Promised Box Set

by James Kipling

  He stuttered once, before getting out, “I’m not used to this.”

  “I’ll be gentle,” he blinked at her, unsure of what to say. She kissed him in reply. He felt himself relax as he led her into his room.

  She felt him relax. This was her chance to give him the lethal injection. Nobody would know how he was killed. I don’t want to, she thought. But she had to. The syringe was wrapped neatly and stowed in her stockings. She knelt and removed the syringe while he watched curiously. Tommy didn't see it coming as Jenna kissed his neck. Then he felt something sharp pierce his neck, and his vision became blurry. He fell to the floor. Jenna stood there, her expression blank. He could see her looking at him, he reached for her, and then everything went black.

  Jenna scooped up his cell phone and the syringe and walked out of the room. Her cell phone rang as she ran to the bus station unnoticed but for an old lady sauntering the streets.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Has the job been done?” asked the strange voice.

  “Yes, it’s been done.” She answered stiffly.

  “Your money has been wired to your account. I'll let you know when there's a new job.” He hung up without another word.

  Jenna didn't like her job, but it paid better than any other one she had tried. She got on the bus and walked to the very back. She had to change her clothes and she wanted to take off the itchy wig.

  ****

  It hadn't rained for a while now. People were driving like maniacs, as if in a rush to get home before the storm hit. Mike kept a watchful eye on the dark clouds hovering over him. Both the monstrous clouds and he were in a rush. The sun was fading over his right shoulder as he parked in front of an apartment building. He rushed to the front door of Tommy's apartment, worried for his friend.

  He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He had tried calling him several times, but there was no response from his side, not now, and not the hundreds of times before. Mike realized that the door was not closed. He hesitantly pushed it open, and saw Tommy lying unconscious on the floor. He had been watching Law and Order and knew that he shouldn’t touch anything until the police arrived.

  He fished out his cell phone and called the paramedics. He was so confused that he babbled for several minutes before the operator cut him off and asked him to explain the situation. After a few moments, he heard the familiar wail of police sirens, and knew that help had arrived. Mike couldn’t help but check Tommy’s pulse. To his immense relief, he was still breathing but unconscious. His eyes were wide open, but not moving. Something must have happened to him, he thought.

  The paramedics came inside with a stretcher. They put an oxygen mask on Tommy’s face while talking to Mike.

  “Do you know if he was taking any medication before this happened?” they asked.

  “He was in perfect condition; he was never on any medication,”

  “Are you one of his relatives?”

  “No, I'm his friend and coworker,” he answered swiftly. “We both work for the Engineering Department of a major construction company.”

  “Can you let his relatives know what happened, in case we need any blood for transfusions?” The paramedic closed the notepad and headed to the ambulance. “You can come with us to the hospital.”

  Mike nodded numbly. The ride to the hospital was silent but for the screeching of sirens. Once they arrived, he stood uselessly as his friend was hurried into the ER.

  He had been waiting for about an hour before a doctor came to talk to him.

  “We are sorry, but he didn't make it.”

  “What?”

  Mike felt like something had pierced him in the chest. His only friend was gone. It was like a nightmare that he wanted to wake up from, only to discover that he couldn’t.

  “We'll take him to the morgue for a post-mortem analysis. Do you want to come along?”

  “No, I'll start making the funeral arrangements and contact his family.”

  He remembered Tommy telling him about a special girl he had met and that they were meeting tonight. He had her number somewhere. Tommy had used his cell phone to call her the first time they met.

  The phone was answered on the second ring.

  “Hello, its Jenna.”

  “Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, but something happened,” he began.

  “What happened and who are you?” asked Jenna curiously.

  “I'm sorry; I didn't introduce myself, I'm Mike, a friend of Tommy,”

  “Oh, he told you to call me. Is he too much of a coward to speak to me after he stood me up in the club? If so, tell him to go to hell. I don't want to hear anything from him ever again.”

  She pretended to be mad, ignoring the faint pang of guilt in her chest.

  “Tommy is dead,” he interrupted her.

  “What?” she asked with shock. “No, that’s not possible. You’re lying.”

  “I’m not. He died tonight. I found him lying on the floor, he was well dressed so I think something might have happened when he was about to leave the house.”

  “I'm so sorry.” Mike could hear her sobbing into her phone. “I thought he stood me up. Do you know what might have killed him?”

  “The paramedics think it was a heart attack. He has been transported to the morgue. I'll keep you posted if something comes up.”

  He felt horrible for the girl, Jenna. She sounded so nice and so heartbroken.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Jenna asked, throwing in a few fake sniffles for good measure.

  “For now, I just wanna call his family and let them know what happened. You might want to get some rest. It’s a lot to take in.”

  “Okay,” she hung up the phone.

  Mike took a taxi from the hospital to Tommy’s apartment. Upon entering the apartment, he went to Tommy's bedroom to look for any contacts he could find. He opened his drawers and found his diary. He wanted to read it, but he felt like he was betraying his friend. Still, what if there was something important? He opened the last page and saw a number written there. Under the number was written, “CALL URGENTLY.” He dialed the number and a strange voice answered.

