Jericho White was a powerful man—a very powerful man: high profile and almost never alone as executive assistants and hired meat moved around in a carousel dance of top-notch ass kissing. Yep, Mal had his work cut out for him on this one.
Whores, bums, an entire cult, a busload of geriatrics from Atlantic City, dictators, even a school full of children, thousands…all training—years and years of training. Training to follow orders, to obey…to kill.
««—»»
“It’s quite simple, Mr. Branch. We would like you to work for us.”
Mal tried to look directly at whatever the hell was glowing at the foot of his bed. But his eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to working status again and he felt his gaze avert itself toward the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but straight ahead.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Branch?” the glow asked.
“Um… Well… You, ah, know you’re all super glowy and shit, right?” Mal responded.
“Ah, yes. I do tend to forget. It’s been a while since I’ve been around someone not used to my…condition.”
“The glowy thing is a ‘condition’? What fucking condition makes you do that? ”
The man flinched at Mal’s words. “I will make you a deal, Mr. Branch. I will hide my ‘glowy thing’ as you put it, if you promise to refrain from being profane in my presence.” And the light surrounding the voice began to abate.
Mal shrugged, “Okay. I’ll try, but it ain’t gonna be easy. I came out of the womb middle finger in the air. Know what I mean?” he asked, trying to see what was forming at the end of his bed.
“Indeed. A lovely image. Your mother would have been quite proud—”
“Yeah, well—”
“—provided she had lived. Right, Mr. Branch?”
Mal laid there, mouth agape, hands twitching. This is fucked up, he thought. How the hell…
“How did I know your mother died while unleashing you unto this world?”
“Uhh…” was all Mal could dribble out of his mouth. His vision began to clear and he found he could look straight ahead finally. A man stood before him. A man like no other Mal had ever seen. He stood at least seven feet tall—easily as tall as the Desmond guy, but not as wide. Tall, slim, almost wispy…yet…his ice blue eyes locked onto Mal’s eyes and as Mal stared deep into them, he felt a power, an electricity that flowed directly from this man into his veins. And Mal knew instantly that this was no ordinary man…and this was no ordinary situation… Mal was lost, swimming in the man’s eyes, feeling the hairs on his skin stand up. He felt as though his tether to his world had been snapped and he was floating loose, out of control toward infinity. He had no idea where he was, what he was doing, where he would go, but he knew that whatever happened, this man would be the one to lead him. He felt the man’s voice wrap around him—a warm blanket with Mal nestled deep within.
“Mr. Branch?”
“Uhmm…” Mal shook his head, trying to get back to reality.
“We have much to discuss, Mr. Branch.”
“Call me Mal…”
“Alright…Mal. Let’s get you fed and dressed. Desmond is here for you. I’ll leave you for now and when you are ready, he will bring you to me.”
Mal felt an enormous shadow fall over his left side as Desmond reached out and lowered the safety rail on Mal’s bed, the metallic clank shattering the serenity of the room, bringing Mal fully back to his senses.
“Uh… Okay,” Mal managed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He felt Desmond’s big hands grab his arm to offer support as he tried to stand. “Who are you, by the way?” Mal asked, turning his head to the end of the bed, which now held nothing but emptiness.
Mal shook his head again, “Ooookay. Guess that comes later, huh, big guy.”
Desmond said nothing and proceeded to lift Mal to his feet. He felt like a newborn foal standing for the first time. But he quickly got his legs underneath him. He had questions that needed answering. Something told him things were going to be very different from now on. Very…very…different.
««—»»
Mal had never really stressed about assignments before. Sure, at the beginning, but that had been so long ago. The jobs, like the years, ran together. Most of them required very little planning. Mostly off-the-cuff dealings. Mal was never really worried. He knew his tracks would be covered. Plus, he was blessed. How could anything go wrong, ever? But something told Mal he needed to focus some more on this job. After all, it was his last. And after all these years, the brass ring was in sight. Time to grab it and get off the ride.
