“Yeah, I need to know when they let trash into my clubs.” Alex smiles. “No, he called me the next morning. He said you were there with a beautiful woman, and that—you looked happy.”
“Yeah, and he told me to tell you to stop by the house, and that we need to come by for a family dinner. The old man sure does a lot of talking.”
Alex laughs, giving me a knowing look. “You know he’s a gossip; no one's secret is safe with him. Which I’m sure you, of all people, understand why I stay away.” He gestures to the room around him.
I throw my hands up, “I’m not here to guilt you into seeing them. I know, and I get it. I was just told to pass along the message.” Alex gives me a nod, and I stand. “I gotta go now, thanks again for doing this.”
“Of course. You’re still my brother, Dante. Even if you’re an asshole.” Alex gives me a challenging look, but I don’t correct him. “Leave the way you came.”
I nod and turn to leave. I brace myself, holding onto the knob for the door, and open it. The bass booms through the office. It’s like a punch to the chest. I turn back to Alex, “How can you stand this shit?”
“You get used to it!”
I turn, shutting the door behind me, and make my way back to the surface. I get back on my bike and check the time. It’s a little after one in the morning, and it's time to deal with my next contract.
I drive down to Castle Island drawbridge, where I have a car parked in the Park&Ride parking lot next to the bridge. I pull my bike into the shadows and walk over to the old Nissan and look around to ensure I’m alone. I installed a hidden fingerprint scanner under the lip of the trunk release so it would only open for me. When I place my fingers over the scanner, three beeps sound, and the trunk pops open.
I grab my bag of clothes and my bag of assortedgoodiesand hop into the car. I slip off my boots and trade them for my trackless shoes.
No footprints, no suspect.
I slip on my balaclava and my glasses. They may look like ordinary black-framed glasses, but they are top-of-the-line spyware, and the best black-market money can buy. I slip these on, and with a swipe of my finger along the edge of the frame, my eye color changes to any color I want, or they dim into sunglasses. They record everything I see so that I can send proof of mywork. My clients are usuallyverypleased with that feature.
I turn on the car and open my phone to look over the notes I have on my next kill.
-John William Sr., 67 years old. White male, blue eyes, 5’7”, white hair.
-1051 Beacon St. Boston, MA
-John William's daughter invited her friend, Stephanie Murphy, over for a sleepover. When she was sleeping, the victim, Stephanie Murphy, told her father that shewoke up to Mr. William sexually assaulting her and made his own daughter watch.
-Tim Murphy, father of the victim, has decided to deal with this on his own and has offered $30k for his dead body on the black market.
I put the address into my GPS and made my way over to the North-West side of Boston. I park a block away from the brick-style set of row homes. The street is quiet, and with a scan of his glasses, the confirmation came through that no one was on the street. My glasses can access public street cameras and tell me exactly how many people are in a ten-mile radius—a feature that's especially useful on nights like tonight.
I approach my target's house and slip into the shadows along the house. I follow the shadows to the back of the home. I open my phone and use my dead-zoner app, which I programmed myself, to cut off my target's cameras and security system from the WiFi and switch off the reserves so no recordings can be retrieved later by the cops.
I press the red switch on my phone screen; it flips to green, and the little red light on the external camera flicks off.
I smile and approach the back door, picking the lock, and when the door opens, and no alarms sound, I let the dark parts of my mind take over.
This is what you love to do: the thrill of the kill.You love to hunt your prey.
I do. I love watching bad people suffer, and I love being paid to torture them. It fills the void temporarily, and the market never runs dry, so I can fill the ever-growing void any time I’d like.
I walk over the threshold and close the door behind me. The silence of the home envelops me, and I dare not breathe as I listen for the slightest creak from the floor above. I stare up at the ceiling, my heartbeat the loudest thing in the room. When no sounds come, I move through the home, making my way to the stairs. The rich mahogany wood leads up to another dark hallway.
A flash of light comes through the windows, and the crack of lightning sounds a second later; rain begins pelting the windows.
Perfect.
Kill. Kill. KILL.Kill him now!
The darkness in me floods my vision, and my feet move on their own. I move silently up the stairs and down the hall like a ghost. I studied the layout of his home by accessing his security system, and I quietly slipped into the ajar bedroom door I knew belonged to my target. I turn, staring down atthe pathetic old man from the foot of his bed.
Disgusting pervert. Look at him, sleeping peacefully like he isn’t the monster he is. Probably dreaming of his next victim.But there won’t be a next.
I slip off my backpack and unzip it to take out my kit. I pull out the leather roll case and lay it on the settee at the foot of his bed. I quietly unroll it to reveal my playland of tools. It has all the knives I love to use, even a wrench, pliers, wire cutters, and a bonesaw.
