by Jack Porter
If I had been expecting the same sort of empowering reaction this time as had happened before, then I was in for disappointment. There was a brief explosion of power, but nothing like the scale of the first time.
I didn’t need Azrael to tell me the reason. Rachel was already bound to me. She had already helped Azrael level up as much as she could.
Not that it mattered much to me at that moment. There were other reasons for banging a hot Goth chick than to level up the demon living in my mind.
Over the next couple of days, I watched the contract app closely, looking for a suitable job. At the same time, I did my best to give myself any advantage I could if it came to a fight. Rachel and Azrael were both helpful in this, offering regular, useful suggestions.
Azrael pointed me toward different methods of hiding knives at various parts of my body, and I found a cool quick release system that would deliver a weapon to the palm of my hand with a flick of my wrist. I found myself practicing different moves at all hours of the day, and when my throwing knives arrived, things got much more interesting. I learned then that throwing knives was a skill that would take me a fair while to master, but they were so cool I took to carrying them with me wherever I went anyway.
He also suggested a different type of weapon. I didn’t know how to pick up a gun without leaving a paper trail, so instead, I went for something a little more unusual: a garrote. Inexpensive, easy to hide, and simple to use. A good combination of attributes.
Speaking about guns, Rachel suggested wearing a bullet-proof vest. I thought they were cumbersome and bulky pieces of equipment, but Rachel managed to find one that was anything but. In addition, she also sourced clothing made of a fabric that was resistant to cutting.
That was interesting on two fronts. First, I quickly purchased a casual suit made of the stuff and modified my training to take it into account should a target happen to be wearing the same.
In addition, no one had yet come looking for Chad, which was a relief, and I was starting to suspect that his coworkers hadn’t cared for him as much as he’d always let on. Still, with Azrael’s help, I’d double- and triple-checked the apartment for any lingering evidence of his unfortunate but helpful demise. I’d long ago disassembled and destroyed his phone and then thrown it out with the trash, so it was currently useless in a city landfill somewhere. So, feeling in the clear, I put Chad out of my mind.
As well as all that, I hadn’t forgotten Azrael’s needs. Rachel was great, but she was just the first of many, if Azrael was ever to return to his former glory (and, of course, take me along for the ride).
I had leveled up. No longer a single digit loser, I had a status of eighteen and was looking to move even higher. I might have still been pudgy, but I was no longer bald, and my face had stayed free of the problems I had suffered before.
But that didn’t mean I was free to go out and score at will. I wanted to keep a low profile for at least a few days, for fear that my face was about to be spread all over the news. And that meant my options were limited.
Azrael encouraged me to set up an online profile on a dating site or two, but so far, the results had been disappointing.
It wasn’t exactly what you’d call a dry spell, but the women of El Diablo weren’t trying to break down my door.
For a little while at least, it looked like I–we–were going to have to make do with just Rachel by my side.
Five days after my first contract kill, I saw the contract that looked to be a good choice for my second.
Chapter 23
Big Bob Morris was a one-time enforcer for the Syndicate and must have pissed off someone fairly badly. His name appeared in the Vendettas section, which suggested that whatever he had done was of a more personal than professional nature. Like, if it was the Syndicate as a whole he had offended, perhaps by skimming a little too much from the top, he would have been in the other category.
I figured Big Bob would be a good target for me because even though he was listed at six foot four and nearly three hundred and seventy pounds, he was also in his late fifties, and had effectively been retired since his knee blew out a dozen years ago.
His picture suggested that at one time, he had been a big slab of meat. But that meat had long turned to flab, and the only thing that suggested how tough he had been in his prime was his flat, scowl of a face.
So, he was older, immobile, and unfit to boot. Three ticks in the right column as far as I was concerned. In addition, being retired suggested he wouldn’t have any guards looking out for him the way Marionetti had done.
He also lived alone in a bungalow in a poor area of town. Which meant there wasn’t likely to be much security I would need to bypass.
The fee for this job was less than half of what I’d received for offing Marionetti. But, really, while the money was nice, I was doing this for status more than anything else. To give myself a fighting chance with the ladies, to help my demon level up.
So this time, instead of entering my username in the field in a state of panic, I thought about what I was doing for some minutes.
Rachel had already added the time delay to the app, so I wasn’t much worried about Megadeath#4 swooping in and scooping up all the contracts before I could make my decision. I just needed to take a moment to make sure I was happy.
“Short of an octogenarian hooked up to a heart-lung machine, this Bob seems to be almost ideal,” Azrael said in my mind. “Or are you waiting for some sort of status fairy to pop into existence and wave her magic wand?”
After a brief interlude when I had made my first kill and the demon had treated me with a modicum of respect, Azrael had reverted to his usual scorn. Perhaps it was because of my ongoing failure at online dating. But that was hardly my fault. There were too many things that weren’t in my favor. Sure, my overall status had gained a boost, but I was still fairly short, still overweight, and it had taken some creative photography to find an image of my face that looked even half decent.
