Incubus Hitman

by Jack Porter

  I thought about what the demon had said, but he still wasn’t finished. “You are selfish. Without that, even my presence would likely be insufficient to allow you to achieve your goals. Especially given your lack of other useful qualities. But with it? It may just be enough.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked the demon’s assessment of my character. I stood there and growled, only to hear him chuckle away in the back of my mind. I wanted to bring him to task, to order him to show some respect, but before I did, he changed the subject.

  “What was that?” he asked. “Did you hear something?”

  I immediately brought my mind back to the task at hand. Was Big Bob walking up the path to the door? Was that what Azrael heard?

  I regretted not looking through the garage window to check if there was a car there, or if he had taken it. I didn’t know how Big Bob might arrive.

  Then I realized the sound wasn’t coming from outside at all, but from inside Big Bob’s house.

  For a moment, I froze. Was he still inside? Had I somehow missed seeing him?

  This time, I was sure. I heard movement coming from the living room, where there hadn’t been any movement before.

  Azrael figured it out before I did. “He’s got a basement!” he said. Then, “Quickly, or you’ll lose the element of surprise!”

  I was way ahead of him. The excitement of being on the hunt had turned into a surge of anxiety. Adrenaline spiked, and I moved as quickly and quietly as I could toward the sounds only to stop four feet into the dark, dingy living room.

  Big Bob wasn’t just big. He was enormous. His photo in the file had done him no justice at all. Three hundred and seventy pounds was a gross underestimate. This man was big enough that he would have struggled to get through his own doorways.

  How he’d made it up from his basement, I’ll never know. But he was panting and blowing as he lowered the trapdoor to the floor.

  If he hadn’t been so impossibly huge, I would have charged in and enacted my plan exactly as described, stabbing him through the heart from the back.

  But as it was, I couldn’t figure out if my blade would be enough to reach anything vital. I could hack and slash for hours and carve away nothing but flab.

  Because of this, I took a moment to reassess. Or at least, that’s the optimistic way of looking at it. In reality, I simply hesitated, overawed by the man’s bulk, with nothing going through my head at all.

  Unfortunately, I kept not thinking anything for long enough that Big Bob turned his massive bulk my way and stared at me in shock.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he yelled at me. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

  His voice was a rumble of thunder, and it was packed with justifiable rage. At the same time, he obviously hadn’t picked me for a killer, there to collect on a contract, even though I still held my knife in my hand. If he had, maybe he would have thought twice, but again, I didn’t look like a hitman. So he did what any large, angry man might do upon finding a stranger in his house.

  He let out a roar and charged toward me with his hands out front like he was a character out of a comic book.

  The house shook with each stride he took, and the sight of his blubber jiggling about on his massive frame kept me paralyzed for almost too long.

  “Move!” bellowed a voice in my head, and for the life of me, I didn’t know if it was Azrael’s or my own.

  Either way, it jolted me into action. Still doing my best to come to grips with the man’s unexpected size, I ducked and lashed out with my knife at the same time as I moved out of his reach.

  My blade caught him. He was wearing a stained and dirty vest over a huge pair of track pants that should have been baggy, but which fit him more like yoga pants instead. Not a memory to treasure, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that my blade made a hole in his vest just above the waistband of his track pants. It took half a moment for Big Bob to register what I’d done, and then he let out a bellow of pain.

  “You little prick!” he bellowed, at the same time as he pressed a hand to his wound. He brought it away and stared incredulously at the blood on his palm. “Did you fucking stab me?” he asked, but he didn’t give me the chance to respond. Instead, his face grew dark and murderous. “You shit-sucking little cunt! I’ll fucking kill you! How fucking dare you come into my home? I’ll smash you into a paste!”

  As he bellowed, I tried to put some distance between us. I knew without any doubt that he could do just what he said. My knife had seemed a good option for my burgeoning career as a killer, but not anymore.

  Once again, I was out of my depth. The blood on Big Bob’s vest was spreading even as he heaved his bulk toward me, but I couldn’t see any evidence of it slowing him down. Built as he was, it was like he had a natural defense against my weapon of choice. I could puncture him a hundred times and still not hit anything vital.

  So, for precious seconds, I just backed away until I was in the dining area, getting his old Formica table between him and myself.

  He was like an earthquake coming toward me. With an inarticulate bellow of rage, he swept the table and chairs to one side.

  I felt real panic and wondered if my short career as a hitman was already over, wondering also if there was anything like an easy kill.

  It was then that Azrael spoke again. “Go for the jugular!” he said. “Sure, his neck is protected by a layer of fat as well, but it’s nowhere near as thick. Use your speed to your advantage!”

  I wasn’t sure when Azrael had decided to play an active part in my efforts, but at that time, I was very grateful he had.

  I followed his advice, lunging at the huge man’s throat with my knife.

  He batted me aside with contemptuous ease. My knife went flying and I landed in a heap on the floor. Now Big Bob stopped bellowing in rage, and instead barked a laugh.

  “I am going to fucking kill you!” he said, and it was all I could do to scamper away on my ass.

