Tanned Hide

by R. A. Meenan

desk. “I’ve got my magic hit.”

  Trecheon perked both ears with a shocked look crawling across his face. He knew what I was talking about. That magic hit. It was somewhat of a hopeful rumor in assassin circles – that one hit that would actually save thousands of lives. Killing for the greater good. The idea that we might be taking out the next dictator or mass murderer and save millions from suffering. That, somehow, developing our skills had a purpose.

  It was faulty logic though, and we all knew it. We were paid killers. Paid killers don’t take out future dictators. They work for politicians, businessmen, and spurned lovers, taking out rivals that slowed or halted their climbs to the top.

  But we can dream, can’t we? We had to. We needed to. It was the only way to stay sane in this business. Dream of the magic hit or fall into despair. Dream of that hit, or lose your humanity, for lack of a better term.

  Or take the easy route and kill yourself. Plenty of assassins took the easy route.

  But not me. And not Trecheon. We needed that magic hit. And if I could provide it, I’d catch Trecheon hook, line, and sinker. And I needed to catch him. This magic hit couldn’t happen without him.

  Trecheon’s metal fingers gingerly caressed the envelope. “How’d you manage this?”

  “I’ve been doing research for ages,” I told him. “And I finally found a hit I can handle. And one that I think will do this town some good.”

  “As if anything could do this town some good,” Trecheon muttered, shifting the envelope between his hands. “Let’s see what you got.” He lifted the envelope’s flap and slid the papers out. His eyes widened. “You’re kidding me.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “The Fawn Family?” Trecheon gaped. “Are you mad?”

  “Possibly, but hear me out--”

  “No. Hell, no,” Trecheon said, and he pushed the paper and envelope away as if it’d catch fire at any moment. “I’m putting myself and my business in danger just looking at these things. This is suicide, Neil. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “It’s not so bad as all that,” I growled, glaring at him. “If you’d just hear me out--”

  “Neil, you’re talking about going after one of the city’s top mobs. People have died just breathing wrong on these people. And to my knowledge you’ve never tackled anything bigger than company rivals and ex-boyfriends. People that talk big, but can’t really back things up. These people,” he tapped the envelope. “They can back things up. And they will. You’re on your own.”

  “Will you stop playing the fatalist for a moment and just listen?” I spat. “I have a plan. You think I’d tackle this without a plan?”

  “Yes.” Trecheon sneered. “Because you’re a special kind of crazy.”

  He was probably right, but admitting that would mean admitting defeat. “Damn it, Trecheon, you’re supposed to be my friend. Can’t you just listen for six minutes?”

  Trecheon pasted both ears back and narrowed his eyes at me. “Six minutes. That’s all you get.”

  I took a deep breath. “Good. Thanks.” I pulled the papers out of the envelope and passed a picture to him. A slim, golden doe with green eyes and silver earrings lining both ears eyed the camera with a dark suspicion. “My target.”

  “You’re going after Matron Fawn,” Trecheon said. “The Draso-damned leader.”

  “Yes.” I shook my head. “Look, Trech, everyone knows she’s a hard bitch.”

  “For lack of a better word.”

  I snickered. “Yeah. But her three top underlings, her sisters--”

  “The Triple Danger,” Trecheon recited. “Her personal hitmen, Neil. Not hired assassins, but hardened, experienced killers. The sisters’ experiences make us look like first-day-hires and their morals make us look like we’re saintly Draso monks.”

  “Shut your damn mouth and listen for a moment,” I snarled. “Despite their reputation, my research suggests that they’re wanting to leave the business. They want to settle down, start their own families, and do so without the fear of rival mobs. But they won’t as long as Matron Fawn is in charge. They feel a family obligation to protect her. But there’s rumors going through the Family that once the Matron is gone, they’ll disband and settle.” I grinned. “I just want to accelerate their plans.”

  “And you think they won’t retaliate if you kill their sister.”

  “I think they won’t know who did it,” I said. “I’m a relatively unknown assassin, and a sniper to boot. They won’t even know where to look.”

  “And you need me because. . .?”

  “I need a spotter,” Neil said.