Mal tried to simplify things, break it down to the bare bones. Jericho White lived in one building, worked in another. He ate at restaurants and shopped in stores, of course they were all topnotch places, but still… Jericho White was just a man when you broke it down. But it wasn’t as simple as that. Something deep down in his gut gnawed at Mal, telling him that this was different. But for some reason he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was.
Mal had gone after many men. All were the same. You find their weakness, expose it, and take advantage of their vulnerability. In Mal’s wake you could have followed the trail of dead bodyguards that led from the lobby to the seventieth floor of one of Japan’s highest-security buildings. At the end of the body trail you’d find Sado Hiroki, head general of the Japanese Yakuza, strung up by his ankles above his desk, a pool of blood collecting on his leather blotter, his skin—expertly flayed by one of his prized Samurai swords—situated in his $5000 chair, clothed in his $10,000, hand-tailored suit looking like nothing more than a deflated blow-up doll.
Follow Mal’s path again, this time deep into the heart of the South American rainforest and you’d find an entire village of guerilla soldiers sitting motionless, side-by-side, forming a perfect circle around a campfire—a little odd at first glance. But as you moved closer, you’d sense that something was more than just a little odd here. Approach further and find a helium-filled balloon pinned to the collar of every headless neck, and a goofy face magic-markered onto the smooth rubber. And as you look down, you see each man’s head positioned between their own legs, neck in the dirt crawling with ants, lids pinned open, eyes reflecting the fire as their cocks—expertly separated from their bodies—turned to ash inside the dancing flames.
Mal was a master assassin. A man with the God-given skills to cause murder and mayhem wherever he was told to go and sometimes even when he wasn’t told to. The skills had always been there, but it took some work to bring them out after they had been buried beneath years of general malaise and apathy followed by a substantial stint of substance abuse.
««—»»
“You want me to do what?” Mal said incredulously.
“You are to go into the school. Find room 315. Enter. Then dispense with the teacher. A Mrs. Sally Burnsfield.” Desmond looked down at Mal, his green eyes showing no emotion.
Mal stared out from their hiding place next to the utility building on the edge of school grounds.
“Why?” he asked shaking his head, not comprehending the order.
Crack!
Mal flew backwards, back smashing hard into brick. The hand struck his face like a bolt of lightning; it hit hard and fast…and it burned. Mal collapsed into a heap next to the building, resting his burning cheek on the cool autumn grass.
“Jesus-fucking-Christ, Desi.”
In one swift motion, Desmond reached down, grabbed Mal by his ankle and lifted him up. Mal dangled limp from the giant’s grip. Desmond continued to stare at the school—no sweat, no emotion—a cold, solid statue of a man. Mal tried to get his bearings.
“What have I told you, Mr. Branch, about taking the Lord’s name in vain?”
“Don’t?”
“And what have I said about calling me Desi?”
“You’re not too fond of it.”
“Then why do you persist in pushing my ire, Mr. Branch?” Desmond asked. Then he dropped Mal on his head.
Mal scrambled upright and p
ushed his back up against the wall and sat there shaking the stars from his eyes. “It’s what I do, man. I’m a smart ass. It’s my shtick. Lighten up.”
“It is not my duty to lighten up, Mr. Branch. It is my duty to make sure you are trained properly. It is my duty to give you assignments and it is my duty to make sure your true talents come to the surface. You are weak and sloppy and my patience is growing weary. So, please, Mr. Branch, save your ‘shtick’ for the whores and scum with which you choose to surround yourself when not in my presence.” Desmond finally stopped looking at the school, yet maintained his cool demeanor, which Mal was sure was even more threatening than if he was being yelled at. “Every time you decide to be funny with me I will hit you. And believe me when I tell you, Mr. Branch, I will hit you harder each time. I will break you of this need to push me. You will learn discipline…or you will be disciplined.”
