out of her pockets. Leaving them on the eyes of her victims, she grabbed the shopping bag and switched out her shoes again before heading in the direction of the tattoo parlor. Hopefully Gavin had whiskey.
If any of the cops want to attach the investigation of the scene to this thread, go for it. Other than that, I'm fine with it just being used for reference.