California Dreaming

by Stacey Johnston

  “You were fucking her with your eyes dude, it was fucking disgusting,” Kyle replies.

  Mind you, that ass-wipe has quickly moved ahead to avoid me walloping him back.

  Slimy dick.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad here after all,” I throw out to no one in particular, turning back briefly to get one more glimpse at the ass that had me mesmerized before moving on.

  “Can we get through one day, without you looking for a hole to stick that skanky ass cock of yours in?”

  What – The - Fuck! Surely I’m not that bad, I wonder as I turn back to the others, and make my way through the gates of our new school. Looking around it doesn’t seem any different from the last one, - apart from the new faces. You can change the buildings, but school is school and it’s not somewhere I want to be.

  I am also going to ignore Stephen’s smart ass comment for now otherwise, I will want to punch the fuck out of him. I know I’m a dirty fucker now, but I haven’t always been that way. There was a time when I believed in love and giving my heart to that one person who was supposed to be my forever. But, when I lost Peyton, I lost my world. Nothing can take away that pain.

  Since that day, I have found a way to temporarily numb the ache, allowing me fleeting moments of relief. I can’t deny that yes, that relief comes in the form of a warm body, but I have no plans on giving that up. Unlike Kyle and Stephen I have embraced my sexuality and I like to play. When the hurt seeps in and I need to forget, I’ll find an outlet, like I always do. If that hot piece of ass, who just passed by is anything to go by, I will have no trouble finding willing participants.

  Taking in the side glances we are receiving as we walk towards the administration building, I know we will be the hot topic for the next week. Ben and I don’t care about that sort of crap, but Stephen and Kyle are a little more sensitive. They won’t like the extra attention put on them, especially when we need to keep our heads down.

  We have been warned by the feds not to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves. We were given strict instructions to stay out of the limelight. That’s the least I can do, considering the impact it has had on my family. I am yet to hear from my brother but I know what I can expect when he does show his face.

  Although I’m still angry at what my parents have put me through, it’s nothing compared to what I have just subjected them to. I will reign my shit in and pray that our time here in Brooklyn is minimal. Agent Nickles said that with any luck they should have the case wrapped up within the next few months, allowing us to go back to our normal lives.

  Wouldn’t that be novel, a normal life…?

  Pity mine will never be like that again.

  Ah hell, it hasn’t been normal in a long time, but for now, I will do as I am asked and ride this journey out for as long as I need to.

  Maybe it won’t be so bad here after all.

  Epilogue

  A Silent Killer……

  I hate this place, I hate the sun, the surf and everything it represents.

  Happiness.

  Let’s not forget the people, I really hate the fucking people here, but a jobs a job and I do love my work. I am a contract killer, a hitman paid to take care of those unsightly jobs. You know the kind, the ones no one else will touch. You want someone gone, a problem solved, but are too much of a pussy to do it yourself, then you call me. I’m one of those hands on, kind of guys. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty for the right price. My rates may be high, but the quality of my work is exceptional. I pride myself on making sure the job is done right and on time.

  My reputation sometimes precedes me.

  Today, though, I find myself, once again in sunny Laguna Beach. I have spent more time here in the last year then I would have liked - fucking criminals, but I am here to send a message.

  My unsuspecting victim is the son of a crime boss, a boy who plays no part in his father’s organization. Unfortunately for this boy, he is a liability to his father, because he chooses to separate himself, thus making him unprotected and an easy target.

  How do I know this? I do my fucking homework.

  It’s all about the research, knowing your targets, and their habits. It’s called being efficient.

  With each new job, I spend about a month tracking my target, learning everything I possibly can. I need to know their movements, their day-to-day shit. Anything that can give me the edge I need to complete the job. This particular target was easy, his movements predictable.

  He is a college student, who works at a pizza place during the evenings. He lives in a one-bedroom apartment paid for by daddy and spends his spare time picking up random girls in the local bars. This boy is quite the player. I don’t think I have seen him with the same chick two nights in a row. He must have quite the libido because there is a new girl lining his bed every night. I have had his schedule down packed for the past fortnight, and now I’m getting tired of being stuck here.

  I’m done, it’s time to finish the job and head home.

  You are probably wondering why this college boy is a target, what my job may be. The boy himself, is not so much the job, as it’s his father my client wants. It seems that a rival family are looking to cross boundaries, and expand. They need to eliminate the competition, but the risk of taking out this boy’s father holds too many consequences. His reach far exceeds this small beachside town, and the ramifications of his death will be extravagant. Thus why I am targeting his boy. My client hopes that by taking out his son, it will send a message to his father. One, advising him to back off and let them expand quietly.

