The Limp
He started walking away from the voice. "Dios de La Guerra, s'il-vous-plait, attendez" the voice said in a mixture of perfect spanish and french. The voice itself intonate like an Italian. He didn't stop walking. He was moving to the only place he knew he could be save. The voice called again. There was some sort of urgency, maybe trepidation in the voice, he knew the voice was not here to kill him, if it was he would already be dead. He walked faster. He reached the alley in under a minute. As he expected, in this weather and at this time of the day, the alley is deserted.
He walked past the first 3 doors on his left, judging by the distance of the voice behind him and when he entered the alley, he ducked in between the door post of the 4th doorway, just almost at the same moment the voice entered the alley. He was sure the voice hadn't seen him duck. "Dios de La Guerra, Je ne suis pas ici pour vous faire du mal. S'il te plait écoute moi". The french wasn't perfect after all. He always spoke french when on missions, so the voice didn't know him that well. Or the voice is trying to joggle his memory. He'll soon find out he thought.
Male. 30, max 35. Tall. Average built. Italian. He could deduce all these just by hearing a man's voice. This is what he was built to do. His first mistake in the past one year was to live in that fancy house with all the guards. His mind shut down. But in dangerous situations, at times he marvel at the wonders his mind could perform. The footstep was getting closer. Fancy shoe. Definitely Italian made. Not a fighter. Except you watch too much James Bond movies, no killer wears fancy shoes. For one reason; they are too noisy. He's never met a killer in his pedigree without a fancy for custom made shoes.
5 yards: Fancy perfume. Possibly a Dior, or some other fancy name. He stood still, like he was part of the doorpost.
4 yards: Walks with a slight limp. This one had been injured in one foot.
3 yards: Heavy breathing. Not like a tired person, but like someone suffering from pain.
2 yards: He started counting in his head, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1
He came out of the doorpost like a ghost. Swung a round-house catching the voice right between the ear and the jaw. The man's jaw instinctively opened and before he could react, He had swung another upper-cut, moved around the voice and clamped his strong biceps on his throat.
"You have exactly 30 secs to tell me why I shouldn't break your neck".