Milc/C.J. Milnes
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Prologue 1 - The particular problem
🕑 Added 2024-12-12 20:50:57 +0000 UTC“Nope. It’s a stupid way to do it,” I said flatly. This lady was an unknown quantity and Jimmy should have known better. The fact her plan was batshit insane and needlessly complicated was just the icing on the cake. “Aside from anything else: it’s unprofessional. You want this guy gone: no problem. Why make it more difficult than it needs to be? Let me do it my way.”
“C’mon Ray, it’s good money. How long have we known each other? You trust my judgment, right?” Jimmy cajoled with a grin. “Carol is a straight shooter!” He had dressed to impress today: a bespoke navy suit with a crisp white shirt that apparently lacked the top three buttons. His mat of chest hair looked like birds could nest in it.
The smug prick wasn’t the one who’d be taking the risks. Jimmy was a short rich guy and he had a short rich guy’s outlook on life. Don’t get me wrong; he was good for pushing work my way and we were friends, kind of, but he never had to do the cleanup. It was always me digging six foot deep holes in the middle of nowhere while he sat by his pool wearing budgie smugglers and bitched at me over the phone about wanting a larger cut.
I reached out for my drink and took a long slug of the whisky. It burned pleasantly as it slipped into my stomach and a faint warmth began to spread through me. We were in the backroom of one of Jimmy’s bars, a bar he had optimistically christened “A Good Time”.
This was the private room where he conducted his shadier business like talking to me or even more criminally: his accountant. Putting people like me in touch with people like this Carol woman sitting across the low table was one of the reasons he kept this place going. It sure as hell wasn’t profitable as a bar.
Carol was shapely. Preternaturally so. Her curves had perfect curves on them in defiance of all logic and her hair fell in waves like an incoming tide. The green highlights in her flowing hair made me think of the sea so my similes and metaphors had probably been hijacked by my libido. She leaned back and smiled at me as she put a cigarette to her bright red lips and took a long drag. Jimmy seemed to be panting like a dog.
“What is the particular problem?” she asked me in a voice like silk as she blew a cloud of smoke in my direction. I couldn’t place her accent. She was clearly a native English speaker but whether she was an Aussie, a Brit or a Yank was impossible to determine. She leaned back and her pale green dress revealed it was slit up to her thigh as she crossed her legs.
“Aside from all the potential fucking witnesses? There are the ridiculous rules that only make the job even harder. The particular problem though, if I had to narrow it down to one thing, is that he isn’t a crim,” I replied, taking another sip. I had my code and pretty legs and sea-green eyes weren’t going to change that.
It was only half three in the afternoon but at this point I wasn’t too worried about my blood alcohol levels. I was, however, planning on ripping Jimmy a new one when this bloody meeting was done. Professionalism prevented me from correcting my errant fixer in front of a prospective client but his time was coming. From the corner of my eye I saw him wince at my tone. Good. ”I don’t know if Jimmy made you aware of my rules but there’s a pretty important one: I don’t knock civvies.”
“Mr. Mortimer is not an innocent man. He’s responsible for hundreds of deaths. Robert Mortimer Properties, his parent company, runs complexes that are riddled with black mould, asbestos etcetera etcetera.” She waved a hand airily as though she was describing a bad hotel she once had the misfortune to stay at. “Over the decades those ‘natural causes’ add up… Look, I can send you the files. I assure you he’s the vilest of slumlords, hence my interest in retaining your- ah- services.” Her expression was intense as she met my eyes. Her eyes were green but there were flecks of purple floating in her iris’. It gave her a hypnotic gaze that was testing my ability to maintain my detachment..
“Only thing I ever take off a client is the money,” I replied with a shrug.
“I’ll pull it together for you, Ray. Seriously, the guy’s a prick,” Jimmy enthused. Yeah and you get ten percent, you greedy shit.
“The witnesses shouldn't be an issue. Should you accept the job you’ll be infiltrated into the serving staff. How you do it is up to you but there are plenty of options for an inventive man like yourself,” the witch replied seductively. I fought down my hindbrain, an effort that was hampered by her continuing to stare into my eyes, and I tried to focus on the problems with her plan.