Mal stared into Desmond’s eyes and tried with all his might not to piss in his pants.
“Are we perfectly clear, Mr. Branch?”
“Crystal.”
Desmond leaned down and put his face only inches from Mal’s. “And what is my name, Mr. Branch?”
Mal slumped, not able to look into Desmond’s cold black eyes anymore. “Desmond. Your name is Desmond, not Desi.”
“Very good, Mr. Branch.” Desmond straightened to his full height again and returned his gaze to the school. “Now, what exactly are you going to do, Mr. Branch?”
Mal pushed himself up the wall until he was standing. He tried hard not to shake. “I… I will go into the school. Find room 315. Enter. Then dispense with the teacher. A Mrs. Sally Burnsfield.”
“Very good, Mr. Branch. And from now on when I give you an order what will you not do?” Desmond asked flatly.
“Ask why,” Mal said softly.
“Excellent, Mr. Branch. Now, if you would, please go about your task. And make sure the classroom has children in it. Do not hurt them though. We would like for them all to remember this for a very long time.”
Mal wanted to turn around and walk away. He had been training for what seemed like years. Desmond showed him how to use an arsenal of various weapons. Other men were brought in to teach him how to fight. He was taught the differences between dozens of poisons. He had been taught munitions and explosives. Some Asian guys were brought in to teach Mal what he called “all that Grasshopper bullshit” and they had trained him well. He learned quickly because it was all in him already. It just needed to be extracted. And now it was time for Mal to start using all the skills he had honed, all the knowledge he had attained. He knew he would have to kill. They told him that up front. But he thought it would be someone bad: a crime lord, a dictator or something like that. Not a teacher. And why kill her in front of kids? What the fuck? he thought. Can I do this? Then Mal thought about his old life: the drugs, the alcohol, laying in a gutter covered in his own piss and vomit, people ignoring him like he was nothing more than a fire hydrant. That’s when he remembered that he hated people. People sucked. So fuck it. Why worry about this one bitch? She must have done something bad. Everybody has something bad they’ve done, right? This chick must have some scary skeletons in her closet. So… If they wanted her dead, then she dies. After all, they had saved him. They pulled him from the gutter and washed the filth off of him and trained him to be a killer. And he had never felt more alive. He felt like he finally had a purpose—too late to try and have a conscience now. He had made the deal. He couldn’t question, he couldn’t doubt— not with what they were offering in the end. He just had to believe.
««—»»
“We’re concerned with how long it is taking you to complete your final assignment, Mr. Branch.”
Mal was a little worried. They had never said anything to him before about his assignments. They just gave them to him and let him go. But he supposed that they were right this time. It had taken him a while so far. He still wasn’t sure how to get to this guy. And for some reason he didn’t know why. He’d gone after people just as big, just as protected. Yet, this was different. He had a bad feeling deep down about this one.
“Well, Mr. Branch?”
This was the first time Mal had seen Gregory since he had agreed to work for the man. Desmond had been there every day of his recovery, as had many others. And even though Mal knew his orders came directly from Gregory, the man had never shown his face again in all the years…how many years now… Christ, Mal thought, I have no idea how long I’ve been doing this.
He looked at Gregory and could sense a tension in him that didn’t fit the man at all. Gregory seemed a little on edge and it came through in his voice. But suddenly, as if he realized Mal was sizing him up, Gregory seemed to relax and waved his hand in the air. “I can understand your apprehension. Jericho White is a powerful man—probably one of the most successful businessmen in history. His security is top notch. Plus, by all accounts he’s one of the most giving of the richest people in the world. His charity seems to hold no bounds.”
“I’ve killed a lot of people who weren’t bad,” Mal said, turning to look out the window of his thirtieth-floor apartment.
Gregory stood motionless for a minute just staring at Mal. Then he said, “I was curious to see how you would approach this assignment. It is a difficult one and one that will become only more so as you get closer to the man.”
