That's where the other box that was delivered comes in. I open it up, pull out a smaller box, and hold one of the twelve identical cylinders it contains in the palm of my hand. Without any markings or labels on it, I doubt a lot of people would even know what I'm holding.
It's a canister for an asthma inhaler, more specifically, an aerosol inhaler. You probably know people who have one, or at least have seen someone using one.
A person with asthma starts having an asthma attack. They pull out their inhaler, put their lips over their mouth piece, press down on the canister, just like the one I'm holding in my hand. A dose of medication sprays into their mouth when the canister is pressed, and the person breathes it in so the medication can go straight into their airways and relieve the problem so they can breath.
It's an ingeniously simple little device actually. I have to admire it for the pure simplicity of it's design. I'm also more than a little pleased with myself at the whole idea of using it as the delivery mechanism.
Another hour or so later, and I've got the ricin in the aerosol canister and ready for the final touches. It looks perfect, if I do say so myself. I turn it around in my hand, looking at it closely for any sign that it looks any different than the other canisters. Nothing. I doubt I could pick it out from the others if I was to put it back in the box.
The last thing to do is label it. Mrs. Latimer has given me two new canisters she's gotten from their pharmacist. They've each got the usual labels on them noting the medication that's in them, dosage, the prescribing Doctor, the pharmacy address, etc. Now all I have to do is get one of the labels off and get it on the ricin canister.
It takes a little finesse, which is why I had Mrs. Latimer get me a couple new canisters. I figured I might mess up one and need another, but I manage to get it right with the first one.
Mrs. Latimer has also given me a new inhaler too, the part that the canister goes into that you put your lips on. It'll be easier to swap the whole thing than trying to change canisters, especially if I end up not doing it myself.
I still haven't decided on that one. I've got a couple of ideas about how to do it, but I'll probably play it by ear until I see the right opportunity present itself. Of course, I could always get Mrs. Latimer to do the switch, but I'm keeping that as a last option. I don't really want her directly involved, plus, I'm a bit of a control freak at times. I like to do things myself so I know they're done right with no complications. Maybe it's trust issues.
It's getting late, and I'm getting tired. I clean up quickly, load everything I've used from my little laboratory set-up into the dishwasher, and turn it on. A quick look around to double-check I haven't missed anything, and I'm off to bed. I've got another busy day tomorrow.
***
In the morning I wake up at 5 minutes before my alarm is set to go off like I usually do. For some reason, I've always been able to do that. It's like I've got this mental alarm clock in my head that always knows what time I have to get up and wakes me up just before. I always set the clock radio alarm beside my bed just in case, but I can't remember the last time I haven't woken up before it.
My first class starts at 7:45am. Most kids bitch about how early that is, and how they're too tired to learn, and blah blah blah. I've never had a problem with it. I've never needed a lot of sleep, and I've always been a fairly early riser.
I wake up most mornings around 5am. Sometimes I sleep in later than that if I've had a late night out on a job or something, but even then, it's not very often that I sleep in much past six. Weird for a teenager, I know. But then your average teenager isn't an assassin either.
I like mornings. It's quiet. Gives me time to think and plan out my day. Sometimes I read, sometimes I listen to the morning news. Sometimes I just sit quietly and think. This morning was one of those mornings.
Dr. Harry was on my mind pretty much from the moment my eyes opened, and I'm getting kinda excited as things are all coming together nicely. It's a job satisfaction thing I guess. You know, you do something well, plan and put a lot of work into it, and you get excited thinking about how well it's gonna turn out.
I do anyway. Maybe that's not normal.
Doesn't matter. That's the ways it is for me.
It's not just Dr. Harry on my mind this morning either. I had a voicemail from a new prospective client yesterday, so I've got some checking out to do today. As usual, my mind starts running through everything I know about the person they left as a referral, and then it starts to fly through the multitude of possibilities about why they're calling me.
You might say it's a waste of time to do so because, at this point, I really don't know anything about the new prospect, but I always do it anyways. It's kind of a mental exercise, like I'm stretching and toning something in my grey matter.
7:15am, and I'm out the door, down the stairs (I almost always take the stairs... I've got this thing with elevators), and heading down the street to meet up with Rachel.
I see her waiting for me up ahead at our usual spot. She's an early riser like me. Sometimes I even wonder if she sleeps at all. You think I get a lot done? You should see this girl's schedule!
She smiles as we give each other a hug. If you were most people, you'd think this way out of character for her, but then, you also don't know her like I do. Plus, it's me.
A couple streets down, we stop and grab coffee at Manny's, like we do every morning. Manny's is a little Mom and Pop type diner run by a little Mexican guy named Manny. Manny sees us comin' in and lights up with a big ear-splitting grin before yelling “Señoritas hermosa de la buena mañana” to us.
