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It should’ve been an easy job. Just another assassination of some guy whose ideas and/or actions do not align with the current leadership. But to maintain the facade of innocence, they would hire people like you to do the dirty work. Someone who could not be traced back to them. Usually, the recruitment process happens second-hand. You never meet your clientele; they have their errand boys deal with you. In fact, you very rarely know exactly who is hiring you. Not like you ask, either. Asking too many questions usually leads to having a meeting with one of your colleagues. And not the workplace lunch kind. But you aren’t dumb—otherwise, you wouldn’t be alive to tell the tale—you can usually guess who needed your disposal services. But a paycheck’s a paycheck, and you take half up front. That half sometimes exceeds what some people see in their lifetime.
With this job, you can also make a reasonable guess as to who your client is. Your target: the elusive owner of a major hotel chain—which will remain unnamed due to the writer’s lack of creativity—who goes only by the name Nulla. To hold such a successful business, it’s only inevitable that you will cross the wrong person, or piss someone off in one way or another. And especially considering how ‘beloved’, or ‘beloathed’—however you want to put it—Mr.Nulla is in high class circles, his name, you figure, would’ve inevitably ended up on your list. It still shocks you that it didn’t happen sooner, all things considered. And as of late, Nulla has been a major thorn in Mayor Septem’s side. Of course, to the general public, they’re amicable, and friendly. The mayor is always seen hanging around the hotel, be it for conferences, or for another high profile party. Word is: the mayor has a taste for vintage Brunello di Montalcino. If anyone dares to put a hit out on him, you can always go for cyanide, considering the low sugar content… But that is irrelevant. The point is that the public believes Nulla and Septem to be on good terms; yet, most everyone whose worth is not truly reflected within their tax return can tell you that the two of them do not stand each other. The only reason why they’re seen next to one another is just to watch the other’s every move. And well, considering that your contract currently has Mr.Nulla’s name on it, the mayor grows sick of this little cat-and-mouse game they seem to be playing. But if anyone asks, you are none the wiser.
Or you would be, if you weren’t tied to a chair with your head covered with some old sack. That is where you find yourself after being knocked out for who-knows-how-long, following you attempting to enter an employee-only area. You pride yourself on your skill, but even you sometimes make mistakes. It’s just that, in your field of work, mistakes can cost a tad more than a simple reprimand. In this case, you failed to notice someone’s pair of eyes on you whilst sneaking around the hotel. Alas, dwelling on your mistake is pretty useless when you ought to be focused on figuring out how to get out of your rather worrisome position. It isn’t like it’s the first time you were caught, but most of them were quickly mitigated by your irresistible charm. You figure that this time isn’t going to be any different. Once you raise your head, indicating that you are awake, you will instantly begin to beg and cry. Putting up a front of an innocent little lamb who accidentally stumbled upon the room they were never meant to enter. These people love to see others groveling, that one was sure. And with enough conviction in your puppydog eyes, they’ll surely have a hard time believing you to be one of the best assassins around. Who could ever imagine such a cute face to be this deadly.
Alright, you can’t take too long gathering your thoughts. Time is money, after all. And being dead would lose you both.
You sharply inhale, frantically moving your head around, trying to get yourself out of the tight ropes. The harsh threads rub painfully against your skin. You want to instinctively hiss, but you suppress it in favor of a more pathetic cry. You have to play the part of a hurt doe. You flail for a little longer. Not hearing a response, you stop, as if tired out, and let out a weak ‘Hello?’. Play the part. Pretend. Even if there’s no one here, you need to keep it up for when someone will inevitably come to check on you. Or well, if more than about four hours pass according to your internal clock, you’ll figure out how to get yourself out of these ropes. They didn’t seem that hard to get out of, especially with the knife in your… Shoes… You realize that they feel a lot lighter than they should be. Okay… No need to panic just yet, you always have multiple weapons on your person. Perhaps you were careless enough to forget them. You are never careless. But maybe this time you acted uncharacteristically rash. You thrash some more, trying to feel if you have any other weapons you are supposed to hide on your person. Nothing behind your belt, neither on your garters. Oh, this is definitely not your mistake. They know who you are. You clench your jaw, preparing for the worst. If there was anyone with you in the room, they haven’t shown themselves yet. Not like you can check with this beg over your head. No matter. You can finesse your way out of any situation, even if it involves tearing the rope through only teeth and friction. You seize the aimless thrashing, and begin to move with a purpose. The chair is rough, and even if the rope and wood will rip your skin, you will be free to go and finish your mission. The contract is still on, after all. If you are alive to collect it, you will have to finish it. Otherwise, you’ll land yourself as another target. So, you either die from the hands of your target, or your employer will make you the target if you dare skip town upon incomplete assignment. You are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Or between a rope and a wooden chair, in your case. When you just begin to believe that you’re making some progress, feeling the heat beyond your torn skin.