  As quickly as I could, I got back to my feet and drew another of my knives. Big Bob’s expression returned to one of rage, but there was a sneer of condescension in with it.

  “You think your little knives are any match for me?” he bellowed. At the same time, he picked up one of the dining chairs and flung it at me with unexpected ferocity. I uttered a yelp and ducked away, but still caught a glancing blow on my shoulder. My second knife went clattering to the floor, and but before I could pick it up, Big Bob reached for another chair.

  I had to dive out of the way. Bob’s strength was prodigious. It had weight behind it, the force of years of excess. Even with Azrael’s enhancements, I would have struggled to hurl the dining room chair with that much force, but he did it with little more than a flick of his wrist.

  I knew then how much trouble I was in. So much for an easy mark. Big Bob was already causing me more trouble than Marionetti had managed. And he was all by himself!

  “Move!” Azrael bellowed in my mind, and I didn’t stop to think. I just charged into the living room as another dining room chair bounced off just where my head had been.

  For a moment I stood in front of his TV, thinking that he would be less likely to hurl something at me if it might damage what appeared to be his most prized possession, judging by the wear of the large chair sitting in front of it. But that was a foolish hope to rest my survival on, and I knew it.

  Big Bob stepped toward me with a massive grin on his face, and I realized he was enjoying himself. Despite the fact I’d poked a hole in his immense gut, he thought he was in total control. He was going to smash me, as he said, into a wet paste on the floor, and he was going to enjoy the process.

  “Hold still, you little maggot!” he growled. “Hold still, and I’ll make it quick. But if you make me fucking work for at, I’ll keep you alive for a week!”

  I noticed that the more in control of the situation he felt himself to be, the fewer swear words came spewing out of his mouth. Which made perfect sense to me, as I was much the same. Just then, I felt lett
ing out a continuous stream of swear words with no end.

  Except for one thing.

  I didn’t much like the way he was looking at me as if I was nothing.

  I’d seen that look every day of my life, from almost everyone I had ever met. Teachers had looked at me like that when I was in school. Coworkers, assholes who contacted me to help out their kids. Even those silver-spoon shitheads themselves.

  And I was tired of seeing it.

  I had a demon inside me. I would have given a lot to show Big Bob what I could see in the mirror, just to see the look on his face. But all I could do was snarl at him and reach for another of my knives.

  Sure, Big Bob was proving to be more trouble than I had bargained for. He was a monster, a creature of unexpected power and strength. But I had a job to do, and while I still lived, I didn’t see any reason why I should give up.

  “No! Not a knife!” Azrael said.

  I paused with my fingers touching a handle, to ask him what he meant.

  “Use the garrote!” came his reply.

  I found myself looking at Big Bob as if he was the embodiment of every last ounce of disrespect that had come my way. I found myself hating him with every fiber of my being, and all I could think of was the pleasure I would gain from pulling a Princess Leia and throttling his Jabba the Hutt ass in the most personal way.

  I didn’t think about how, or even if it was possible. I just instinctively followed Azrael’s suggestion and pulled my garrote from where I kept it in an inside pocket of my jacket.

  Big Bob had a moment to laugh at me as I pulled the handles of my garrote apart. The thin line of piano wire in between the handles didn’t look like much. But, with everything I had, I darted to the side and around behind Big Bob.

  His bulk made him slow, and I remembered what I’d seen about him having a blown-out knee. He couldn’t turn around fast enough to keep me in front of him.

  This was where I’d planned to be from the start. Behind the monstrous man with a weapon in my hands. But instead of plunging a knife between his ribs, I launched myself at him, looping the piano wire over his head and pulling backward with all my strength.

  Big Bob roared again in anger, but this time there was a tinge of fear in it as well. He took a stumbling step backward, and I feared he might crush me if he was to fall back against the wall or land on the floor. But instead, he righted himself, and I hung on.

  Then I did more than just hang on. I gritted my teeth, cursed his bulk beneath my breath, and pulled on the handles with everything I had. Big Bob roared again and flailed about, but he was too fat to reach behind him with his hands. All he could do was pluck at the cord buried within the layers of flesh around his neck. And, already, his roaring sounded strangled.

  I pulled again, putting everything into it, even jamming one of my knees into his back for leverage.

  Big Bob tried to roar again, but it sounded as if his air was being choked off. He stumbled, fell to his knees, but kept flailing about with his hands.

  With my own arms and shoulders starting to ache, with the grips in my hands becoming slick with my sweat, I growled as I tried to increase the pressure even more.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, Big Bob toppled forward onto the ground and let out a strangled gurgle.

  I kept up the pressure for another minute, perhaps even more, and Big Bob didn’t move.

  Finally, I started to relax. I let go of the garrote.

  Still, the flabby monster didn’t move.

  Just to be sure, I took out another one of my knives, but I didn’t need to use it. I’d intended to cut his throat, but the garrote had already cut him so deeply around the neck that blood was pouring out.

  I had done it. Big Bob was officially Victim Number Two.

  Chapter 26

  Once again, I felt a sense of elation. I had done it! This was my second official kill, and my third overall. Just one could have been an aberration. Two was a start. Three, and it was starting to feel like a habit. Just something I did.

