Post by J.Hollick on Oct 5, 2012 17:09:16 GMT -9
In the suburbs a man in a suit enters his home carrying a suitcase. He sets the suitcase down on the coffee table, returns to the door and stops a second to loosen his tie; he then removes his coat and hangs it on the wooden coat hanger on the far right of his closet. He stoops to undo his shoes and taking them off one at a time he sets them on the far right of the shoe rack. Returning to the coffee table he sits down and unsnaps his briefcase to remove the paperwork left over from his workday. As he begins reading through the files his the phone rings. He checks the caller i.d and it reads blocked. He lifts the phone from the receiver and begins to pour himself a glass of scotch. Sipping it he listens to his wife asking him to take a roast out of the oven.
The warehouse is small and over stuffed. Road cases are pushed all around the edges, winding pathways created between them, they are loaded with various electrical equipment. Cables on hooks cover the walls and in the back is a bench covered in tools, wires and various measurement instruments. Jane, sporting short straight black hair sits hunched over a vice grip, soldering connections to a new cable, the solder smoke curling up before her. The sun is setting in the city but inside the warehouse, lit by white fluorescent lights time passes without any indication. Finally 6 o’clock arrives and Jane packs up her supplies. She neatly coils the cables she has spent the day repairing and places them in their appropriate place along the wall. As she leaves the warehouse she activates the alarm and locks the deadbolt. She heads to her car parked on the curb. Her cell phone vibrates in her pocket and she answers it, suspicious. “Who is this?”
“The devil that sits on your fucking shoulder, who the fuck do you think this is. I got a job for you.”
Jane looks around but the street is empty. The buildings all around her are industrial, warehouses. She sees no one but all the same she slips into the front seat of her car and starts driving, carefully keeping watch in her rear view mirror.
“You’ve got less then twenty seconds.” She says, heading towards the main road.
“213 Turner street, check the trash can. Target’s some tweaking junky that thought she’d make a little extra cash keeping some dope she was supposed to deliver for herself. Easy job, pay’s $1000. You kill the kid and find the dope. Call me when you have it.
“Time’s up.” Jane hangs up and turns the phone off. Pulling into a gas station she fuels up and removes the sim card from her phone, breaking it in half and throwing it into the garbage she places a new card from her pocket into the phone, gets in and drives away. She’s almost to the freeway now. She dials a number and takes the exit.
“I don’t do charity work.” She states. The same voice as before answers,
“This is just a test, a formality. The real job comes after. Get the dope and I’ll explain the rest.” The line goes dead and Jane removes the second sim card. She didn’t get to where she was by taking risks.
Jane walks casually down the alleyway, her hood up and hair hidden in a toque. She stops at the back of a duplex and lifts the lid off a garbage can. Reaching in she pulls a gun out from underneath a black bag. Lifting up her neck warmer to cover the lower half of her face she walks along the side of the house to the front. Screwing on the silencer as she goes. She pauses near the corner. Most lights are off, no cars drive past. She reaches down with her free hand and grabs a rock.
She climbs the steps to the front door and the automatic light comes on. Swiftly she takes the light out with the rock. Glass falls on her but bounces harmlessly off her thick hoody and jeans onto the cement porch. She presses the doorbell and hears it ring within. A couple seconds later a woman answers. Her hair is greasy, wavy and dirty blonde. She has contusions on her face and is far too skinny. She screams meth addict.
“Who the fuck are you?” She demands. Jane doesn’t like her attitude.
Jane enters her apartment. It is a top floor penthouse, fully furnished. She turns the tv on, switches on the lights and throws her clothes into the washer. She unzips her backpack at the kitchen island and pulls out a bag. She sets it down on the counter. The shades are drawn; she’s not worried, and heads into the shower.
It has begun to rain outside, a chill night shower that slowly washes the light sprinkling of snow away. Outside of Jane’s apartment in a black SUV two men sit, sipping coffee.
Jane emerges from the shower, towel drying her hair and wearing a plush purple bathrobe. She pours her self a glass of red wine and grabs her cell phone.
“Do you have it?”