But having an infinite amount of time to work yourself out of your binds is too good to be true. You hear the sound of a metal door opening, and you confirm your suspicions that you must be in some sort of a warehouse. Metallic echo from the walls work to confirm it. You stop thrashing, raising your head up at the source of the noise. You might not be able to see, but you are smart enough to acknowledge the presence. The person doesn’t speak. They simply slowly walk towards you. The steps sound like they are wearing shoes with a small heel—probably men dress shoes, and probably expensive, considering the poise and confidence within each step. You don’t make a sound as the person walks around you and stops right behind. They rip the bag off your skin, allowing air’s arid chill to reach your face. You inhale deeply, finally able to breathe freely. With that breath, you attempt to turn your head around to look at your captor, but a loud cocking of a gun right by the crown of your head makes you immediately stop. You chuckle nervously, letting out a soft ‘Let’s not be rash now…’ through another torn sigh. You swallow, mentally preparing to meet your maker with any wrong move. Heavy silence follows. You don’t dare break it, your entire body tense. Perhaps if your captor is the one to break the ice, your chance of survival will go up just enough for you to seize it.
A low, mellifluous laugh resonates throughout your body, making you shiver. Whether in fear, or in a perverse excitement behind the danger, you aren’t sure. Perhaps your blasé attitude towards life and death made you rather excitable towards the prospect of being on the receiving end of your professional scope. You choose to believe that it is the fear, and the realization of just whose laugh you just heard. Nulla himself decided to pay his prospective killer a visit. And alone, at that. He is either really confident that you are incapable of doing anything to him in this state, he has a death wish, or he is just plain stupid. Well, you suppose, it is reasonable to be confident that you aren’t much of a danger disarmed, with a gun to your head. Even if you were able to tear the rope within such a short amount of time since you woke up, you wouldn’t try to pull any risky maneuver to disarm Mr.Nulla. Not only does he, most definitely, have a finger on the trigger, you’ve also done your homework. Trying to research anything on the hotel owner’s life before his business grew disproportionately, yields you nothing. No past relationships, no business partners, no education information. Nothing at all. It’s odd. When it’s this odd, you have to assume the worst. And asking too many questions in this business is bad for your health.
“It is a pleasant surprise that, out of all people who could’ve been sent here, it is you,” you can hear a smile within Nulla’s words. Not only that, he sounds just like he’s chatting up one of his high-class clientele. You are confused by the words. A ‘pleasant surprise’? That you came here to kill him? Maybe your guess that he is a loon isn’t too far-fetched. But you’ll have to play along if that means he doesn’t pull the trigger.
He slowly steps around you, keeping about a meter distance between the two of you. Clever. It is close enough to be considered ‘intimate’ in a situation like this one, but is also far enough that you can’t lunge at him with your limbs tied to the chair. Infuriating, but clever. You hate to see this shrewdness, but you have to commend him for it, as well. Unfortunately, it does solidify your suspicions of his shady origins. But it’s better that he keeps talking. The longer he speaks, the longer you get to live.
“I’ve heard really good things about you, you know?” You finally get to look at him from up close. A handsome gentleman, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties. He’s dressed sharply in a perfectly tailored burgundy suit, his raven black hair is slicked back, and his eyes are piercing obsidian shards, shimmering mischievously as he watches your expression shift between exasperation and confusion. You remain silent. You can’t really be the boastful kind with your occupation. You can’t chat about your accomplishments in the same manner as the regular office plankton can. How can you even bring up that last week you killed a man by putting a highly potent poison on the key of his prized grand piano during the cooler talk? Or that you had to drop a crystal chandelier on a business rival of yet another rich prick with more money than humanity within? Not that you can boast about your humanity, either. After all, you did take that job. But it appears that Mr.Nulla in front of you seems to have some sort of professional—or so you think—infatuation. He hasn’t said that, of course, but his eyes have a certain glint of recognition within them that you can’t place. The two of you never met before.
“So many whisper about you like some sort of a boogeyman. Yet, everyone prays you’ll deem their offer good enough,” he lowers the gun, a wide smile still ever prevalent on his face.
“So, imagine how ecstatic I was to learn that you’ve accepted my contract, cariño.”
What.
Huh?
Excusez-moi?
Прошу прощения?