“There's always bloody witnesses. I’d prefer to catch him out and about. Wait for him outside, pop, run to a car and I’m away. That’s assuming you don't want the body to disappear afterwards. Doing it in his home with a bunch of guests, who I assume aren’t inconsequential people, and all his normal security is retarded. Why this particular night?”
“Well, Mr. Potts, it has a certain significance for myself as well as Mr. Mortimer. It seems fitting and I’m willing to pay a premium for the inconvenience.” Jimmy almost squirmed in pleasure at the prospect of a larger cut. Fucking mercenary.
“I bet none of the guests at this dinner are everyday Joe’s. They’ll all be big swinging cods in their fields right?” I shot back but I could feel the fight leaving me. I could do the job, even with all the stupid restrictions; perhaps I could make it worth my while?
She smiled and tucked a strand of green tinted hair back over her ear. I’m pretty sure Jimmy was now plotting how to divorce his wife but I’m not quite such an easy mark. It was getting hard though. Bad choice of words, Ray. Keep it together bloke!
“They aren’t terribly important or well known. Mid level entities in their fields at best. I came to you because I want the job done right and I’m willing to reward you handsomely for it to be done my way,” she said with a Cheshire-cat grin. “The customer is always right, no?” She let her smile drop and for an instant I saw something, something ancient and cold, looking out at me from her eyes.
Jimmy coughed as his drink went down the wrong way and her face became pure seduction once again. I ignored his spluttering and tried to remember what the hell I’d just seen to send a shiver down my spine.
“So I’ll have to go in virtually unarmed?” I asked sceptically, raising one eyebrow at her.
“Not at all! You just can’t carry any metal weapons. The servers will be passed through a security screening. I’m sure that won’t be an issue for yourself. If it is, perhaps you simply aren’t up to the task…” I wasn’t going to fall for that bullshit. My ego had died in Afghanistan.
“I can work around that. You still haven’t given me a good enough reason to do so though,” I muttered, taking another sip.
“I’ll give you a hundred thousand reasons up front and twice that on completion.” She grinned again. No wonder Jimmy was gung-ho for this job. Damn, my own mercenary streak had perked up at the number as well. I put my glass down and stood up. I needed a moment: I couldn’t wrestle my greed and my libido at the same time.
“I’ve got to take a piss. I’ll be right back,” I said as I moved towards the door.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands!” Carol called. “Now Jimmy, you really should tell me more about yourself! What’s it like being an old soul in the rough and tumble hospitality game?”
“I’m not that old,” he grinned back at her and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, glass held out in front of him. The rest of the conversation became unintelligible murmurs from behind the door that swung shut behind me. I walked down the poorly lit corridor to the gents and went into an unoccupied stall, locking the door behind me. Pulling out my phone I sat on the lid to do some research. I was tempted by the money -who the hell wouldn’t be?- but I had my code to stick to.
Law enforcement didn’t work quite so hard to solve things when the victim was a piece of shit. Human nature, I guessed. It made my line of work far more sustainable if I stuck to killings that wouldn’t be too heavily investigated. It was a rule that had served me well and it made sleeping at night a lot easier too.
This Mortimer guy was a character, and not a jolly, fun one. Just googling his name brought up a slew of news articles about settling out of court with the next of kin, profile of a slumlord… the hits went on and on and they didn’t pull their punches. The first three pages of search results were a litany of plausible deniability and suspected evil.
His company had contracted for the government on more than one high rise housing complex that had either burned down or partially collapsed due to corners being cut during construction. The guy had a lot of bodies against his name from what I could see. With my conscience satisfied I leaned back against the cistern and began working out what I’d be able to sneak past his security. I had a few ideas already and I suddenly found myself itching to get into my workshop and throw a few things together. The stupid rules Carol was imposing made the job more interesting, more of a challenge.
