by Bella King
And who says I actually have to give any of it to Boris? Why not keep it all for myself?
Chapter Five
Alexia
First, that creepy Boris guy pesters me in the store, and now some equally roided-up businessman is following me around the city. Usually, the sunlight scares off the creeps, but today it seems to have brought out the worst of them.
I burst out of the other side of the alley at a full sprint, still gnawing at my bread as I dash across the road without looking. A car screeches to a stop, barely missing me. The blare of a horn alerts me to the near-miss, but I ignore it. I’m more concerned with shaking off my mystery pursuer.
I leap over a low bush and duck into another alley, successfully evading whoever decided to follow me out of the grocery store. Maybe it was a guard, making sure I paid for my bread. It would be strange to follow me out that far, but I don’t have any reasonable explanation as to why someone would come after me like that.
I chomp the small remainder of my bread, only chewing it enough so that it doesn’t get stuck in my throat when I swallow. The chunks go down rough, but I kind of like the way they feel scratching against my throat. It reminds me that I’m getting fed.
I slump down against a crumbling brick wall, taking a breather while enjoying the last few bites of my loaf. I’ve mastered the art of eating quickly. At the orphanage, if you didn’t finish your food before everyone else did, someone would try to steal it. I’d never do the same to someone else, but a lot of the girls did.
The cheap white bread hits me hard before I’ve even gotten to my feet again. The sudden surge of calories extends the fact that I’m already exhausted from a lack of sleep. As much as I’d like to make it a point to get far away from the strange businessman who may or may not still be following me, I’m not facing much of a threat during the day, and sleeping on one of the benches in the park sounds like heaven right now.
I’m starting to understand why I see so many of my homeless peers shooting up before going to sleep. Without a good meal, it’s so difficult to get some rest, and with the noise of the city, I’m not surprised that someone would need drugs to fall asleep. I just hope that I never get that bad. For now, a loaf of bread is enough to do me in.
I need to get the hell out of Portland if I ever wish to escape the homeless lifestyle. The winter will be rough, and I don’t want to imagine how difficult it’s going to be to fall asleep with cold air blowing through my sweatstained clothes. The winter will kill me faster than an angry drunk will.
I brush the crumbs off my hoodie and walk back out of the alley, breaking out into the warmth of the sun. I wish it were always sunny, but it tends to rain more often than I prefer. The rain can be nice in the summer, but it’s absolute hell when it starts to get cold.
I’m sluggish as I walk toward the park, returning to where I was initially heading before I was interrupted by the suspicious businessman. My eyes scan the benches, looking for an unoccupied one. Sometimes, if I’m not here early enough, they’ll all be taken by other homeless people. It’s an epidemic that I’m confident the city will never solve.
There’s a bench available next to the bike trail. It’s somewhat small, but it’ll fit me well enough for me to get an hour of sleep on it, at least. Most of the time, the police don’t hang around the park during the day, so it’s no issue to take a nap there. If I sleep for too long, though, they’ll shake me awake with traumatizing force and make me leave.
While it’s hard to trust strangers, there’s nothing else I can do out here once my eyes are shut. A hundred people will go by as I fall into a sudden sleep, and I just have to assume that none of them will hurt me. I don’t trust individuals, but I’ve learned to trust crowds. It’s funny how that works.
I toss my bookbag down at the end of the park bench and lay my head on it like a pillow. It smells like sweat and dust, but I don’t mind it. The pillows at the orphanage used to smell like piss and mildew, and I still slept on them. I’m pretty sure they never got washed either.
I close my eyes, trying to ignore the red shining through them from the sun. It’s not hard when I’m so exhausted, and I find the noise of the city fading out quickly as I manage to drift off. Even with the sweat in my socks, the itchiness of filth in my clothes, and the cold air sweeping across my face, sleep comes easy after a good meal.
Chapter Six
Zeno
Alexia was easy to find again. I even walked past her to make sure I had the right woman. She was right there, sleeping like an angel on the bench. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting her to have such soft and feminine features. I was surprised when I finally got a close look at her. Once she gets cleaned up, she’ll be a nice woman to have by my side. I might even be tempted to have a little fun with her before I end her life. What’s the harm in that?
On returning to my car, I discover that Boris has sent me a text message on the burner phone I keep in my glovebox. He already has the men I need for tonight and is eager to learn more about my plan.
Oh, Boris, always so eager to jump into things. He has no sense of pacing.
He should know that this isn’t going to be an overnight ordeal. It will take weeks at the very least, and months, more likely, to finish it. Tonight is just the first step, and it can’t be rushed just because he’s in a hurry.
So, I ignore Boris’s message, lighting up a fresh cigar instead and sitting in my car, watching the park for when Alexia finally wakes up so that I continue to follow her. I’ll send Boris a message when night falls. That’s when I’ll need his men.
In the meantime, I’m polishing up a pistol that I used to give to people I didn’t trust back when I used to have to work with them. I’d intentionally lose their gun and swap it out for one that shoots blanks. It’s saved my ass twice when my fellow criminal turned the gun on me in the act of betrayal.
