Wednesday, September 05, 2007
The Thanatos Journals (Part 3)
Honestly, I have been having a lot of trouble trying to figure out how to start this one. I mean, I've introduced myself, I've told you about the first murder I ever committed... what else is there? I mean, there's a litany of death in my past, but which ones are worthy of narratives?
Oh... I know.
I told you before that these hits aren't exactly personal. I mean, logically, every murder is personal in some way. Some chick in some movie once said "'It's not personal'?? What does that mean? It means that it's not personal to you..." That's probably very correct. When I'm pulling the trigger on some mark, or sliding my knife across their carotid artery, I am not thinking of anything beyond a paycheck. When I'm taking their life, I guarantee that they are definitely wondering who I am and, more often than not, what they did to get here. It's definitely personal to them.
Well, one of my contracts was just a little bit personal for me. I mean, I didn't lose sleep thinking about him beforehand, and I sure as shit didn't lose sleep afterwards, but I do remember a split-second of intense pleasure shooting through my veins as I saw his eyes glaze over. Oh yes... I stood there and watched him die.
I don't do that very often, but I wanted to see him realize what was happening. I needed to see that for some reason. However, I'm going off on a tangent, aren't I? You're lost because I didn't use one of those "transitions" that every one of my writing teachers taught me when I was in school.
Okay... this contract came from the normal channel (that is to say, I was buzzed by my cell phone which asked me to download a file) and, truthfully, I didn't rush to check it out. I mean, I was out on a date of sorts, enjoying a fine meal with a fine bottle of wine and a fine woman. All three things led me to be very happy "in the now," so I didn't feel the need to ruin my mood by thinking about work.
Yes, even hired killers get that lovely feeling of ennui when thinking about work. I doubt anyone loves their job 7 days a week.
In any case, a few hours later, after the meal was digesting, the wine was coursing through my bladder, and the woman lay (satisfied) on her her bed, I finally looked at the phone.
If I had known whose picture I'd be seeing, I would have opened the file a lot sooner, asked for a doggie bag, and given the bitch cab-fare.
See, a few years back, I knew someone who spoke excessively about her ex-boyfriend. Apparently the guy was a real douchebag, but, for whatever reason, the link just could not be severed. Well, I severed our link after a month or so, but that was only because I couldn't stand to hear yet another "Tommy" story. What always confused me was that this guy was a horrible boyfriend, a terrible friend, but she still talked to him. No matter... I did what I had to do and left that coupling.
So when I flipped my phone open and saw Tommy's face, I was... well... is "excited" too strong of a word here? I don't think so. I mean, I wasn't coming in my pants or anything, but I was definitely sporting a semi-chub.
I have pushed aside any "angel/devil" scenario in my line of work because people need killing. This time, however, I let myself imagine the whole "good/evil" principle on my shoulders. The bad news? Only one showed up. The good news? It was my friend in the red pajamas.
I figured that I was getting paid $50,000 for this hit, so Tommy must have been a very bad boy. Turns out, I was right. See, he decided to go to some law school, get his degree, hang a defense attorney shingle, and took a case where he managed to browbeat a rookie cop on the stand, ensuring his (very guilty) client's acquittal on a technicality. Normally, I couldn't give two shits about this, but I was curious as to see what he had been up to in the few years since I last looked into him (yes... even hired killers feel a pang of jealousy. As I said before, I haven't loved anyone in a long time, but I'm selfish: When a woman is with me, I want her with me all the way... none of this talking about exes shit).
Turns out that my boy had gotten a rather prolific child-molester out of trouble. This lowlife piece of shit (yes, I despise anyone who preys on children... surprised?) systematically destroyed 10 families by manipulating the pre-teen sons into horrid acts. How did Tommy get the guy off? A clerical error. Well fuck me running... And people say that my line of work is morally objectionable!
So, in any case, these 10 families ponied up $6K apiece and called the right people (who took 10% off the top). Those people called me and I was to take care of both the piece of shit and the pedophile.