  “Hi.”

  “How may I help you?” asked the stranger.

  “Do you know anyone by the name, Tommy?”

  “Tommy who?”

  “Tommy Fokler,”

  “No, why?”

  “I'm sorry to bother you. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

  He hung up. He wondered why Tommy would have a number of someone he didn’t know. Or maybe the contact knew him by another name. It was strange. Tommy never liked having or making friends.

  He closed the notebook and decided to take it with him. First, he had to make a few phone calls. Mike dimly remembered meeting Tommy’s sister. He introduced them but they were not in good terms. Still, he owed it to Tommy to find her.

  ****

  Jenna popped open the back of her phone and removed her battery. Then she put it back, and switched her phone on. This time, it turned on. There was a new message. She dialed and listened to the message.

  “There's a new job, call me back for the details.”

  She hung up and redialed the number. The phone was picked up on the second ring. This was one of her workmates. They never called themselves hit men or hit women; it made them sound worse than they were. Jenna felt apprehensive. She knew it was just another job, but she hated not knowing who the target was. She wanted to quit this job and settle down, but she was also strangely and disturbingly addicted to killing people. No one, not even her family or closest friends, knew what she did for a living. They only knew that she was a banker and sometimes she told strangers that she was a real estate agent.

  “I knew you'd call as soon as you got my message.” Rick said.

  “Get to the point, I don't have all day.”

  She poured herself a glass of water.

  “Arnold Banks is our next targe
t.”

  There was a beep at the other end.

  She was not in the mood to kill today; she had started to like Tommy, even though she knew that the number one rule in her line of trade was to never get attached to the clientele. He was such a gentleman; it was too bad he had to die that way. She had to think of a way to forget him. She opened a drawer and removed a syringe just like the one she’d used earlier. Jenna always had a few of them prepared.

  She set it aside. She had to get to know her target now. She had to know the target’s weaknesses and strengths. Who is this Arnold Banks? She asked herself as she moved to her laptop. She googled his name and his address popped up. From his Facebook profile and recent tweets, Jenna deduced that he was a nerd. She wondered how she would get close to a nerd. She knew nerds were introverts and rarely, if ever, socialized. This was going to be harder than she thought. No wonder she had to work with Rick. Jenna was used to flying solo.

  Getting used to Tommy and making him ask her out on a date was difficult enough, and she wondered if this guy was even going to notice her. She believed in her charms, but sometimes she doubted them. She had to strategize.

  ****

  Arnold Banks walked out of the city mall, his arms and hands laden with packages containing the new clothing he had purchased to spice up his wardrobe. After locating his car in the parking lot, he put his bags in the back seat. He absentmindedly turned to the driver’s seat and knocked over a woman who was rushing to the car next to his.

  “I'm sorry,” he said as he helped her pick up her groceries.

  “It's okay,” she stood up and shook his hand. “I'm Jenna,” she continued.

  “Nice to meet such a lovely lady as you,” he smiled at her.

  She knew his weakness and was determined to use it against him. Arnold was a gentleman who liked shy girls. And she could tell he liked her. Arnold was a much easier target than she had thought. That was good. Her appetite for murder had been affected since she had murdered Tommy. She smiled at him. He looked friendly and charming, but she wasn’t supposed to question why he was to be killed. All she had to do was her job and kill him.

  “Thank you. Um, you didn't tell me your name.”

  “Oh, sorry. I'm Arnold.”

  “I’ve got to run now, it was nice meeting you.”

  “Likewise. Have a lovely day.”

  She got into her car and pulled out of the parking lot, before parking a block away. Jenna waited for him to start his car. She wanted to tail him home. She needed to find out where he lived. Jenna shook her head. He was so charming. But it was not her business as to why she was supposed to kill him. The job paid well and that was all that mattered, she told herself. She had no reason to complain.

  Jenna followed him home and parked at the corner. She watched his house. It looked like he lived by himself. She decided that he was most likely a single man. That was a plus for her. It was less likely that someone would walk in on her killing him.

  “What should I do now?” she asked her reflection.

  She drove off. Tailing somebody was her kind of thing, she was used to it. Sadly, Jenna couldn’t just tail people all day. She didn’t feel like trying to kill him tonight and she was determined not to miss too much of her favorite TV show.

  She drove the several miles home on old back streets she used to use for drag racing. She had always been a tomboy, and that was how she met Rick all those years ago. Jenna had always enjoyed the company of the neighborhood bad boys. They taught her many techniques and skills she still used today.

  The first time Jenna had killed a man was in self-defense. She was traumatized for several months, until she murdered her second victim. Rick had picked him out for her. He suggested that this was the only solution for her to stop being traumatized by her first kill. Her childhood was never fun, and the only time she forgot about her past was when she killed people. Memories of her childhood came rushing through her mind as she drove.

  Jenna was seven years old the first time that she heard the word black. Jenna and her friend Missy were the only two white girls growing up in Kentland. It happened on a Friday. It must have been a Friday because Jenna was always restless on that particular day.