“What’s the ‘real’ job?” She demands, sipping her wine and taking a seat on her leather couch.
“The drugs belong to Arthur Vincelli. The meeting is set up for tomorrow. Deliver the drugs, and then take out Vincelli. Bounty is set at $500,000.”
“Arthur Vincelli isn’t stupid enough to show up to a drug deal. The cops have been trying to connect him with his dealers for three decades.” Jane replies, doing the cold hard math in her head.
“He’ll be there.”
“How are you so sure?”
“There’s more than drugs at stake.” Once again the line went dead. Jane finishes her wine, rising from the couch she stares out her window to the watery streets below.
The parking lot along the river is empty. It’s a grey day and drizzling slightly. Jane’s car is parked at the edge of the lot against the fence. She sits inside and waits. She is wearing the same outfit as the night before, dark jeans, black hoody, black toque and neck warmer pulled up to hide her face. The only new addition is the aviators she wears.
Three vehicles pull up. Two expensive black SUV’s and a small, sleeker black BMW. The two SUV’s pull up first and men pile out. Four per vehicle stand outside, guns held loosely at their side, they survey the area. The BMW pulls up in the middle and the driver and passenger hop out, also carrying guns. They open the back door and an old man in a brown suit steps out. He is holding a large brown envelope. Arthur Vincelli passes the envelope to one of his goons and nods. Jane gets out of the car. She has no weapons and Arthur Vincelli grimaces in what must be a smile of delight. Cautiously Jane approaches until she meets the goon with the envelope in the middle. They make the exchange, the drugs for the money.
“And so I meet the great assassin Caedo,” Vincelli’s booming voice rings out across the parking lot and Jane freezes, “Tell me, why does one so great do a job so small?”
Instead of replying Jane opens the envelope and counts the money.
“You insult me by counting the money right in front of me? And by concealing your face? This is a horrible way to start what could be a profitable friendship.”
Still Jane makes no reply. Instead she puts the money into her hoody pocket and begins to walk towards the car.
“Tell me Caedo, do you know how to get a bee into a hornets nest?”
At this Jane stops, her back to Vincelli, only a few steps from her car door. Quite possibly she is shaking slightly but everyone is too far away to tell.
“Offer him money.” The venom in his voice alerts Jane but it is too late. Vincelli produces a concealed gun and before Jane can even take a step her brains are spewing out of her forehead as she slumps to the cement. The gun shot rings throughout the parking lot but Vincelli and his men are already in their vehicles and calmly driving away.
As Vincelli’s car pulls up to the curb one of his men opens the door but instead of Vincelli exiting the goon passes him a black briefcase.
“You have a cowardly way of killing your targets, but it works.” He says to the man in the black business suit sitting beside him, “Half a million. As agreed upon.” The man in the suit takes the suitcase and exits the vehicle.
In the suburbs the man in the suit enters his home carrying a suitcase. He sets the suitcase down on the coffee table, returns to the door and stops a second to loosen his tie; he then removes his coat and hangs it on the wooden coat hanger on the far right of his closet. He stoops to undo his shoes and taking them off one at a time he sets them on the far right of the shoe rack. Returning to the coffee table he sits down and unsnaps his briefcase to reveal half a million dollars in cash. As he begins to count it the phone rings. He checks the caller i.d and it reads blocked. He lifts the phone from the receiver and begins to pour himself a glass of scotch. Sipping it he expects to listen to his wife asking him to take a roast out of the oven. As he lifts the glass to his mouth his feet shift and as his feet shift his head moves slightly to the left. As his head moves slightly to the left it moves into the path of a small laser that had been shining unnoticed on the wall.
“Want to know the secret to being a good assassin?” The man is set on edge. All he can think is that this is impossible.
“What’s that?” He asks, his mind racing for answers, his body freezing in place.
“People are creatures of habit. Know your targets and they basically kill themselves.” For our friend in the black suit, the world goes black.
Arthur Vincelli sits at a large oak desk, still wearing his brown suit but in a much better mood than earlier this morning. He faces a wall of windows opening up onto a slightly sloped lawn that stretches into a forest. He sips his tea and sets it down on the desk, admiring the view. A knock at the door reveals his nephew in a thick black leather jacket and holding a parcel.