The pedophile, unfortunately, met with a horrible accident. See, he was walking through the woods, ostensibly enjoying the fresh spring air, when he miraculously found his penis nailed to a tree. Not only that, but a baseball bat fell out of said tree onto his head... 23 times. I wish I could have seen it because I would have so submitted that shit to Bob Saget and America's Funniest Home Videos.
Since that freak act of nature was already in the past, I decided to set my sights on our friend Tommy. He wasn't too hard to find as he was too busy living the high-profile life. Cars, hookers, drugs... the little fucker was living the shit out of his soon-to-be-ending life. Good for him. Life is transitory after all: have fun while you can!
Anyway, I watched him for a few days (a lot shorter recon than I am used to, but I started to get antsy), and saw his general biking route through the valley near his home. On the 4th day, I sat on a rock by the side of the road. Originally I thought maybe, if I pretended to be stranded or have a busted part on my bike, that he would stop. Of course, then I realized that he would have to be a semi-decent human being for the "good Samaritan" lure to work.
Silly me.
In any case, I was only on the rock for about 10 minutes before I heard his now-familiar puffing and rattling coming down the trail. As he got closer, I smiled, steeled myself, and yanked the steel-cable tight.
Perfect placement.
His body stopped in midair as his bike kept going along the path. I dropped the cable, which had caught him around the chest, and he collapsed to the dirt... with a satisfying crash. I got up, walked over, and placed my knee down on his chest.
"Hey buddy," I said, "quite a tumble. You okay?"
Gasping for air, he looked up at me with a gaze of pure arrogance. I would have bet $100 that his next words would be "Do you know who I am?"
"Do you know who I am, asshole?"
Shit... almost exactly right.
"As a matter of fact, I do. Why do you think I rigged the cable? Shit, boy... for a high-class defense attorney, you really are a dumb fucker."
His dirty-blonde hair was matted with sweat and hung heavy with the now-settling cloud of dust. He struggled against my knee, but I pushed it in harder and even heard the excruciating sound of a rib snapping. As he started to scream, I pulled out my knife and told him that I'd make it really hurt if he started that shit.
Good boy that he was, he stifled the scream. Too bad... I was gonna make it painful no matter what.
I dragged him over to the tree where I had secured the cable, and pulled out the shackles that I had driven into the ancient wood. Securing him tightly, I wrapped some duct tape around his mouth to shut him up.
"I'd love to apologize for how that's gonna feel when it comes off, but face facts Tommy-boy... you won't ever feel it coming off."
Perversely, that calmed him down. I think he figured I meant to talk to him, and let him go. Oops. Faulty logic, counselor!
He almost bit through the duct-tape gag as I put a bullet into his right-knee, but that lovely piece of tape held even when I snapped his other leg for fun. The worst part? He cried. I really, really hate criers. As his head rocked back from the punch, I shook my hand telling him that I really would appreciate him dying like a man.
This, of course, did nothing to stem the tide of those sweet, salty drops of fear. Honestly, at this point I was already tired of it and cut short my entire idea of how to make him suffer. It was good too, because I had another hour or two all stored up. Instead, I walked 4 paces, turned and put a bullet directly through his throat. I squatted in front of him and watched him gasp for air, all the while paying attention to the dawning realization of death reflected in his eyes. I can't really remember just how long it took for him to actually die, but I sat in rapt attention until the eyes just glossed over in that gaze of nothingness.
I think I sat there for another 5 minutes before I collected the pieces of my death kit and headed back to my rental car. Since I rented under Tommy's name and with his credit-card information, I didn't feel bad in the least when I torched it with my kit inside. I mean, really... he had enough money to cover an Audi rental, right?
Oh... there's one, last piece to this story. One last thing that made it memorable to me was that it was the first and last time I ever gave back the money I got for doing the job. I made 10 stops on the way to the airport and deposited 10 envelopes into 10 mailboxes. Each envelope contained $5,000 and a note:
In innocence, there is no strength against evil.