  I personally don’t care what happens either way, as I am just the hired help. Once my work here is finished I will be on the road again, vanishing before anyone realizes what has happened. I am a ghost, a face nobody has ever seen, including my victims. It’s the way I like it, get in, get the job done and move on. Simple really.

  I don’t ever let my professional life impede on my personal life or vice versa. It is not a healthy mix. I don’t ever want my child to grow up knowing what a monster, their father really is.

  Back to my work. I am a perfectionist. I like it clean with no complications. I thrive on it - the killing, I always have done. It all started with the cute little kitten from next door when I was five. That fucking thing used to constantly rub up against my leg, meowing at me. I hated it, so I got rid of it. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say it was not a pretty little kitty by the time I finished with it.

  After that my obsession grew, I targeted bigger animals until the day my mother caught me. I think I was about eleven and had been down by the creek on our property when she found me. At the time I was practicing my knife work on an unsuspecting goat from the neighboring farm. I didn’t hear her approach, and when she touched my shoulder, it startled me. I turned around suddenly, with the bloodied knife still in my hand, and my mother gasped. It was then that I looked down to see that the knife I was holding, had been embedded in her stomach. I had stabbed my own mother.

  Instead of pulling it out and getting help - like a good son should, I pushed it in deeper. My mother stumbled backward, her hands grasping the knife. There was no sound coming from her mouth, she was in a state of shock. Just watching her movements was exciting me, sending a rush through my body that I had never felt before. I just stood there observing, as she stumbled backward, finally falling on the grass.

  My heart was beating rapidly as her breaths started coming in gasps. She was struggling to get air in. It made me curious and I wondered how long it would take for her to die. I could hear the sound of the blood pooling in her lungs and it was causing a reaction in my groin I had never experienced before.

  I stood there, mesmerized at the sight of my mother dying, subconsciously rubbing my hand over my cock while she died in front of me. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was getting off on it.

  I’m a sick fuck. I can’t deny that.

  After taking my mother’s life I couldn’t go back to killi
ng animals, I needed more. My father had me institutionalized after my mother’s death. He couldn’t rationalize how any child of his could do something so horrific. I never had any intention of killing my mother, that was just accidental, but it only fueled my craving, making me want more.

  I spent those years stuck in that institution honing my skills, practicing my methods on unsuspecting patients and staff. The longer I got away with it, the better I became. No one ever suspected it was me, I was good at manipulating them into thinking I was getting better. When I was eighteen, they released me, telling me I was cured. Little did they know I was far from being cured, all they did was help me perfect my talent. A talent that has served me well over the years.

  I sort of fell into this chosen career of mine by accident whilst in New York for a business conference, a number of years ago. When I left the institution, I became a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company. I was at their annual sales conference at the Hilton, and I was tiring of the cockhead in charge, rambling on about sales figures. I needed an out, so when they broke for lunch I left.

  Wandering down a alleyway close by, I came across two bulky looking men beating down on some skinny kid. Inching my way closer, I was curious. Although I had no intention of intervening, I wanted to know what this poor kid had done wrong. When one of those big guys turned and told me to rack off and mind my own business I became enraged. The kid they were beating on looked half dead, so to give him some breathing space, I started asking questions.

  Thankfully, they turned and focused their attention on me, giving the boy behind them a chance to move. I held no reservations that they were going to try and kill me, but I wasn’t afraid. Hidden in the back of my suit pants was the knife I always carried. Those assholes made it very clear that I was messing with the wrong people, showing me their guns under their shirts. I stood my ground and continued talking, watching as each of them became edgier by the minute.

  When the bigger of the two reached for his gun, I grabbed hold of my knife. I had no trouble guiding it into his body, just off to the side, under his ribs where his liver was located.

  After spending many years in a mental hospital I learned the human anatomy well.

  Twisting it, I wanted to inflict as much pain as I could and also use his body to my advantage as a shield. The second guy predictably used his gun to try and kill me, only hitting his buddy, quickening his death. It gave me another advantage as I was able to push his dead buddy onto him, allowing me to slip around and use my knife to stab the second guy in the neck.

  The exhilaration I felt killing those two guys, especially because of their sizes was powerful. My whole body shook, the adrenaline rush flooding through my veins was indescribable. I moved in the direction of the beaten kid, helping him to his feet. He thanked me and asked if I could help him to his father’s restaurant. I helped him to that restaurant and then his father offered me a job I couldn’t refuse. One better suited to my skills.

  The rest is ancient history. Stefan helped me make a name for myself in this cutthroat business – no pun intended, and I helped him carve out the competition. When I decided to freelance, he encouraged it, on the condition that I never forgot where I came from. The old man died a couple of years back, the family decided they needed some new blood and put a hit out on him. When I aimed the trigger at his head, he thanked me. He never got to finish what he was saying because I put a bullet in his skull.