“Package for you.” He says, setting it down on the desk in front of his uncle and standing off to the side. Vincelli doesn’t move and his nephew waits.
“Well, open it.” His uncle demands, taking another sip of tea. His nephew fumbles with the brown paper before finally ripping it open and pulling out a cardboard box. Upon opening the box his nephew freezes.
“What is it?”
His nephew looks up at him, realization dawning on his face as he sees the small red dot centered on his uncles forehead.
“It’s… it’s a box of dead hornets sir.”
As we return to the night previous we see our meth addict answering the door and Jane in her hoody with her gun standing on the front step. In one fluid motion Jane raises the weapon and smashes the butt of the gun against the addicts head. Collapsing backwards onto the floor Jane quickly steps inside and shuts the door to the outside world.
Pulling up to the parking lot, the world still dark and raining Jane exits her vehicle and opens the trunk. The addict lies tied up in the back, blood in her dirty blonde hair. Jane has changed now, her hair still wet from her shower. She pulls out her clothes, now washed free of blood and pulls a gun on the addict. Roughly pulling her from the trunk she forces the addict to strip and put on her hoody and jeans, toque and neck warmer. She completes the ensemble with a pair of aviators and a mouth gag hidden by the neck warmer. The addict is crying silently.
“If you do exactly as I say you will not die. You will not try to speak and you will not remove any of the clothing I have put on you. Morning will be here in an hour, wait in the car and when some men come you will meet them. Follow their lead. You will hand them the drugs you stole and they will hand you an envelope of money. The money is yours to keep as long as you don’t mess this up. Understand?” The addict just nods.
“Good. I’m going to be nearby so don’t even think of trying to drive away.”
With that Jane put the addict into the front seat and headed to the construction sight on the east side of the parking lot to wait.
Further analysis reveals that six months ago Jane did a job, a dirty job. Hired to kill a punk kid that owed a lot of money to some people who were not afraid to get their hands bloody. Suspicion about why Vincelli would ever show up to a drug deal lead to a night of research revealing that the kid’s identity had indeed been Vincelli’s son, some bastard begotten by one of his whores. From there the plan of revenge unfolded before her. Nothing cuts deeper then betrayal.
The End
J.Hollick
Read more: www.jhollick.boards.net
The warehouse is small and over stuffed. Road cases are pushed all around the edges, winding pathways created between them, they are loaded with various electrical equipment. Cables on hooks cover the walls and in the back is a bench covered in tools, wires and various measurement instruments. Jane, sporting short straight black hair sits hunched over a vice grip, soldering connections to a new cable, the solder smoke curling up before her. The sun is setting in the city but inside the warehouse, lit by white fluorescent lights time passes without any indication. Finally 6 o’clock arrives and Jane packs up her supplies. She neatly coils the cables she has spent the day repairing and places them in their appropriate place along the wall. As she leaves the warehouse she activates the alarm and locks the deadbolt. She heads to her car parked on the curb. Her cell phone vibrates in her pocket and she answers it, suspicious. “Who is this?”
“The devil that sits on your fucking shoulder, who the fuck do you think this is. I got a job for you.”
Jane looks around but the street is empty. The buildings all around her are industrial, warehouses. She sees no one but all the same she slips into the front seat of her car and starts driving, carefully keeping watch in her rear view mirror.
“You’ve got less then twenty seconds.” She says, heading towards the main road.
“213 Turner street, check the trash can. Target’s some tweaking junky that thought she’d make a little extra cash keeping some dope she was supposed to deliver for herself. Easy job, pay’s $1000. You kill the kid and find the dope. Call me when you have it.
“Time’s up.” Jane hangs up and turns the phone off. Pulling into a gas station she fuels up and removes the sim card from her phone, breaking it in half and throwing it into the garbage she places a new card from her pocket into the phone, gets in and drives away. She’s almost to the freeway now. She dials a number and takes the exit.