Don’t get me wrong. Strolling up behind someone in the night on a badly lit street, hitting them in the back of the head with a blackjack and bundling the poor bastard into a waiting car before driving them out into the woods to shoot and bury them was about as safe as you could get in my game. It wasn’t very… challenging though. No one had eyes in the back of their head and most people, even very bad people, went about life assuming everything would be fine. I’d built a career on disabusing them of that notion.
My ego might have died in the war but every professional loves to push themselves and prove they’re the best. This job was looking like it would be far more complex than it needed to be but it wouldn’t be impossible.
I came out of the stall, tucked my phone back in my pocket and moved over to the sink. I ran the hot tap and splashed some water across my face. As I worked a lather into my hands I stared at myself in the mirror. The same familiar face stared back at me, the last sight of so many unfortunates.
Dark brown hair, cut short in a side parting. Clean shaven but a hint of stubble showing along my jawline. Blue eyes, probably the most striking element of my appearance, stared back at me coldly. I’ve heard that eyes are the window to the soul but I've never been able to work out what someone would be able to see in my soul. Just some dead thing, masquerading as a regular person, probably.
Whatever blend of genetics and childhood nutrition had come together to create me; I looked bland. Jawline not too sharp or too soft. Cheekbones not too high or too low. I was the anthropomorphisation of forgettable except for my sharp blue eyes.
I dried my hands off on some paper towels and smoothed the lines of my jacket and trousers. Dark grey and non descript, I could pass as a low to mid tier office worker in almost any office. I had elevated being unremarkable to the highest level and considered it a vital part of my profession. The bulge of the muscles across my shoulders and arms would be considered symptomatic of a gym rat rather than a professional hitman if someone noticed. People always came to the simplest assumption and it would take a particularly paranoid person who saw me on the street to figure out the truth based on my appearance.
I went back to the meeting room and swung the door open just as Carol giggled. Weird. You’d think with the whole femme fatale vibe the woman had going on she wouldn’t be physically capable of giggling.
“-he just turned around and walked off. Left the bastard curled up around his own private universe of pain. I followed after him and as soon as we were round the corner he bought an ice cream then tried to wander away like nothing had happened,” said Jimmy.
“Next thing you know this asshole has dragged me back to one of his bars. He got me shitfaced in gratitude and the rest, as they say is history,” I finished for him. Jimmy was sharing the story of how we met, something I was going to raise very forcefully with him after this conversation was done. He was a smart guy in a lot of ways but the brain he kept in his trousers had clearly taken over. Christ Jimmy, this lass is out of your league. Stick to hookers and wannabe dancers mate, Jane already knows you fuck around with them.
I picked up my tumbler and moved over to the bottles arrayed along one wall, adding ice and another dash of amber liquid to my glass. I took a sip then turned and walked back to the table.
“Hundred up front. Two fifty upon completion because you’re making it harder than it needs to be,” I offered. I saw Jimmy suppress a smirk but was focused on Carol’s response. She smiled languidly, like a snake looking at a mouse that had just dropped into its vivarium, and rose to her feet. She extended a hand which I shook.
“I knew you’d be interested. I’m sure you’re the best man for this job, Ray. I’m fascinated to learn how you plan to go about it but I won’t press. Perhaps afterwards we could have a drink sometime? Jimmy, the money is in your account, the one the government doesn’t know about.” Jimmy blinked owlishly. No one should know about that account other than his accountant. His wife didn’t know about that account. This was usually a cash business. “I trust you will pass it to Raymond however you would usually do so.”
We made agreeable noises as she strode out of the room on four inch heels, swaying sensually as she left. As the door shut behind her I glared at Jimmy who raised his hands defensively.
“What?” he demanded, reaching down for his glass and blowing out a long breath.
“Telling her how we met? Fawning like a fucking schoolboy? Bloke, what the hell got into you?” I snapped.
“I was just being polite,” Jimmy replied defensively. I fought down the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what Jane would have thought if she’d been here,” I muttered instead.