In a world where there were thousands of taller, slimmer, and better-looking guys, a great many of them still with a higher status than me and all available with the swipe of a finger, it was easy to see why I didn’t have much luck.
The best I could hope for was to improve my status even more, perhaps with this job and another one or two, and then I would be in with a better shot.
Until then, I was still in that place somewhere between here and there. No man’s land.
But it could have been worse. At least, now I had Rachel. And I had Azrael as well. He wasn’t exactly my greatest ever friend, but at least he was always there.
I had thought about it long enough. Big Bob would be victim number two.
“Okay already,” I said, replying to the demon. “You’re right. Big Bob, your number is up. You will be SimonSaysDie’s second kill.”
With that, I entered my username, and with far less anxiety than I had displayed the first time, I hit the enter button.
As the congratulatory note appeared on the screen, I sat back in my chair and played with a bunch of ideas that might help with ending Big Bob’s life.
“Just keep it simple,” Azrael said. “And play to your strengths.”
Even though he didn’t say anything about it, the demon seemed happy again.
Chapter 24
In my ongoing quest not to leave a recognizable trail, I took two different buses and a taxi to Bob Morris’ place. It took nearly two hours to get there, and by the time I reached his suburb, I was grumbling under my breath.
Up until then, I’d never needed a car. I could work in my pajamas from my bedroom, and for all his faults, Chad had at least picked a good location to live. There was everything I needed within spitting distance, and I had rarely needed to wander beyond a five-mile radius of the apartment.
But my life had changed. If I was going to be a hitman for the Syndicate, I would need to be more mobile. Either that, or I would have to pick my victims based on their proximity to where I lived.
I laughed at myself as I thought of that. What a great idea. Create a cluster of murders within walking distance of my apartment. Maybe, in a city like El Diablo, it would take a while before anyone noticed. But why should I make it easy for the authorities should they wish to hunt me down?
So, at some point, I would need a car. But that was a problem for later. Just at the moment, I had more immediate things on my mind.
The taxi came to a stop across the road from Big Bob’s place. I paid the driver, a large, bearded man who’d kept the cab very clean, and stepped out. I was about to close the door when the cabbie called to me.
“Hey, buddy. Don’t forget your bag,” he said, and I had to laugh at myself.
I thanked him again, and grabbed my bag, a small duffle type of thing I’d taken from Chad’s wardrobe. He used it for his gym gear, but for me, it was the perfect size to stash the knives I might need to hack Big Bob into pieces.
Unlike with Marionetti, this contract had made no mention of making a statement. While that wasn’t exactly the same as asking for it to be discreet, I figured there was always less of a chance of being caught if it wasn’t even apparent that a murder had been committed.
So I intended to carry Big Bob, in pieces, to the pet crematorium I had used before. Given my lack of transport, I figured it might be a tad awkward, but I’d find a way. And anyway, it wasn’t like I wouldn’t have time. I could come back more than once, cutting pieces of Big Bob away one at a time.
Assuming, of course, that everything went well with the killing.
As the taxi pulled away, I stared at my target’s home for a moment, taking it all in. The neighborhood as a whole was as it had been described. Rundown, with a plethora of old cars up on blocks out in front, missing roof shingles, fences in need of repair, and a fair amount of grass that could have done with a trim.
It wasn’t the type of place where people would choose to go out for a walk. I was the only person outside that I could see and figured this was a good thing. The people in this area no doubt kept to themselves and likely wouldn’t want to talk to the cops about anything in their neighborhood, let alone a killing.
Big Bob’s place was no different from the rest. A bit tidier, maybe, without a derelict car out in front, but with a tangle of shrubs that looked overgrown and untended. By looks alone, it was hard to tell if anyone lived there. But the number on the corner of the bungalow, visible from the road, matched the one on the contract, and this was the right street.
This was the right place. All going well, my target would be there, awaiting my knife. All I had to do was head over and put my plan into action.
It was a simple enough plan. As far as I knew, Big Bob didn’t know there was a contract out on him. He would have no reason to think anything was wrong, and no reason to worry if a stranger walked up and knocked on his front door.
I even had a cover story set up. In my suit, I figured I could pass for a lawyer. I would tell him my name and say I represented the estate of a dead relative who had left him some money. All he needed to do was sign some paperwork, and in a few weeks, the money would be in his bank.
I figured at the very least, that story would get me invited inside, and then it would be a matter of waiting for my chance. Sooner or later, Big Bob would present his back to me, and I would stick a knife between his ribs and into his heart.
I’d played the scenario through in my mind more than a dozen times, and with Azrael’s suggestions, I had refined everything I needed to do. The knife I would use was a new one I’d bought for just this type of occasion and hooked it into the harness at my forearm.
It took less than a second for that contraption to deliver the knife to my hand. It was silent and smooth, and I had practiced with that until I was entirely comfortable with its operation.