“I don’t do charity work.” She states. The same voice as before answers,
“This is just a test, a formality. The real job comes after. Get the dope and I’ll explain the rest.” The line goes dead and Jane removes the second sim card. She didn’t get to where she was by taking risks.
Jane walks casually down the alleyway, her hood up and hair hidden in a toque. She stops at the back of a duplex and lifts the lid off a garbage can. Reaching in she pulls a gun out from underneath a black bag. Lifting up her neck warmer to cover the lower half of her face she walks along the side of the house to the front. Screwing on the silencer as she goes. She pauses near the corner. Most lights are off, no cars drive past. She reaches down with her free hand and grabs a rock.
She climbs the steps to the front door and the automatic light comes on. Swiftly she takes the light out with the rock. Glass falls on her but bounces harmlessly off her thick hoody and jeans onto the cement porch. She presses the doorbell and hears it ring within. A couple seconds later a woman answers. Her hair is greasy, wavy and dirty blonde. She has contusions on her face and is far too skinny. She screams meth addict.
“Who the fuck are you?” She demands. Jane doesn’t like her attitude.
Jane enters her apartment. It is a top floor penthouse, fully furnished. She turns the tv on, switches on the lights and throws her clothes into the washer. She unzips her backpack at the kitchen island and pulls out a bag. She sets it down on the counter. The shades are drawn; she’s not worried, and heads into the shower.
It has begun to rain outside, a chill night shower that slowly washes the light sprinkling of snow away. Outside of Jane’s apartment in a black SUV two men sit, sipping coffee.
Jane emerges from the shower, towel drying her hair and wearing a plush purple bathrobe. She pours her self a glass of red wine and grabs her cell phone.
“Do you have it?”
“What’s the ‘real’ job?” She demands, sipping her wine and taking a seat on her leather couch.
“The drugs belong to Arthur Vincelli. The meeting is set up for tomorrow. Deliver the drugs, and then take out Vincelli. Bounty is set at $500,000.”
“Arthur Vincelli isn’t stupid enough to show up to a drug deal. The cops have been trying to connect him with his dealers for three decades.” Jane replies, doing the cold hard math in her head.
“He’ll be there.”
“How are you so sure?”
“There’s more than drugs at stake.” Once again the line went dead. Jane finishes her wine, rising from the couch she stares out her window to the watery streets below.
The parking lot along the river is empty. It’s a grey day and drizzling slightly. Jane’s car is parked at the edge of the lot against the fence. She sits inside and waits. She is wearing the same outfit as the night before, dark jeans, black hoody, black toque and neck warmer pulled up to hide her face. The only new addition is the aviators she wears.
Three vehicles pull up. Two expensive black SUV’s and a small, sleeker black BMW. The two SUV’s pull up first and men pile out. Four per vehicle stand outside, guns held loosely at their side, they survey the area. The BMW pulls up in the middle and the driver and passenger hop out, also carrying guns. They open the back door and an old man in a brown suit steps out. He is holding a large brown envelope. Arthur Vincelli passes the envelope to one of his goons and nods. Jane gets out of the car. She has no weapons and Arthur Vincelli grimaces in what must be a smile of delight. Cautiously Jane approaches until she meets the goon with the envelope in the middle. They make the exchange, the drugs for the money.
“And so I meet the great assassin Caedo,” Vincelli’s booming voice rings out across the parking lot and Jane freezes, “Tell me, why does one so great do a job so small?”
Instead of replying Jane opens the envelope and counts the money.
“You insult me by counting the money right in front of me? And by concealing your face? This is a horrible way to start what could be a profitable friendship.”
Still Jane makes no reply. Instead she puts the money into her hoody pocket and begins to walk towards the car.
“Tell me Caedo, do you know how to get a bee into a hornets nest?”
At this Jane stops, her back to Vincelli, only a few steps from her car door. Quite possibly she is shaking slightly but everyone is too far away to tell.
“Offer him money.” The venom in his voice alerts Jane but it is too late. Vincelli produces a concealed gun and before Jane can even take a step her brains are spewing out of her forehead as she slumps to the cement. The gun shot rings throughout the parking lot but Vincelli and his men are already in their vehicles and calmly driving away.