-- Ursula K. Le Guin
In evil, there is no protection from what is right.
--Me
Oh... I know.
I told you before that these hits aren't exactly personal. I mean, logically, every murder is personal in some way. Some chick in some movie once said "'It's not personal'?? What does that mean? It means that it's not personal to you..." That's probably very correct. When I'm pulling the trigger on some mark, or sliding my knife across their carotid artery, I am not thinking of anything beyond a paycheck. When I'm taking their life, I guarantee that they are definitely wondering who I am and, more often than not, what they did to get here. It's definitely personal to them.
Well, one of my contracts was just a little bit personal for me. I mean, I didn't lose sleep thinking about him beforehand, and I sure as shit didn't lose sleep afterwards, but I do remember a split-second of intense pleasure shooting through my veins as I saw his eyes glaze over. Oh yes... I stood there and watched him die.
I don't do that very often, but I wanted to see him realize what was happening. I needed to see that for some reason. However, I'm going off on a tangent, aren't I? You're lost because I didn't use one of those "transitions" that every one of my writing teachers taught me when I was in school.
Okay... this contract came from the normal channel (that is to say, I was buzzed by my cell phone which asked me to download a file) and, truthfully, I didn't rush to check it out. I mean, I was out on a date of sorts, enjoying a fine meal with a fine bottle of wine and a fine woman. All three things led me to be very happy "in the now," so I didn't feel the need to ruin my mood by thinking about work.
Yes, even hired killers get that lovely feeling of ennui when thinking about work. I doubt anyone loves their job 7 days a week.
In any case, a few hours later, after the meal was digesting, the wine was coursing through my bladder, and the woman lay (satisfied) on her her bed, I finally looked at the phone.
If I had known whose picture I'd be seeing, I would have opened the file a lot sooner, asked for a doggie bag, and given the bitch cab-fare.
See, a few years back, I knew someone who spoke excessively about her ex-boyfriend. Apparently the guy was a real douchebag, but, for whatever reason, the link just could not be severed. Well, I severed our link after a month or so, but that was only because I couldn't stand to hear yet another "Tommy" story. What always confused me was that this guy was a horrible boyfriend, a terrible friend, but she still talked to him. No matter... I did what I had to do and left that coupling.
So when I flipped my phone open and saw Tommy's face, I was... well... is "excited" too strong of a word here? I don't think so. I mean, I wasn't coming in my pants or anything, but I was definitely sporting a semi-chub.
I have pushed aside any "angel/devil" scenario in my line of work because people need killing. This time, however, I let myself imagine the whole "good/evil" principle on my shoulders. The bad news? Only one showed up. The good news? It was my friend in the red pajamas.
I figured that I was getting paid $50,000 for this hit, so Tommy must have been a very bad boy. Turns out, I was right. See, he decided to go to some law school, get his degree, hang a defense attorney shingle, and took a case where he managed to browbeat a rookie cop on the stand, ensuring his (very guilty) client's acquittal on a technicality. Normally, I couldn't give two shits about this, but I was curious as to see what he had been up to in the few years since I last looked into him (yes... even hired killers feel a pang of jealousy. As I said before, I haven't loved anyone in a long time, but I'm selfish: When a woman is with me, I want her with me all the way... none of this talking about exes shit).
Turns out that my boy had gotten a rather prolific child-molester out of trouble. This lowlife piece of shit (yes, I despise anyone who preys on children... surprised?) systematically destroyed 10 families by manipulating the pre-teen sons into horrid acts. How did Tommy get the guy off? A clerical error. Well fuck me running... And people say that my line of work is morally objectionable!
So, in any case, these 10 families ponied up $6K apiece and called the right people (who took 10% off the top). Those people called me and I was to take care of both the piece of shit and the pedophile.
