The Dark Path

by Luke Romyn

  They were the eyes of a predator.

  Unable to stand the tension any longer, Guido finally swallowed his fear enough to produce sound. “What do you want?”

  “It is not what I want that draws me here little man, but what you want. I believe there is a thorn in your side that needs extracting.”

  “Are you Vain?” whispered Guido, expecting the man to laugh in his face at the absurdity of the suggestion.

  The man had not laughed, he had simply nodded. And Guido had simply pissed his pants.

  * * * *

  Guido’s thoughts were interrupted abruptly and he found himself once again at the end of a weapon. A silenced Glock-20, its ten millimeter round staring down the modified barrel, pointed straight at his eye. Once again the Dark Man had managed to evade Bucelli’s guards, and make his way unnoticed into the heart of the drug lord’s compound.

  “You owe me money little man.” Vain pronounced the statement calmly, almost conversationally, as though collecting rent from a troublesome tenant, and not payment for one of the biggest hits in recent history.

  Guido felt his heart begin to race. Trying to take control of the situation, he said, “There’s no need for the gun. We made a deal, and I’m obliged to uphold my end of it.”

  The Dark Man simply stared emotionlessly at the drug dealer, the gun unwavering.

  “Alright then; four million in cash if I remember correctly. It’s right in my safe over here, let me just get it.” Guido shuffled uneasily from the gun’s sight, making his way to the wall safe hidden behind a Picasso.

  Guido collected the money–money he had placed into two large briefcases after the assassin’s previous visit–and turned back to the Dark Man. To the dealer’s shock, Vain no longer stood beside the wall where he had last seen him, but right behind him, the Glock still in his hand.

  The man moved quieter than a cat!

  “D-do you wish to count it?” stammered Guido, now unable to keep the fear from his voice.

  “I don’t think you’d try to cheat me, do you?” purred Vain softly. “If you did, I’d have to come back to rectify the situation... and I don’t think you’d like that.”

  The look in the Dark Man’s eyes spoke of pain and death and, unable to speak, Guido rapidly shook his head. Gods! The man instilled more fear with a single look than others managed with threats or violence.

  Vain turned to leave, and Guido called out to his back, “How do I contact you for more work? I’ll make it worth your while if you can deal with my other problems the way you handled San Diablo.”

  Without turning, the Dark Man growled over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be seeing me again one day.” He slipped out the doorway into the corridor.

  Bucelli followed him into the hallway to ask what he meant, but the assassin had disappeared like a wraith.

  Chapter Two: Unwanted Memories

  The room was vacant apart from a mattress in the corner, and a small table with a single chair beside it. An old refrigerator stood guard over an empty kitchen. Paint peeled from the walls in several places, and the windows were covered by a thick grime on the outside, casting the room in the perpetual gloom of twilight. Spiders clung to the corners of the ceiling amidst complexly designed webs that had apparently never been disturbed.

  They’ll bring good luck, she had said. Vain shook away the unbidden thought. Such strange semi-memories had become more and more frequent of late, though he couldn’t imagine why.

  To the casual eye, the apartment looked and smelled like it had been abandoned for several years. Certainly nobody in his or her right mind would choose to reside in such squalor.

  But one person did, and the appearance of the dwelling mirrored the bleakness that dwelt within the Dark Man’s heart.

  He’d cautiously made his way through the front entrance, wary as a cat. Even in his own home Vain couldn’t forget who and what he was; in fact the apartment reminded him of it every day. Dumping the black bag on the floor, he moved silently to the opposite wall, instantly finding the hidden switch that slid a section of the grim paneling away. Behind it lay his tools of pain and death.

  Many problems had been dispatched using the instruments now racked on this wall: Guns with silencers, blades from around the world, all crafted for different purposes–just like any other tradesman’s tools. Hacking weapons, like his double bladed axe, joined the finest surgical scalpels, each sharp enough to delicately slice a man’s skin as though it were butter. Various other items awaited their use on an assortment of jobs, including the blowtorch and hacksaw he’d just put away. These featured among his most useful tools, providing the best results when it came to extracting information from an unwilling participant.

  Vain replaced the rest of the gear from the black bag before locking the panel back into place. He moved away from the armory and over to the mattress in the corner–slipping the two silenced Glocks from his belt and hiding them beneath the mattress before lying down for what he hoped would be a dreamless night’s sleep.

  He knew it wouldn’t happen. The dreams were the only things in this world he couldn’t kill.

  * * * *

  Vain wrenched himself awake and choked back a sob. His entire body drenched with sweat, he was frail as a two-day-old kitten. Steeling himself, he tried to remember what the dream had entailed, but felt it slipping from his grasp just when he reached for it.

  Damn the dreams, he thought to himself, they belong to the living, and you left that realm a long time ago.

  All that Vain had now were the dead–and the soon to be dead. He peered through the filth-smeared window and saw it was completely dark outside–time to go to work. Climbing from the mattress, he collected his guns and replaced them in the waistband of the black pants he still wore from the night before. He also collected two razor sharp knives, placing them into hidden sheaths in his black boots, and two sets of studded knuckle-dusters which he dropped into his pants pockets, one in the left and one in the right.

  Moving out onto the streets of New York, Vain instantly blended with the late night crowds. Not drawing attention to himself, he purposefully made his way to the neighborhood where the lowest of degenerates congregated at a criminal cesspool called Mason’s Lair.

  Once the booming nightspot of the city, Mason’s Lair had boasted three floors of DJs, live music, and girls gyrating in cages, setting businessmen’s hearts afire every night.

  Times had changed. Now the music was loud and ugly, and the women weren’t much better. The clientele were no longer Wall Street businessmen; these days there were more addicts and dealers than cockroaches–and there were a lot of cockroaches.