Gregory paused waiting for Mal to turn around. He didn’t. So Gregory continued, “When the time comes, use what we gave you in the package to dispatch Mr. White. We went through a lot of effort to procure that particular item for you. He will understand the meaning and it will make the death that much sweeter for all of us.”
Mal seemed to be ignoring Gregory completely. And Gregory decided not to push him. In the end he knew Mal would do his job. Because in the end what he had offered Mal for his years of service was more than enough motivation. “Remember, Mr. Branch, finish this job and our deal is complete.”
“No it isn’t,” Mal said coldly. “I finish this job, you still have something to give me.”
Gregory let out a little laugh. “Indeed, you are right. I will keep my end of the bargain. Good luck to you, Mr. Br— Mal.”
And with that Gregory was gone. Mal didn’t hear a rustle of clothes, didn’t hear a door. He just knew that no one stood behind him anymore. And he also knew he was screwed because none of them—Gregory, Desmond, anyone working with them—had called him Mal, at least not since that day he first met Gregory. The same day he awoke to a new life, a new purpose and a signed contract for eternal salvation.
««—»»
Mal continued staring out at the city for a long time after Gregory had disappeared. In the years since he had penned the deal with Gregory to become his hired assassin, Mal had come to feel like he owned this city. He could come and go as he pleased. He could do what he wanted to whatever or whomever he wanted and just walk away. He had brought death to hundreds, maybe thousands, he didn’t know anymore. He was chaos thrown into chaos. It was what he was born to do. He knew this now. Had known it since that first kill, the teacher. What was her name…
««—»»
Mal had approached the school slowly. His nerves were frayed. He was shaking. Sweating. He did as he was told, though. He found room 315 and looked into the small glass window criss-crossed with wire mesh. Inside the room stood a small woman, hair pulled back into a tight bun, tiny glasses slipped slightly down her cute, upturned nose. She was leaning back against the front of her desk as she stared down her glasses into a book. Mal could see her lips moving, and through the door he could hear a slight murmur as her voice brought to life the fantasy winter world that lay beyond the back of a wardrobe. The students were enthralled by the adventures of young children, like themselves, and of a powerful lion. They grew to hate the witch as they learned the difference between a hero and a villain—between good and evil.
And as Mal watched the teacher lick her finger and turn a page in the book, he felt his hand slowly reach out,
grab the doorknob and turn it. He did it so quietly that no one in the class even noticed him enter the room until he was almost in. No one looked concerned, no one screamed. This was another time when fears didn’t run rampant through the minds of everyone—a time when villains were on TV and in the movies and nestled deep within the pages of a book. Evil was a witch that gave small boys Turkish Delight. At least for those children it was…until that day.
Only minutes before, the last thing Mal wanted to do was kill this woman. But as he watched her through the window he felt something take over his body, his mind. He remembered watching her read and the next thing he knew he was behind her, hand over her mouth and knife to her throat. Then the screams followed. They were deafening and assaulted his senses and sent him into motion. He sliced the knife deep and fast across Mrs. Burnsfield’s pale white throat. And as the blood sprayed, hot and fast across the first couple of kids sitting in the front off the class, all the sounds around him disappeared. Instead of the assault of fourth-grader screams Mal heard pure silence. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He looked out at the students, all scrambling to get away from the big bad man that just hurt their teacher. Where was the talking lion? Where was the hero? And for all the commotion and mouths open, straining to release the loudest screams possible, Mal heard nothing. He felt the warm blood from the now dead Mrs. Burnsfield run down his arms and meld with his flesh. And for the first time in his life Mal felt…peace. Bringing death had brought Mal…peace.
Was this a taste of what Gregory had promised him? Because if it was, and it was only a taste, then he would continue to do this until his time had come and he was able to walk into the warm embrace of eternal salvation—into pure bliss.
««—»»
Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings Page 2