My utter lack of trust is the only reason I’m still alive today. Nobody has been able to get under my skin for the forty years I’ve been alive, and at this point, I doubt anyone ever will, not even a woman, and I’ve had my fair share of them try.
I puff on my cigar and check the gun, making sure I have everything I need inside. The blanks are going to come in handy when I’m pretending to shoot at Boris’s thugs. I don’t want to kill one by mistake.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I care if they die, but this is all for theatrics. I thought it fitting to bring a gun commonly used in theatre because of that.
Plus, Boris will ask for a larger slice of the cake if I start killing his men. I’m greedy, so I’m not going to let that happen. I want to keep everything that I can, including Alexia.
In addition to my blank firearm, I will be carrying another gun in my shoulder holster. I’ll have yet another in a rear holster in the back of my pants. Just because I’m shooting blanks doesn’t mean I’m going into this unarmed. I’m never without a gun.
I sit in the car, smoking my cigar and checking and rechecking that my guns are prepared. I only get one shot to do this right. Otherwise, I’ll have to resort to the crude measures of kidnapping and torture to get Alexia to marry me, and I’d rather do this the nice way.
I’m a gentleman.
I chuckle to myself at the thought. I’m far from a gentleman, but I want to play the part of one this time. There’s no reason to use brute force. A nimble strategy will have the same result with less pain, and to be honest, I think Alexia has already been through enough pain in her life. I don’t wish to add to it.
She isn’t one of those cutthroat CEOs who I pick off every month or so. She’s just a woman who got caught up in a bad situation, born into a family that couldn’t keep itself together, and now she’s about to fall into the arms of a mafia hitman. The least I can do is make her last days comfortable before she joins her father, wherever he might be.
Probably in hell.
Then again, if Alexia isn’t like her father, then she won’t be joining him in the fiery pits after all. Mr. Diamandis,
from what Boris told me, was a very successful drug lord with a whole hell of a lot of enemies. It was inevitable that he would die at the hands of one of them eventually.
Alexia was the only one who ended up surviving the massacre at his estate, and since she had no ID when she was found, save for the name that was written on her blanket tag in sharpie, she was carted off to an orphanage and forgotten about. She never did receive her fortune, even once she turned eighteen.
But she will. It’s still there, and I’m going to help her get it. I’ll be the rightful heir to it too, as her husband, and then the bullet goes into her head. That’s the way it must be.
My phone buzzes, another message from Boris, and this time, I figure it’s late enough to respond. Alexia is still asleep in the park, but the sun is starting to make its sweep down toward the outline of grey buildings on the horizon. Soon, the time to strike will be upon us.
I ignore the message that Boris sent, calling him directly and waiting for him to pick up.
“Hello,” he breathes into the phone a fraction of a second after the call connects.
“Hey, Boris. We’re on for tonight. I hope you have your men ready.”
“Of course, but you need to let me in on the plan. I don’t like you being so secretive about it. You know I like to know what’s going on,” he hisses, his voice tinged with both excitement and irritation.
“Yes, I will lay it down for you now. Don’t worry,” I reply, trying to placate him.
“Good, good. Get on with it, then. My men are impatient.”
I doubt it’s his men who are impatient, but I’ll humor him. I have no reason to draw this out any longer. The plan is complete, and it will go down once Alexia settles in for the night.
My cigar is hot and acidic as I reach the end of it, but that doesn’t stop me from smoking it to the ash. I think I have a problem, but I’m unwilling to admit it.
I take a final puff before tossing it into the ashtray in my cupholder and laying out the plan for Boris.
“Alright,” I say, clearing my throat. “Alexia will settle in for the night, probably in some alleyway out of sight. What we’re going to do is have your men chase her out into the street, where I will rescue her. That way, she’ll be willing to go with me.”
Boris chuckles. “And once she’s in your hands, we can make her marry you.”
“No,” I snap. “That’s not how this is going to work. I’m taking this slowly, and we’re going to do it the right way.”
“So, what? You’re going to make her fall in love with you or something?”
I smirk. “Something like that.”
“A classic Casanova,” he replies. I can hear the crude satisfaction in his voice.
I always found Boris to be a bit of a perv, but that’s irrelevant. I’m the one who will be taking Alexia. All he has to do is sit on the sidelines until I’m ready to dispose of her. Then, I might want his help.
“You know, Casanova was Italian. Is there a Russian Casanova?” I ask.
“I don’t know… I don’t think so, which makes you the first one.”
“Zeno, the mafia hitman and master seducer,” I say with a laugh.
“That’s right, the best of both worlds,” Boris chimes.
“Right,” I reply, pausing for a moment. “So, I’ll give you a call with Alexia’s location tonight, and you can send your guys to chase her. Make her fear for her life. She must do anything to get away from them, even if that means jumping into a car with me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my men will rough her up good.”
“I don’t want you to rough her up. Just scare her,” I reply.
Unlike Boris, I don’t take pleasure in hurting people. I do what I have to do, and not a single thing more. My kills are always clean, and even if I’m going to be taking in my target for a few weeks, I want her final days to be comfortable.