  “You want me to sit with you on some roof, with all my red fur and quills, broadcasting to the entire Fawn Family that not only do I know you, but I’m helping you take out their Matron.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No, I want you to sit at a nearby café, pretend you’re my boss, and yell at me over the phone. We’ve done it before. That way you can keep your distance and still give me directions. And you get to yell at me.”

  “I should be yelling at you right now,” Trecheon said. “What’s in it for me?”

  “The magic hit.”

  “I don’t want my magic hit to be the last thing I do on this Earth, Neil.”

  Damn it, he was slipping out from under me. “Trecheon, I need you. I can’t do it without you.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to, because I refuse.” He stood up and moved to leave his office. “Sorry.”

  I gripped his shoulder as he walked by. “Trech, please. I need this.”

  “Don’t call me Trech.” He brushed my hand off and headed for the door.

  I had one more card to pull. Trecheon’s honor. He doesn’t have a clue that I knew his hidden weakness, but I knew he felt an obligation to help me. Some promise he made ages ago to Carter, a fellow soldier from our troop that went MIA in the War of Eons. I don’t know why he made that promise, but I was going to milk it for all it was worth. I slid between him and the door and looked him in the eye.

  “Trecheon. Please. I can’t do this anymore. I need the magic hit before I go insane. Please.”

  Trecheon narrowed his eyes, and stared for what seemed like ages, but then sighed. “I’m signing my death warrant by helping you, aren’t I?”

  I grinned. Hook, line, and sinker. “Thanks, Trecheon. You won’t regret it.”

  “I keep hearing those words, and every time, I regret it.”

  “Gotta keep that winning streak,” I said. I slipped a copy of my plan into his hands. He snatched up the sheet and stuffed it in his pocket, glancing all around like a kid stealing candy.

  “Neil,” he eyed me. “Don’t make me regret this. Okay?”

  “You got it, boss man,” I said with a salute, and headed out the door.

  Hook, line, and sinker.

  Two

  Two weeks later, in battered coveralls and carrying a tool box and backpack, I approached the Diamond Dust Towers, a ritzy high rise apartment building downtown. The doorman, a young Asian human, gave me a strange look, but I smiled as if I belonged there.

  “Here to fix the AC unit on the roof,” I said. I held up an official looking piece of paper. “The one affecting apartment 42?”

  The doorman hesitated, but looked over his guest list. “Name, sir?”

  “Whiskers HVAC Repairs,” I said pointing at the list. “I got the call yesterday, I should be there.”

  He glanced a moment longer, then nodded. “Yes, here you are.” He reached behind his tiny podium and pulled out a card. “Here’s the code for the roof access.”

  “Awesome.” I pocketed the card. “Now, I’m working with some dangerous electricity up there. Can I be assured that none of your lovely residents will be venturing onto the roof?”

  “They’ll be informed,” the doorman said.

  “Thank you, my good man,” I said, taking a bow. “I shan’t be long.” I entered the building and started climbing th
e steps of the twenty-five story tall building. No one took the stairs anymore, so I was fairly confident I wouldn’t be seen. Gotta limit the witnesses.

  The problem with going after a top notch mob boss was the vagueness they exuded around their person. I knew the Matron was in the area, doing some sort of business deal, but the details were hazy. After nearly six months of research, all I really knew was that she was “downtown” and in one of four possible buildings in six block area about a mile to a mile and a half from my perch. It wasn’t ideal for my effective range, but it was better than nothing.

  I got to the roof entrance and tapped in the code without looking at the card. Six months may not have given me all the info I needed, but it did give me plenty of time to drop a courtesy card for Whiskers at the front desk and sabotage the AC unit for the apartment I needed. Mom had always wanted me to go into some kind of steady business, but school never settled well with me, especially after the war. She suggested HVAC instead, and to please her, I begrudgingly got the certification. Who knew that it’d make such a great front for my real job?

  I walked to the edge of the roof and sat down the tool kit, frowning. Mom could never know what I was doing now. It would kill her. HVAC wasn’t great, but at least she could pretend to be proud of me. She and Dad were never very good at emotions, so their occasional pleased calls to my business to ask for help was the closest I ever got to “I love you” as an adult.

  Besides that, they were more focused on my brother anyway. To be honest, I was too. And who wouldn’t be? Philip was only six, and as cute as any