So, I was ready. I drew a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and crossed the road. Then I opened his gate and strolled up to Big Bob’s front doorway as if I had every right in the world to be there.
The entrance area was very much in need of a clean. But there was a welcome mat on the ground outside the door, even if it was a bit frayed around the edges.
Judging from his picture in the file, I would have expected signs indicating the opposite. No trespassers signs. Beware of the dog type of thing, even though the file suggested no pets at all. But to find none of that was a pleasant surprise.
It made the task ahead seem a little easier.
With a smile on my lips and the thought of murder in my mind, I raised my hand and pressed the doorbell.
Nothing.
I waited twenty, maybe thirty seconds, then tried it again.
Still nothing.
“Try knocking,” Azrael said, and I followed the advice. In a neighborhood like this, what were the odds of a doorbell that just didn’t work?
Still, my knocking also yielded no response.
“He’s not in,” I muttered.
“So?” Azrael responded. “This doesn’t change anything. In fact, it might even make it easier.”
As usual, he was right. I’d planned for this possibility as well.
I offered one more knock, just to make sure, and when Big Bob still failed to show, I took a casual step back and looked around to make sure I wasn’t being watched.
Then, as casually as I could, I started walking around the bungalow, looking for any signs of life, but also for a way in. A side door didn’t look like it saw much use, but it was locked down tight.
At the back of the house, I found what I wanted. A window that had been left slightly ajar. Moving swiftly, I opened it wider and poked my head in.
Big Bob’s bathroom. Tidy enough but faded, the vanity top cracked with age and the mirror showing evidence of age and despair.
I didn’t hesitate. I dropped my bag inside and heaved myself up and in.
I had never been athletic as a child. Always clumsy as well as a tad overweight, I’d been the last to be picked for everything. As an adult, I made my living as a gamer, which required a certain amount of coordination, timing, and judgment. Even then, I was a long way from the best.
But since Azrael had upped my strength and reflexes, everything that might have once been nearly impossible had come just a little bit easier.
An earlier, less coordinated version of me might have found himself stuck in the window. But I clambered through without too much effort and stood easily inside.
Now it was a matter of finding a good place to hide. Somewhere behind the front door might be a go. Big Bob’s garage was separate from his house, so even if he had taken his car somewhere, he would still need to walk in the front door.
I made my way through his dark, dingy house, and found that the small entranceway was wide enough for me to do exactly as I’d planned. I triggered the device at my arm and wrapped my hand around the hilt of my knife as I settled myself in.
Now, there was just one thing to do, and that was wait for my target to arrive.
And hope I didn’t need to pee at just the wrong time.
Chapter 25
It was curious, I thought. How simple it was to end a life. A quick slash or stab at a vital place, and that would be it. It didn’t even need to be a knife. A pencil would do it. Jam it all the way into someone’s ear and wiggle it about a little.
Sure, guns made things easier but were far from essential. Theoretically, you could knock someone out with a brick, and if that didn’t do the job, you could just hold their nose and cover their mouth until the lack of oxygen to the brain finished them off.
So simple. And yet, so difficult as well.
El Diablo seemed rife with killings, but it was a big city, and the rate of murders was surprisingly low. Most people could go through their entire lives and never be close to one.
The same couldn’t be said about cancer. Everyone had a brother, aunt, or friend who had succumbed to the illness. And yet, it was the murders that filled the news networks.
It wasn’t that hard to
figure out why. Nobody chose to go out and get cancer. Nobody handed it out to strangers. But murders? That was a choice, and it went against everything everyone was taught throughout their whole lives.
Taking a life was the ultimate taboo. Most people would go out of their way to avoid doing it, even accidentally. Which made those who were okay with the idea surprisingly valuable.
As I stood in place behind Big Bob’s door, I wondered about my own lack of guilt or remorse over what I’d already done. Sure, Chad’s death had been a little traumatic. But Marionetti? I’d killed him nearly a week before and still felt echoes of the glory I’d felt in doing so. And as I waited for Big Bob to turn up, I felt a sense of anticipation, of excitement over what would be my next kill.
I mean, who feels that way? What the fuck was wrong with me?
At the thought, I felt Azrael chuckle in the back of my head.
“Well? Out with it!” I demanded to my demonic companion. “Is it you? Have you done something to make me this way?”
“No,” came the demon’s flat reply. “All I’ve done is clarified it a little. I have provided encouragement when you needed to hear it, and scorn when you needed to hear that. But the underlying traits are yours and yours alone.”
I didn’t quite know what to think about that, but the demon had more to say. “It is ironic, but it may be this this blasé response you have to murder that might be the thing you need most. It might be the thing that gets you to where you want to go.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Think about it. You are capable of making decisions to further your own interests regardless of the cost to others. You can be brutal when you need to be. Callous and cool from the perspective of others. It’s what you’ve got, and you don’t seem averse to using it.”