  I knew it would take a while for my status to show it, but I was already beginning to feel like that low status loser I’d been was a long time in the past. I was different now. More capable.

  Dangerous.

  And that thought gave me a sense of pride unmatched by anything else in my life.

  I backed away from Big Bob’s corpulent corpse and sat down on the floor. For long moments, I chuckled quietly to myself, wondering again what my friends on the Ascender forums might say if they knew what I had become. They would no doubt be jealous of my successes and my quick jump in status, as well as my potential for more. But if they knew of my methods!

  At the same time, this kill was very different from my last. It had taken much more physical effort. My shoulders and arms were already beginning to ache, both from the effort of killing Big Bob, and the impact from the chair he had thrown at me.

  And I wasn’t yet done. I knew my original plan of chopping him into bits and incinerating him as I’d done with Chad wasn’t a valid option. Not with a man that big. I would need a chainsaw to cut him into small enough chunks to dispose of that way, and that was a far more gruesome prospect than I was willing to deal with.

  Then again, I’d left far more evidence around than I was comfortable with. As soon as they found Big Bob’s body, it would be obvious he was murdered. I mean, is it even possible to garrote yourself?

  At the very least, I’d left fingerprints all over Big Bob’s house. But likely, I would have left more clues than that as well.

  The big question was what to do about it.

  It didn’t take long to figure out a solution. Still smiling, I nodded my head. “Burn it,” I said out loud. I would burn it all. Turn Big Bob into a bucket of fried crispy chicken wings, and it would be hard for any crime scene investigator to determine the true cause of death, let alone figure out who was responsible.

  I figured Big Bob would have some sort of accelerant around his place somewhere, to help start the fire. Hopefully, it would be well ablaze before the fire department could arrive.

  With that thought in mind, I heaved myself back to my feet and began the gruesome task of retrieving my garrote.

  It had bits of flesh clinging to it, and I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose in disgust. I didn’t really want to keep bits of Big Bob with me for any longer than I needed to, so I spent a bit of time at his sink, washing my garrote clean.

  Then I changed my mind. Maybe I did want to keep a bit of Big Bob with me. For no reason I could articulate, I’d kept one of Marcel Marionetti’s fingers, as a kind of trophy. A commemoration of my first kill. Why shouldn’t I do the same with Big Bob?

  As soon as I tucked my garrote back away, I got to work with one of my knives, cutting the man’s smallest, fat finger off and putting it in my pocket. That done, I looked about for an accelerant, but before I found anything useful, Azrael made a suggestion.

  “Maybe you want to check out the basement,” he said. “Find out what’s so important down there that Big Bob would risk getting stuck in the trap door.”

  It was a valid suggestion. Before I followed it, I hunted about on the floor for my knives. Finding both of those I’d lost during the fight, I returned them to their respective homes under my clothes, then went to the trapdoor and heaved it open.

  Tentatively, I felt my way into the darkness one step at a time until I found a light switch. I turned it on, blinked in the sudden brightness, and what I saw shocked me to the bone.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  Azrael didn’t say a word, but even in his silence I could sense him agree with my explanation.

  The basement was a single, open space, like a long, thin room. Most of one wall had been lined with shelves, and on those shelves was a collection of severed heads in transparent containers.

  It didn’t take a genius to understand the significance of it all. Big Bob wasn’t just a one-time enforcer for the Syndicate.

  He was a serial ki
ller, and these were his trophies, in the same way that I was starting to collect fingers.

  I stood halfway down the stairs and for a moment just gaped. The scale of what Big Bob had done was shocking. At first glance, I didn’t know how many heads he had collected, but it was more than ten, leaning toward twenty. They were kept in some sort of preserving agent that discolored them just a little, but even so, I could make out all sorts of victims.

  Young, old, black, Asian, white, male, female, it seemed as if Big Bob was indiscriminate in his tastes. I wondered what had happened to their bodies, and it was then that my eyes were drawn to the large chest freezer jammed up against the far wall. If someone had bet me a dollar that there were other body parts in the freezer, I wouldn’t have taken the bet. It was too much of a certainty.

  But that wasn’t all. There was one other thing in the basement that took me by surprise. Big Bob Morris had set up one corner with a low cot, upon which rested a woman.

  She looked at me for a moment when the lights went on, then sat up on the edge of the cot.

  “You’re not Bob,” she said, and I could hear the uncertainty in her voice. It was as if she was unsure if she should be afraid, or if she should be relieved.

  I took in several things about her all at once. The first was that she was very pretty. Blonde, slim, with excellent features, she wore a short, blue dress and might have been stunning if her make-up hadn’t been smudged as if she’d been crying. Azrael commented in my mind that despite the variation of the heads in the containers, there were none of them quite like her.

  At the same time, I also noticed that she was chained to the bed by her wrists.

  I knew without thinking that she would have been Big Bob’s next victim. Although, why she was still alive even now, I couldn’t say.

  Despite my growing capacity for murder, I was far from heartless. I was drawn to kittens and puppies just like everyone else, and if anyone even thought to harm such a precious creature, then I would go all John Wick on their ass.