  He didn’t need to say the words because I already knew what they would be. He was thanking me for being the one to end his life. I wish I could say that his words meant something to me, but they didn’t. I have never been capable of feeling any form of emotion.

  Leaving my hotel room, I head towards the pizza shop. There is no need to scope out the place, as I know my target will already be there. The plan is to grab a bite to eat while I wait for the alleyway behind it to get dark enough for me to hide. The location itself couldn’t be any more perfect, especially with it being tucked away with building structures on either side of it. If you need a better description, imagine a street with houses on either side, that’s what this alleyway is like. The only difference is, that it’s narrower and heavily congested with dumpsters and trash cans. Every building has a door that backs onto it, with the only lighting coming from the globes above the doors. When the darkness hits, and as I have discovered, - it does very quickly, it becomes pitch black.

  Opening the door, it’s packed, but that’s a good thing. It makes it harder to pick a face out of a crowd if there are so many to choose from. The aim is not to raise suspicion to yourself, you have to blend in. People will always remember the quiet, solemn ones when asked if they remember anything strange. I always make sure to engage with my victims or the people around them somehow. It’s easy to forget the nice gentleman you were speaking to right before something bad happens.

  Tonight will be no different. “Hi there, how can I help you?” My target, a bright-eyed boy asks.

  “How are you doing? I’ll just have the pepperoni tonight, thanks,” I reply, my voice level, void of any emotion.

  “It’s a great night don’t you think?” A bizarre question, one I’m not sure I understand.

  “Pardon?” I ask.

  “Oh sorry, I just meant it’s a great night, but I’m happy because I finish up in ten minutes,” he apologizes as he explains his intent. Strange boy this one, but it doesn’t matter because he has just given me my time frame.

  Thanking him, I pay and move away from the counter heading towards the entrance. I will leave the pizza, for now, there will be time to eat after I take care of business.

  Walking around until I reach the entrance of the alleyway, I count the doors till I find the one I am looking for. I made a mental note of exactly how far down I had to go a couple of nights ago. I thought it would be easier to do a trial run and get a feel for things. Moving slowly, I quietly progress until I find my hiding spot. Crouching down, I wait, tuning out everything else around me. I pay no attention to what sounds like footsteps further down, as I ran into a few of the bums that sleep near the dumpsters last time I was here. I am not afraid of them, or of them recognizing me. I am just a black figure biding my time.

  Talking jolts my attention back to the now, as I turn my head in time to see the back door to the pizza shop open and my victim walk out. He slams the screen door shut and heads down the stairs. The plan is to wait until he moves past me and then sneak up behind him. If he sticks to his usual schedule, he will stop in a minute to search for his earbuds. Every fucking night without fail, he does the same thing. Why the hell he doesn’t organize that before he walks out is beyond me, but it’s the one thing I am counting on him doing.

  Like clockwork, he stops and scrounges through his knapsack looking for his earbuds. This is the opportunity I was looking for. Moving out of the shadows, I walk silently up behind him, stopping briefly to raise my gun to his head. Once my weapon is in place I pull the trigger and his lifeless body drops to the ground.

  Job done.

  Stepping over him I start moving towards the direction I came from, I can definitely go for that pizza now. I’m surprised how easy that was, I haven’t had a job like that in a while. It’s nice to get some straightforward hits every now and again. Gives the mind a moment to shut down, instead of constantly churning in hyper drive.

  As I get near the exit, a large crash behind me halts my journey. Quickly turning back around, I hear cursing and more crashing of which appears to be the trash cans, coming from the direction I earlier heard footsteps. Shit, maybe I should have investigated the noise, what if it isn’t the homeless crew I’ve seen in here previously. The darkness makes it too hard to get a visual but I can make out four shapes running out the opposite end. I am too far away to give chase, but regardless of that, I can’t be seen anywhere near this body.

  There is no way they will have seen my face, so my witnesses will have to wait. I will find them, you can be rest assured of that, but right now I
need to exit this alleyway before the authorities get here. Thankfully, I used the silencer when I shot him. In times like this, it is a cleaner method, I also didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. My preference has always been my trusty knife, but that wasn’t on the cards for tonight.

  I have spent the last three weeks keeping my nose clean, trying not to attract the attention of those C.B.I agents tailing my ass. I have had to get sneakier since London.

  I came close to those two agents nabbing me that time, I got sloppy and nearly paid the price. I’m not going to let that happen again, so it’s time to pick up my pizza and belongings so I can leave this shithole of a town.

  They will know it’s me when they find this body, I need to make sure I’m not here when that happens.

  I told you I hate this place, now I have an even bigger reason.