47- Dressing as Mel

  He checked to ensure that both .357 Magnums were loaded before buckling the western fast-draw holsters around his waist and securing the tie-downs to his legs. It felt good to have a couple of weapons, even though he preferred semiautomatics. But, given the fact that Johnson was known for his six-guns, 47 was stuck with them.

  He was covered with sweat by the time he got back behind the wheel. The air conditioner roared as he took a moment to examine himself in the rearview mirror and check the key component of his subterfuge. The face that stared back at him looked more like Johnson’s than his own. A blue kerchief concealed most of the assassin’s bare scalp—and the fake beard was still in place. Beards could be dangerous appliances, given their tendency to come loose, and 47 had been careful to use plenty of spirit gum, so even the sweat from his exertions hadn’t loosened it.

  Of equal importance were the small things, those details that made a person like Johnson memorable. Like the swastika-shaped tattoo that the assassin had inked on his left cheek, what appeared to be a scar just above his right eyebrow, and the silver rings that dangled from his ears. His clothing consisted of leather gloves, a matching vest, faded Levis, and a pair of lace-up combat boots.

  But would the disguise be sufficient to get him through the meeting? The folks at The Agency thought so, especially since Johnson had been in prison for the past four years, and therefore out of circulation. Which meant most of the people who could ID him were still behind bars. Agent 47 took comfort from the thought as he steered the truck out onto the road, and turned north.
...

  Based on data provided by The Agency, that suit was the signature “look” the Big Kahuna had chosen for himself. A pair of stylish sunglasses hid the crime boss’s eyes, but the rest of his broad, moonlike face was plain to see, as was a body that harkened back to his days as a professional wrestler. He was surprisingly light on his feet, and seemed to float just above the dirt floor as he came forward to embrace the newcomer. The result was a quick man-hug, in which their chests collided briefly before they both took a step back.

  BK and the Reaper were acquaintances, according to a file that 47 had been given, but nothing more, which was important to remember if the assassin was going to fool him.

  “Haven’t seen you in four years—but you’re still one ugly son of a bitch,” the Kahuna growled affectionately. “What happened? I’d swear you were a good thirty pounds heavier the last time we saw each other.”

  “Prison food sucks,” 47 complained. “But I’m starting to bulk up again.”

  “There you go!” BK agreed approvingly. “What you need is some meat and potatoes! Come on. We’ve been waiting for you.”

- Hitman: Enemy Within, Chapter 2