As Vincelli’s car pulls up to the curb one of his men opens the door but instead of Vincelli exiting the goon passes him a black briefcase.
“You have a cowardly way of killing your targets, but it works.” He says to the man in the black business suit sitting beside him, “Half a million. As agreed upon.” The man in the suit takes the suitcase and exits the vehicle.
In the suburbs the man in the suit enters his home carrying a suitcase. He sets the suitcase down on the coffee table, returns to the door and stops a second to loosen his tie; he then removes his coat and hangs it on the wooden coat hanger on the far right of his closet. He stoops to undo his shoes and taking them off one at a time he sets them on the far right of the shoe rack. Returning to the coffee table he sits down and unsnaps his briefcase to reveal half a million dollars in cash. As he begins to count it the phone rings. He checks the caller i.d and it reads blocked. He lifts the phone from the receiver and begins to pour himself a glass of scotch. Sipping it he expects to listen to his wife asking him to take a roast out of the oven. As he lifts the glass to his mouth his feet shift and as his feet shift his head moves slightly to the left. As his head moves slightly to the left it moves into the path of a small laser that had been shining unnoticed on the wall.
“Want to know the secret to being a good assassin?” The man is set on edge. All he can think is that this is impossible.
“What’s that?” He asks, his mind racing for answers, his body freezing in place.
“People are creatures of habit. Know your targets and they basically kill themselves.” For our friend in the black suit, the world goes black.
Arthur Vincelli sits at a large oak desk, still wearing his brown suit but in a much better mood than earlier this morning. He faces a wall of windows opening up onto a slightly sloped lawn that stretches into a forest. He sips his tea and sets it down on the desk, admiring the view. A knock at the door reveals his nephew in a thick black leather jacket and holding a parcel.
“Package for you.” He says, setting it down on the desk in front of his uncle and standing off to the side. Vincelli doesn’t move and his nephew waits.
“Well, open it.” His uncle demands, taking another sip of tea. His nephew fumbles with the brown paper before finally ripping it open and pulling out a cardboard box. Upon opening the box his nephew freezes.
“What is it?”
His nephew looks up at him, realization dawning on his face as he sees the small red dot centered on his uncles forehead.
“It’s… it’s a box of dead hornets sir.”
As we return to the night previous we see our meth addict answering the door and Jane in her hoody with her gun standing on the front step. In one fluid motion Jane raises the weapon and smashes the butt of the gun against the addicts head. Collapsing backwards onto the floor Jane quickly steps inside and shuts the door to the outside world.
Pulling up to the parking lot, the world still dark and raining Jane exits her vehicle and opens the trunk. The addict lies tied up in the back, blood in her dirty blonde hair. Jane has changed now, her hair still wet from her shower. She pulls out her clothes, now washed free of blood and pulls a gun on the addict. Roughly pulling her from the trunk she forces the addict to strip and put on her hoody and jeans, toque and neck warmer. She completes the ensemble with a pair of aviators and a mouth gag hidden by the neck warmer. The addict is crying silently.
“If you do exactly as I say you will not die. You will not try to speak and you will not remove any of the clothing I have put on you. Morning will be here in an hour, wait in the car and when some men come you will meet them. Follow their lead. You will hand them the drugs you stole and they will hand you an envelope of money. The money is yours to keep as long as you don’t mess this up. Understand?” The addict just nods.
“Good. I’m going to be nearby so don’t even think of trying to drive away.”
With that Jane put the addict into the front seat and headed to the construction sight on the east side of the parking lot to wait.
Further analysis reveals that six months ago Jane did a job, a dirty job. Hired to kill a punk kid that owed a lot of money to some people who were not afraid to get their hands bloody. Suspicion about why Vincelli would ever show up to a drug deal lead to a night of research revealing that the kid’s identity had indeed been Vincelli’s son, some bastard begotten by one of his whores. From there the plan of revenge unfolded before her. Nothing cuts deeper then betrayal.
The End
J.Hollick
Read more: www.jhollick.boards.net