You have a good poker face. You had a good poker face. Right now, you are looking at the man in front of you, mouth agape, blinking slowly. He isn’t just a ‘loon’. He is INSANE. If you are understanding him correctly, Nulla reached out to you through a third-party and paid you a frankly absurd amount of money to contract an assassination on himself? What for? You are frantically looking into his eyes for a hint of… Anything! For what purpose would ANYONE order you to kill THEM? Is he suicidal, and wanted an interesting way to go? Then why would he stop you? Did he want to check how tight his security is? That’s placing entirely too much trust in people who can be easily paid off. Which you, in fact, did. A couple of them, to be more precise. Or did he want the satisfaction of catching you whether to gloat about how he thwarted a professional assassin, or to destroy your reputation, to kill you? You scoff, you cough, and then you shake your head, trying to center yourself. How are you supposed to react to this confession? He still has a gun, so you can’t exactly be too snarky. But you also don’t know the purpose of this, for the lack of a better word, clownery.
“I don’t think I understand…” The only thing you can reasonably muster. You aren’t lying, either. You cannot comprehend what’s going on through that head of his that made him think of this idea. You’ve encountered quite a few peculiar individuals, especially as an assassin for hire. But this is a new one for you. Are you lucky, or unlucky right now? This situation is entirely too unpredictable for you.
“It’s quite alright. I don’t imagine you would remember,” his voice is oddly resigned, yet the smile on his face makes his words sound more playful.
“We’ve met before. I know you frequent my hotels. Of course, you would. After all, you have to study your targets. But while you wait, you blend in so effortlessly… You do love to chat up bartenders, don’t you?” Nulla winks, and you attempt to recall every time you spoke to a bartender before, if any of them looked like the man before you. You can’t parse through your memory as he stares at you with trepidation. You can’t remember any of their faces.
“I do love to sometimes chat with the patrons, and our conversations—even if brief—are always a delight, the highlight of my week.” You remember a bartender with a dashing smile, and a pair of hungry, onyx eyes. Surely, you weren’t unknowingly chatting up the owner of the hotel, then. If that is the case, you’ll have to rethink your entire career because you aren’t supposed to miss these details. It’s impossible for you to miss these details.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, mi vida. I love to play a little dress-up, if you will. No one would blame you for missing it.” You will blame yourself. You should have known. You are better than this. Your eyes reflect confusion once more, finally registering the nickname Nulla gave you. It is way too intimate for just simple chatter than the two of you allegedly shared. Pointedly, you also were not aware of these meetings. You definitely haven’t earned the title of ‘mi vida’. Not yet. Not that you are planning on that, either. But Nulla seems to have his own plans, way beyond what you can ever come up with.
“I’ll ask you to forgive me for such a dramatic meeting, but I grow tired of our rare, brief encounters. But you are rather hard to come in contact with in a more casual setting. I appreciate how guarded you are. Can’t be too careful…”
You interrupt him with indignation, having a hard time taking this seriously. He has to be punking you.
“You paid three hundred thousand for us to have a conversation?”
You make him laugh. Its sound: soothing, velvety. You can see how he can charm his way anywhere.
“Always straight to the point. I like it. But no. I paid to open a conversation about a partnership. Of course, I would love to have you by my side, but that can come later…” He sighs wistfully. “I want you to be on my payroll, and at my professional disposal. Someone of your skill is hard to come by, so I’d like to have you for myself. And you do know that I pay well.”
You close your eyes, processing the information, seriously considering his words. The contract’s terms do offer an absurdly high payout. You might be one of the best, but the total amount, upon completion, stipulated over half a million. And Mr.Nulla paid half of it upfront, no questions asked, check cleared. Having him as a form of constant, ridiculous income doesn’t sound half bad. Too good to be true.
“Forgive my bluntness, but it can’t be all there is to it. You want to pay me exorbitant amounts of money to have me occasionally get rid of people you dislike, and to have a chat with me sometimes? What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” he raises his hands, feigning innocence. “I suppose, the only other stipulation would be that I want you by my side. Physically, during public events, of course. The other can come later.”
“And if I say no?” you speak slowly. He might seem calm, but you can never be too sure with people who would do something like this.
“You are free to go,” he snickers. “Well, I would ask you to still have these passing conversations we have. But you can leave.”
You don’t like the way he says ‘ask’. He isn’t asking. You know definitively that he isn’t just asking. You ponder for a moment. The terms are sweet. And it’s not like you have particular moral aversion to working as an assassin on a payroll, instead of for-hire. An odd equivalent to an office job, but you might like it that way. Not only that, you can definitely tolerate chatting with Nulla. You may not know him, but for an insane person, he is rather agreeable. You can also always terminate the contract. In any way you can read that phrase. You aren’t going to think too long, and wait for him to grow impatient.
“Yes,” you break the brief silence, seeing the man’s face light up. “We can negotiate the terms. I agree with the general description, but I’d like to take the time to review the duties and expectations.”
“I’m so glad to hear it, cariño!” Nulla stretches his arm out for a handshake.
You stare at him blankly.
“The rope…” Nulla averts his gaze, a subtle blush spreading across his face over this brief moment of foolishness. “Forgive me.”