“What the eyes don’t see, the heart won’t feel,” he replied with a cheeky smile. The irrepressible, borderline criminal club owner had no code at all when it came to women. It was the worst thing about him in my view. He was my biggest customer, I’d killed dozens of people for him, but that was kind of a positive for me so being a lech had made it to the top of the list instead.
“Her eyes went weird. Didn’t you notice?” I asked distractedly as I struggled to bring the memory of what had been strange about them into focus. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“I noticed I’d like to see them up close with a pillow as the background,” he said. “What’s the problem? The job’s good right?” I sighed and finished my drink.
“Yeah, the job’s fine. Needlessly risky but I can cope. I want the ninety K in my account by the end of the day. I’ve got some shopping to do,” I said.
“No worries brother. How about another drink to celebrate?”
“No Jimmy. I’ve got work to do. I’ll see you when it’s done, ok? And don’t try to find Carol on social media or whatever so you can stalk her.”
I left to the sound of Jimmy’s protestations of innocence. I knew him well enough to be sure he’d be doing everything he could to establish a professional, and private, relationship with my latest patron in the near future.
I stepped out of the bar, leaving behind the low light and stench of spilt beer, and lit a cigarette. Checking my environment was an automatic reflex at this point, I noted the parked cars and passers-by. With a shrug I settled my coat across my shoulders and set off. I’d left my car around the corner. I never pulled up outside a place I intended to enter if work was involved. Not even Jimmy’s place.
I got in and started her up, the reassuring hum of the engine washing away some of my worries. I had a few stops to make on the way home. The first was a sporting goods store. I needed some fishing line. Extremely strong fishing line. Then I needed something to eat tonight. I wasn’t the kind of person to keep a full fridge. I never entertained guests so I didn’t maintain food and drink beyond my immediate needs and my fridge was sadly empty.
As I pulled up outside my modest three bed house I let the car idle for a minute and rested my hands on the wheel. The blue garage door stared back at me accusingly. Something wasn’t right but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She was too pretty. I’m not suggesting beautiful people didn’t sometimes reach out to retain my services but they usually had obvious motives. A rival to be removed, whether it was a business or romantic opponent. It usually boiled down to money, just like everything else, and I couldn’t see how Carol would benefit from our arrangement.
She had known I’d not go for a civilian and Mortimer was undoubtedly a shady motherfucker but I couldn’t see what her angle was. Someone she loved got asbestos poisoning? Maybe they burned to death in one of his apartment fires? God only knows. I doubted anyone she cared about had to live in the prick's shitty slum housing based on what she was paying me.
I sighed and got out of the car. As I opened the door I flicked the lights on and carried in my shopping. The food went in the fridge. I opened a beer while I was there and flicked the TV on for some background noise while I cooked. I hated TV. Whatever bloody channel I changed to it was always either shitty shows or even shittier news. It was like the device was a funnel for all the shit in the world, dumping it straight into my brain.
I stood up and left the thing on. I navigated through to my bedroom and opened the wardrobe. After inputting the code to my safe I pulled out my pistol, unloading it and stored the gun and magazine back in the safe. Grabbing a set of overalls, I ditched the camouflage, my nondescript suit, in a pile on the floor as I changed and headed over to the door to the garage at the back of the kitchen.
As the door swung open the pleasant smells of grease and wood and metal filled my nostrils. This was my safe space, where I didn’t need to maintain any illusions and I could just play around. No masks needed in here and I felt a faint sense of peace as all the charades I maintained while dealing with people vanished. I settled down at my workstation and began to outline some patterns. Shivs or knives?
Shivs would be easier to conceal but realistically having a cutting edge would give me a lot more options. I sketched out some basic knife patterns with full tangs and settled on something short and fairly slender; easy to conceal in the ankle of the boots I’d be wearing on the big night. I had a few sheets of polycarbonate in my materials pile. It was a bitch to sharpen but the incredibly tough plastic would make a passably effective blade that no metal detector could ever catch.
I moved over to the table saw and removed the blade, switching it for a tougher one. I glanced at the belt sander off to my left and sighed. I was going to need some new belts for the bloody thing.