“I’ll call you tonight. Just keep your guys in the area,” I say, glancing over at the park as I spot Alexia coming out onto the sidewalk, rubbing her eyes.
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll talk to you then.”
I hang up the phone and lean forward in my seat, watching Alexia, studying her movement, mood, and direction. She looks like she was woken up abruptly, probably kicked out of the park for sleeping on the bench for half the day.
I was wondering when she would leave. My eyes have been glued to that park for hours, and I was starting to get worried that she had somehow slipped out without me noticing. She’s proven to be sneakier than I had previously assumed.
Alexia stays on the sidewalk, her hair illuminated to a bright orange by the evening sun. She walks without a purpose, probably because she has none. I doubt she has anywhere to be or anyone to see. That will soon change.
The rumble of my engine is masked by that of a hundred other cars around me. They’re all eager to get home after work.
I know one particular gentleman who won’t be returning home. His car is still sitting in the office parking lot, collecting late-autumn pollen and twigs from the trees lining the borders of the lot. It’s like a gravestone. Everyone leaves something behind when they go.
Alexia will be leaving behind her own little memorandum – the fifty-million that is rightfully hers but that she doesn’t know about. It’s incredible how such a poor woman, so innocent and beat down by the world, could be the key to a fortune. I wouldn’t believe it had Boris not shown me his research. This has to be the most exciting and valuable target to date.
I creep down the road, keeping an eye on Alexia, but trying not to look like I’m watching or following her. I park on the curb a few times during her meandering walk, waiting for her to almost disappear from view before coming after her again.
I’m stalking my prey. It’s one of my favorite parts of my job as a hitman. The kill is just the necessary conclusion to the hunt, but the real joy comes from tracking them down and getting them into the exact position that I want. The fun is over once I finally have to pull the trigger.
But this hunt is slower than the ones I’ve been on in the past. I don’t expend all my energy in one day or even a week. I will be using stealth, but also deceit, seduction, and in the end, raw power to obtain my goals. Not only is the reward great, but the hunt is going to be one to remember. I rather like the idea of going out with a bang.
Chapter Seven
Alexia
I overslept, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re deprived of a good night’s sleep for an entire week. Couple that with engulfing a whole loaf of bread, and you have a recipe for a crash so hard and so sweet that the only way you can be woken up is from the prod of a police officer’s baton.
I left as soon as I was startled awake, but I hate how they always look at me. It’s not even an angry look, like I’m some sort of deplorable pest. It’s worse than that. It’s the look of complete apathy, as though they’re just rounding up the loose papers and cigarette butts to sweep them into the trash.
I’m nothing more than litter to anyone, and that’s all I’ve always been. For once, I’d like someone to care, but I know that will never happen. I’m hopeful, but not delusional. There’s no place in this world for a woman like me.
I walk slowly, taking my time with my steps as I wake up in the ever-colder evening air. The last rays of orange spill out from the edge of the buildings ahead of me, washing over me and blessing me with one final hug of warmth before night falls again.
The days blur when you have nothing to do. Most of the time, I’m just collecting bottles or looking for loose change that people drop outside of shops. Some of the other homeless ask people for money, but I’ve never been able to bring myself to do that. It’s the final step before I have to admit to myself that I’m helpless.
I walk for an hour, maybe an hour and a half, before deciding it’s a good time to find a place where I’ll be warm. Usually, it’s the places that are open late that are still blowing out warm air from the back. Laundromats are an exceptional sour
ce of warm air, and they smell nice too, but they always close too early. The hot air is gone before I can fall asleep.
I look around, poking my head into side roads and taking mental notes on which places are open the latest. Gas stations and convenience stores are typically open all night, but those are the last places you want to get caught sleeping behind. The drunks are always pissing around back anyway. It stinks to high hell.
After a few more hours, once the cold has started to set in, and my hoodie isn’t able to keep it from chilling my core, I find a place to retire. It’s an old factory, still churning out hot steel or glass, judging from the smell and light from the windows. The entire building glows with heat, radiating it out into the street, attracting me in the same way that the moon draws in moths.
It’s the perfect place for me to sleep, and I doubt I’ll be disturbed by late-night partygoers or thugs here.
I walk around to the back of the building, spotting a wooden ramp used to walk in and out of the building while loading trucks. The underside is bare, giving me enough room to set up my makeshift bed and disappear from the world until morning.
I slide up under the wood, taking comfort in how tight the space is. It’ll help me to preserve warmth, even if I can’t feel the radiation of heat from the concrete side of the factory. It’s more than I thought I’d manage to find tonight, though, so I’m thankful for that.
The churn of machines from inside the building puts me in a hypnotic state, guiding me into deep relaxation. I’m compelled to continue the sleep I enjoyed earlier today. I know I shouldn’t allow myself to get too comfortable, but I feel safe here. I deserve to have a calm mind every once in a while.
I curl up in my hoodie, tucking my knees into it and holding my legs to my chest. The familiar smell of my old clothes signals to me that it’s time to sleep.