For those of you that don't speak Spanish, that's “Good morning beautiful ladies.” Manny's a sweetheart and a big flirt. He's also old enough to be our grand-father and has three daughters, all of which are older than Rachel and I. He's always says the coffee is on him and won't let us pay for it, but we leave him a couple bucks in the tip jar. Without fail, he always makes a big fuss when we do, but he knows we love him and wouldn't insult us by not letting us show it by leaving a tip.
We chat with Manny for a minute or two before continuing on our way. He always wants to know how school is going and stuff like that. Manny came to the States from Mexico with not much more than the shirt on his back. He doesn't have much in the way of formal education, so it's pretty important to him that his kids and everyone he cares about gets one.
Manny may not have much in the way of formal education, but he's pretty damn smart and could probably show a lot of prep school business types a thing or too. Some education you just can't buy.
Rachel's working on a new painting, and she tells me about it as we walk. She's having a little trouble with a few things on this one, which is strange for her, because she doesn't usually have trouble with anything. Anyways, she wants to know if I can sit for her so she can get it figured out. I tell her no problem. I've sat for her a few times before, usually because she's actually doing a painting of me, not because she's having trouble with one.
Rachel also tells me her Dad's been pretty worked up about some stuff that's been going on at work lately. He doesn't normally get in to too much detail with her about work stuff, which is understandable because he's a cop and all. It's natural that there's gonna be a lot of stuff, most stuff, that he can't talk about. You know, on-going investigations, legal reasons, and all that other stuff you hear about on the cop drama shows on TV, but she says he's been even more silent about work than usual.
Rachel tells me she can see that whatever it is, it's wearing on him, and it's bugging her because there's not much she can do about it. I can sympathize with her, and him for that matter. In my line of work, I'm pretty much on my own when it comes to people I can talk to. It's not like I can just come home and have a chat with Grandma or Rachel if I've had a bad day or want to get something off my chest.
I can just hear how that conversation would go. Nothing like complaining about how your plans to kill someone aren't working out just right to kill
a conversation before it even gets started. That, and to kill a friendship. Call me crazy, but I doubt Rachel or Grandma would ever look at me the same again if they knew what I do for a living. Grandma anyways.
Anyway, from what Rachel has been able to piece together from little bits and pieces of conversation with her Dad sounds pretty serious. She thinks he's found out about some corrupt cops in the department, and she's worried for his safety.
I can't say I blame her. These kind of things never go well on TV. Not that I'm delusional and think TV is how things work in real life or anything, but you sure can see how something like this can go wrong a hundred ways from Sunday, especially if you're the good cop and the bad cops find out you know about them.
Let's just say Rachel's got me a little worried now too. Maybe I'll have to do some checking into this on my own.
When we get to school, I tell Rachel that I've got an appointment today at two, so I won't be around after school to walk home. She says no problem, she'll catch me later, and we split up to head for class. We have a lot of the same classes together, but first period this semester isn't one of them.
You might be wondering why I even bother to go to school. I mean, it's not likely that whether or not I have a high school diploma is going to matter much in my line of work.
I guess there's a few reasons really. The biggest has probably got to do with my age and maintaining appearances. Most seventeen year olds are in high school, and as I mentioned before, I need to keep a low profile and not draw attention to myself.
Then there's the personal side of it. I like to learn, and while these days, there's not much that school has to offer me that I don't already know, I'm going to finish up and get my high school diploma.
Maybe it's a pride thing, maybe it's got something to do with my otherwise chaotic past history, but I'm gonna graduate, at least on paper. I haven't decided if I'll bother to actually attend graduation or not, but that's kind of irrelevant.
I may actually go to College.
Surprise you again? Like I said, I like to learn, and while I generally am just fine with teaching myself stuff out of a book or by doing research on the internet, there's something appealing about college, or even University.
There's this thing you can do at some Colleges and Universities where you can actually attend classes without being registered in them. It's called auditing. Basically you can go to the classes and participate in them like any other student, but you're not getting graded in them or going to graduate at the end either.
A lot of you are probably wondering why on earth anyone would ever want to do that. Like I said, I like to learn.
And who knows... I may not want to kill people forever.
***
It's 1:30pm before I know it, and I'm catching a bus to head downtown. My 2 o'clock meeting that I told Rachel about is a meeting with the prospective new client who left me a voicemail yesterday. She doesn't know it yet, but we're going to meet face to face today.
Her name is Emily, and she's in her mid-thirties. She's a marketing executive for a big firm downtown, which is why I'm on my way downtown. She thinks she got a 2 o'clock with a prospective new client, so I'm sure she's gonna be a little surprised when she sees me.
I'd be lying if I said I don't enjoy the look of confusion on people's faces at times like these. Just a little bit anyway. It's always just slightly amusing to see that look of surprise on their face, their eyes widen and their eyebrows raise as they see me for the first time and realize just who it is they're meeting.