The pedophile, unfortunately, met with a horrible accident. See, he was walking through the woods, ostensibly enjoying the fresh spring air, when he miraculously found his penis nailed to a tree. Not only that, but a baseball bat fell out of said tree onto his head... 23 times. I wish I could have seen it because I would have so submitted that shit to Bob Saget and America's Funniest Home Videos.
Since that freak act of nature was already in the past, I decided to set my sights on our friend Tommy. He wasn't too hard to find as he was too busy living the high-profile life. Cars, hookers, drugs... the little fucker was living the shit out of his soon-to-be-ending life. Good for him. Life is transitory after all: have fun while you can!
Anyway, I watched him for a few days (a lot shorter recon than I am used to, but I started to get antsy), and saw his general biking route through the valley near his home. On the 4th day, I sat on a rock by the side of the road. Originally I thought maybe, if I pretended to be stranded or have a busted part on my bike, that he would stop. Of course, then I realized that he would have to be a semi-decent human being for the "good Samaritan" lure to work.
Silly me.
In any case, I was only on the rock for about 10 minutes before I heard his now-familiar puffing and rattling coming down the trail. As he got closer, I smiled, steeled myself, and yanked the steel-cable tight.
Perfect placement.
His body stopped in midair as his bike kept going along the path. I dropped the cable, which had caught him around the chest, and he collapsed to the dirt... with a satisfying crash. I got up, walked over, and placed my knee down on his chest.
"Hey buddy," I said, "quite a tumble. You okay?"
Gasping for air, he looked up at me with a gaze of pure arrogance. I would have bet $100 that his next words would be "Do you know who I am?"
"Do you know who I am, asshole?"
Shit... almost exactly right.
"As a matter of fact, I do. Why do you think I rigged the cable? Shit, boy... for a high-class defense attorney, you really are a dumb fucker."
His dirty-blonde hair was matted with sweat and hung heavy with the now-settling cloud of dust. He struggled against my knee, but I pushed it in harder and even heard the excruciating sound of a rib snapping. As he started to scream, I pulled out my knife and told him that I'd make it really hurt if he started that shit.
Good boy that he was, he stifled the scream. Too bad... I was gonna make it painful no matter what.
I dragged him over to the tree where I had secured the cable, and pulled out the shackles that I had driven into the ancient wood. Securing him tightly, I wrapped some duct tape around his mouth to shut him up.
"I'd love to apologize for how that's gonna feel when it comes off, but face facts Tommy-boy... you won't ever feel it coming off."
Perversely, that calmed him down. I think he figured I meant to talk to him, and let him go. Oops. Faulty logic, counselor!
He almost bit through the duct-tape gag as I put a bullet into his right-knee, but that lovely piece of tape held even when I snapped his other leg for fun. The worst part? He cried. I really, really hate criers. As his head rocked back from the punch, I shook my hand telling him that I really would appreciate him dying like a man.
This, of course, did nothing to stem the tide of those sweet, salty drops of fear. Honestly, at this point I was already tired of it and cut short my entire idea of how to make him suffer. It was good too, because I had another hour or two all stored up. Instead, I walked 4 paces, turned and put a bullet directly through his throat. I squatted in front of him and watched him gasp for air, all the while paying attention to the dawning realization of death reflected in his eyes. I can't really remember just how long it took for him to actually die, but I sat in rapt attention until the eyes just glossed over in that gaze of nothingness.
I think I sat there for another 5 minutes before I collected the pieces of my death kit and headed back to my rental car. Since I rented under Tommy's name and with his credit-card information, I didn't feel bad in the least when I torched it with my kit inside. I mean, really... he had enough money to cover an Audi rental, right?
Oh... there's one, last piece to this story. One last thing that made it memorable to me was that it was the first and last time I ever gave back the money I got for doing the job. I made 10 stops on the way to the airport and deposited 10 envelopes into 10 mailboxes. Each envelope contained $5,000 and a note:
In innocence, there is no strength against evil.
-- Ursula K. Le Guin
In evil, there is no protection from what is right.
--Me
