Los Angeles received the message on his phone as he drove into Personville in his inconspicuous rental car. The man's eyes, hidden by shades, pored over the message as he drove. He shut his phone off after memorizing it and continued driving into the town. Los Angeles pursed his lips as he considered the odds. They were almost a dozen assassins on the job and only ten targets. He'd have to thin the herd if he had any chance of winning. 

This town in the middle of nowhere was an unlikely choice for such a competition but a lot of blood was going to be spilled before this was all over. He just had to make sure that none of it was his. Los Angeles considered the blades on his person and found himself confident in his success. But who to target first? About a third were government officials, and some were placed in areas were collateral damage would draw a lot of attention. The "olive oil" salesman was an unknown quantity and so was his own competition. 

The time it would take to scope out the tougher targets or try to find his rivals would put him too far behind. He'd pick an easy mark. Somebody he could get close enough to stick a knife in without too much difficulty. The good father it was. He looked at the passing mountains and trees. They were beautiful, sights he rarely ever saw. Too bad they'd be the sight of so much carnage. Los Angeles wondered what his mother would think of him killing a priest. Poorly he thought, but then again the target was a Lutheran so he couldn't be sure. 

Los Angeles drove through the small town, watching the streets and landscapes that were so different from the city he knew. He checked into his hotel, only stopping to briefly hydrate and concealing some tools. He then checked on the storage container he rented to stow some supplies and equipment. Los Angeles got back in the car and drove off to the Church. He parked a few blocks from the Church and put on a simple jacket. He checked his hidden blades and hid his pistol within the shoulder-holster, then strapped on his hold-out near his ankle. Los Angeles left the gloves but decided to keep the shades on. No point in scaring anyone even more. 

The assassin steadily made his way to the Church and calmly walked in the door, holding off on removing his shades for as long as possible. He kept his hands by his sides as he found the nearest church worker, not bothering to cross himself as he entered. Those days were over. It wasn't Sunday so it wasn't too crowded or busy. Los Angeles did not smile but kept a polite expression, "Hello. I'm new in town and was just looking around for a place that my family and I can attend service. Is there anyway I can meet with the Pastor to discuss the congregation?" 

Los Angeles was perfectly calm but kept a look-out. After all they said great minds think alike and Los Angeles was an excellent assassin. Perhaps one of the other players was here as well. He was watchful for someone that didn't look like they belonged in this folksy small town. If there were any here, he'd have to kill them along with the Pastor. But quietly and without much fuss. If he played his cards right, the Pastor would get a quick death and there'd be nothing leading to him. 

He idly wondered what is was about James Bachmeir that made Cunningham want him dead. Perhaps the Pastor was the real deal and he wanted to rid the town of the likes of Cunningham? Los Angeles was curious but he knew it didn't matter. What mattered was that he completed the job and stayed alive. But perhaps it wouldn't hurt to do some digging as well.