  She had heard the word the day when her dad decided to spend the whole day at home. Jenna had climbed a chair and taken down her mother’s Chinese tea set. The tea set was the sole relic that Jenna’s mother had of her own mother who had died when she was a young girl.

  She cherished each blue and white porcelain piece, the grateful curve of the pot’s spout. She loved the hand-painted finches and chrysanthemums, meant to ward off evil, painted on the teapot. It was this last piece that slipped from Jenna’s hand, and fell to the floor and shattered.

  When her mother saw the teapot, her face flushed a ruby red and her upper lip quivered. Her eyes settled on Jenna, unblinking and accusing. She looked like she wanted to scold her, but she feared he would kill her. It was too late. The crash of the tea pot hitting the ground had startled Jenna’s father.

  He got off his chair and grabbed Jenna by the wrist, pulled her close, and breathed rancid air into her face. Through gritted teeth he spoke to her. “You clumsy little girl, is that what you learn from your black friends?”

  “I’m sorry father it won’t happen again,” she whispered, obviously terrified.

  At that time, Jenna didn’t understand. She didn’t know what this word, black, meant. She didn’t understand why a color was so bad. Nor was she old enough to appreciate the injustice, to see that it was the creator of blacks who was culpable not anyone else.

  “You don’t have to talk about her friends like that,” interjected her mother.

  “It’s none of your business what I call them. Mind your own business,” he retorted, stalking outside to have a smoke. “That Stella girl is nothing but trouble, anyhow.”

  Jenna did surmise, by the way her father said the word, that it was an ugly thing to be black. That didn’t change her mind about her best friend Stella or Stella’s family. She felt safe and secure when she was around them. Jenna felt loved and appreciated.

  “You know your father doesn’t mean what he’s saying,” her mother promised as she dried tears from Jenna’s face.

  “Stella is a nice person,” said Jenna.

  “I know,” answered her mother.

  “Why does daddy hate them so much?” she asked.

  “I don’t know sweetie, but that doesn’t mean we should hate them just because he does, alright?” Her mother replied, putting her hands on Jenna’s shoulders.

  “I can’t hate Stella, she’s like my sister,” she protested, wiping her face.

  “Now go to your room, Jenna,” was her mother’s taciturn response as the sound of her dad’s footsteps reached their ears.

  Her father was a drunkard who would sometimes get violent. She grew to hate going back home after school. Her childhood was messed up, and only Stella could comfort her. Sometimes it was so bad when her father would come home drunk, both Jenna and her mother would sneak out through the back door and run over to Stella’s house until they thought he had passed out. This went on for years.

  Later, when she was older, Jenna did understand. It was the way her father uttered the word, not so much saying it as spitting it at her, that made her feel the sting of it. She understood who blacks were, and this made her love for Stella grow even more, if that were humanly possible.

  Jenna smiled when she thought of her friends, and frowned when she thought of her father. She was happy to see that she was the only one on these back roads. Jenna swerved back onto a main street and stopped at the red light. She adjusted her rear view mirror. As she waited for the light to turn green, she saw a familiar man in the distance.

  His physique and the way he walked was something that she knew all too well. She could spot Rick a mile away, beside a diner. What was he doing on this side of town? Was he watching her? She wondered. He walked into the diner,
and Jenna was consumed with curiosity to see who he was meeting. She contemplated her options, waiting for the green light. Jenna drove slowly. She cut into the lane that ran alongside the curb and peered into the diner’s many windows. She saw him holding onto his fiancée, who also happened to be her best friend, very intimately. Jenna was instantly livid. Even though she knew she should be happy for the two of them.

  She felt jealous, but there was nothing she could do about it. He’d chosen her. She had always had feelings for him, since the first time they had met. It was hard for her to be friends with him; he never took notice of her as a woman, but knew how she felt about him. He knew she would never say no to anything he told her to do or anything he offered her. He took advantage of this. And Jenna let him.

  Chapter Two

  Mike paced back and forth across his living room floor. The TV was on, but he wasn’t interested in watching some stupid reality show. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now. He was worried and angry. His best friend was dead and no one had been arrested for his murder. Mike was sure that he had been murdered. He felt guilty for not stopping him from going out that night. He had looked happy, and he hadn’t wanted to get in the way.

  Mike's phone rang, and it was the detective. He had waited anxiously for the autopsy results. He was the only person the police could contact. He looked at the phone, and answered on the second ring.

  “Hi detective.”

  “The results from the lab just arrived,”

  “And..........” he asked, curious of what the detective had to say.

  Mike was like a brother to Tommy. They shared their secrets together, but Tommy was more reserved than him. He knew that Tommy kept some things from him, but he knew about his relationships, both professional and social.

  “Tommy didn't die from a heart attack, he was poisoned. He was drunk that night. Where were you the night he was killed?” asked the detective.

  “Are you suspecting me?” he raised his eyebrow.

  Mike knew Tommy died from that night out with that strange woman. His hunches were right and he had to do something about it. He never liked this lady from the first time he heard about her. Mike was shocked that the police would ask him such a stupid question when the real culprit was somewhere out there. He had to find some evidence to lock this woman up before she did that again to an innocent person like his friend.