Emily is no different. Maybe a little more controlled. Being an executive and all, she's probably used to having to maintain a poker face in business dealings, but the surprise still shows on her face none-the-less.
We chat for a while, and I ask her the questions I need answers to. Emily has been told how this works by the person that referred her to me, and she answers each of my questions without skipping a beat.
I like her almost immediately. I can see past the suit pretty quick, and I find we probably have more in common than she will ever know. Five minutes in, and I already know I'm going to take the job. That's usually the way it works with me. I'm good at reading people, and I'm almost never wrong in my assessments, at least not so far. Emily strikes me as one of the good ones.
Richard Demario doesn't.
Demario is a piece of garbage that thinks he's God's Gift to women. He's also an enforcer for one of the biggest mob families on the West coast.
OK, so you're immediately thinking I should be backing away on this one. Not a chance. I'm always up for a challenge, and this guy has it coming to him BIG TIME.
Emily first found out about Demario six years ago after her best friend Lisa was killed. Killed is actually a serious understatement in this case. Lisa was brutally murdered, beaten to an unrecognizable pulp and left lying in the big fountain downtown by Square One. I can remember the news coverage at the time. Everyone was in shock at how violent the murder was.
Apparently Emily's friend Lisa had been unlucky enough to witness an abduction that Demario was involved in with a couple of his mob buddies. To make matters worse, the abduction went sour, and the girl they kidnapped, the daughter of some big shot banker, got killed when they were trying to release her.
The papers said the kidnappers had got the ransom, but the police botched the handling of the case, bursting onto the seen before Lisa was out of the line of fire. I'm not entirely sure if that's true, but the bottom line is that Lisa took a bullet because of Richard Demario, so it's all on him as far as I'm concerned.
For whatever reason, the police never found out who the kidnappers were, at least according to the newspapers. Whether they actually knew and didn't have enough evidence to arrest them, I don't know. Could have been something to do with the botched handling too. Maybe it was decided to keep it quiet for internal reasons the public never found out about.
Regardless, Lisa was dead, and Emily was left wondering why the hell nobody was doing anything about the fact that her best friend was murdered. So she started doing a little investigating herself. My kind of girl. She was good at it too. Took her a few years, but she was persistent, and she finally figured out it was Demario who killed Lisa. Problem is, she wasn't able to cover her tracks as well as she should've, and Demario found out.
That's when things went sideways. You'd think a thug like Demario would've just killed Emily and been done with it. Knocked her off and made it look like an accident or something. Nobody suspects anything, and Demario goes on his merry way.
But no. Demario starts checking into Emily, presumably with the intention of planning to kill her, and somehow he decides he's fallen in love with her. Nothing crazy there, right? I mean, there shouldn't be any reason she wouldn't be up to going for coffee or something with the guy who brutally murdered her best friend.
So Demario actually gets the idea to approach Emily, and see if he can pick her up. He finds out there's this place she and a few of her friends like to go for a few drinks on Friday nights after work, so he plans to casually bump into her there.
For some reason, he figures she won't recognize him. Maybe he thinks there's no good photos of him on file that she could've seen anywhere, or that his appearance has changed enough in the last few years that it wouldn't matter anyway. Regardless, Demario doesn't think it's going to be a problem and shows up at the bar one Friday night a few months back.
Demario's plan fell apart pretty much from the get go. Emily recognized him the moment she saw him, and he could see it in her eyes that she did. She played it smart and kept her friends between him and her, never once leaving the group, even to go to the washroom.
Demario could see he wasn't going to get the opportunity to bump into as he'd planned, so after hanging around and watching her for a bit, he made a point of sending her a drink before he left the bar. The bartender handed it to Emily with the message that the “good looking gentleman in the suit over there bought this for you. He said he'
d see you soon.”
Since then, Emily has received a constant stream of reminders that Demario is watching and waiting. Emails, text messages, flowers and other gifts sent to her home and office, notes left taped to her front door, voicemail left on her phone, leaving Emily wondering if there isn't anything that Demario isn't able to access.
And she's terrified.
She doesn't want to be. She's as angry as she is scared. She told me she'd gladly kill him herself if she thought she could pull it off, but she doubts she could ever get that close to him and be successful. She also doesn't want to end up in jail for the murder of a scumbag like Demario. Can't say as I blame her. I don't ever want to end up in jail myself.
Needless to say, Demario is a real piece of work. I'm not sure if the guy actually thinks it's possible something could actually happen between him and Emily, but he's sure giving it the old college try. I have to give him an “A” for effort, even if I'm gonna give him a “D” for dead at the end of it all.
So I've got another client, and another murder to plan. Nothing like a full schedule, although my schedule will be lightening up as of tomorrow evening.
That's when I'm going to kill Dr. Harry.
Teenage Assassin: Episode 2
Written by
M.W.Taylor
© Copyright M.W.Taylor 2011
All rights reserved.
http://www.teenageassassin.com
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