The knife slides into Clint's stomach no more than three or four inches before Hawkeye retracts it. "Killin' you outright's not so much fun as lettin' you die nice and slow," he said, nonchalantly wiping the blade on his pants. Grabbing Clint's duffle bag, he dragged it with him to the end of the van and opened the back doors.
He'd parked with the rear of the vehicle up against a fence grown over with vines, affording them some cover, which came in handy now as he changed out of his own clothes and into Hawkeye's costume "Now, I'm not one 'a those right-wing guys with a agenda, like that nutball Osborn, gotta tell everyone what they oughta do, but it would really make this experience for me? If while you're lyin' here bleedin' to death, you think about the fact that at that very moment, I'll be killing your pretty wife." He slung the bow and quiver of arrows over his shoulder. "And I'll be doin' her a hell of a lot more slowly than I did you."
Bullseye grinned toothily.
Closing the rear doors, he went around to the side, facing the rear of the parking lot and yet another vined fence, and opened it. Disconnecting the jumper cables holding his bike in place, Bullseye slid it out and onto the ground, activating the pre-programmed GPS his contact had given him. He would have like to have stayed an questioned Clint longer, just for the pleasure of torturing him, if nothing else, but time was running short. He didn't want to be too late.
"I'll give the wife a kiss for ya'," he laughed, just before slamming the door shut on the bleeding man. "Bet she'll like it."
Seconds later, he was on the road again, heading for the meet point.
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