  Even amidst the scum of Mason’s Lair, the Dark Man stood out like a lion among sheep. Nobody knew who he was, but they all moved aside when his dark figure approached, none looking him directly in the eye, lest they draw his attention. The man carried an aura that reeked of death, and despite the squalor of their lives, those in the bar felt no desire to meet that death just yet.

  Vain gazed through the crowd. He knew the little drunk hid in Mason’s somewhere and he needed the information he could provide. He also knew the man wouldn’t want to be found and that would be why he loitered in such a public place. He would expect Vain to avoid Mason’s because of the amount of people gathered here; he knew the Dark Man’s abhorrence of crowds.

  What he did not know was that the Dark Man would go to any lengths to get what he needed, and right now he needed to find the man known on the street as Squirrel.

  Vain found Squirrel in a darkened corner booth nuzzling up to a toothless prostitute who looked like she’d recently devoured an entire buffalo. Either he nuzzled up to her or she was simply so enormously fat that he had to squash his face into her ample bosom to avoid being dumped onto the floor. Vain approached them, smoothly gliding through the crowd. Squirrel looked up and very nearly swallowed his tongue at the shock of seeing the assassin standing before him.

  “Leave us,” c
ommanded the Dark Man without even looking at the hooker.

  “Why should I, cutie? The three of us could have a great party together.”

  “If you don’t leave now, you fat slut,” whispered Vain venomously, “I’ll cut off those lumps of lard you call tits and feed them to you raw.”

  Her look of enticement turned swiftly to one of terror, glimpsing the fury within the Dark Man’s eyes. She almost tore the diminutive figure of Squirrel apart in her haste to escape. Vain calmly took the seat she had so agreeably vacated and sat in silence, pinning the fretting young drunkard with a withering glare.

  “Well, um, ah, sir. What brings you to this part of the neighborhood?” Squirrel asked nervously.

  “You do,” said Vain simply. This increased the sweat popping from the rapidly sobering Squirrel’s temple.

  “Ah, me, um, ah. What can I do for you today?” Squirrel was clearly uncomfortable in the Dark Man’s presence, but the scrawny little man would never find the balls to refuse him, Vain thought contemptuously. Something about Vain made normally brave men think of mortality. Men who weren’t so brave, like Squirrel, turned to water at the mere sight of him.

  “Why are you trying to hide from me, little man?”

  “Hide? Me? From you? No, um, no sir. I’m simply laying low after your most recent exploits–I mean your last job,” he corrected hastily.

  “You call this laying low? And why would you need to lay low after a job of mine?” inquired Vain quietly, casually scanning the room for anyone who might be watching them. No eyes met his.

  “Well, sir, some people might think I knew something and come after me for information,” said Squirrel.

  “You know nothing of my actions, or me, so don’t try to bullshit me with those stories. Save them for your drunken friends. Why did you try to hide from me? Or should we dispose of the Squirrel’s nuts?” Vain pressed a short bladed knife against the squirming man’s testicles, pricking the skin through the cloth of his pants.

  “No! God no!” squealed the little man. “Dante has been contracted for you! He’s been paid to collect your head, and has sworn to kill anyone associated with you. That’s why I’m hiding. I swear it,” he finished huskily.

  Vain drew back the knife, and considered Squirrel’s words. Dante’s exploits were well known as both effective and painful, almost as notorious as his own. Unlike the Dark Man, however, he reveled in his kills and enjoyed the notoriety his position entailed. Everyone from the lowest drug dealer to the Mayor of New York knew who he was, but no one had ever been able to touch him. The man had an almost sixth sense for traps and danger of any kind. Thus, even though elite task forces and assassins had been deployed to entrap him, he always escaped, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.

  “Dante is hunting me?” Squirrel nervously nodded and the Dark Man chuckled hollowly. “How unfortunate for him. Has he come to see you yet?”

  Again Squirrel nodded, “But I told him nothing, I swear.”

  “Of course not. Like I said, you know nothing about me anyway. However, you must have given him something for you to have enough money to entertain Big Bertha there. What did you tell him?” asked Vain.

  “Nothing, I promise you sir,” Squirrel began, but at a dark look from Vain he flushed. “I might have said you were looking into the Marcello contract, but that’s all, I swear on my pecker.”

  “You must know more than even I give you credit for Squirrel. Only a select few have even heard of the Marcello contract, let alone know who’s been contacted for it.” Vain offered no hint of emotion. “However, for your own sake, I’d try to keep that sort of thing to yourself from now on. Don’t you think?” He punctuated the last comment with a sharp jab from the knife still in his hand. Not enough to wound the man, just enough to make his point. Squirrel swallowed heavily.

  Without another word, Vain rose from the booth and started towards the exit.

  “Wait sir, one more thing before you go.”

  Not turning, the Dark Man grunted, “What is it?”

  “It’s said that Dante is staying at the Royal Hotel. Possibly on the sixth or seventh floor, in case you were wondering.”

  “I might just pay him a visit,” whispered Vain maliciously, striding out into the night.

  Chapter Three: Only Second Best

  Dante lay awake in the deluxe seventh floor suite of the Royal Hotel, his mind churning with plans and possibilities. After he killed Vain, he would be the number one assassin in the city–if not the country. His prices would climb to almost unimaginable heights and he could afford the lifestyle he’d always dreamed of.

  Drugs, partying and pain.

  Especially pain.

  Wallace had changed his name to Dante after his first paid kill. The victim had owned a print of “Dante’s Inferno” which ended up splattered with the man’s own blood. The name seemed somehow appropriate considering the Hell that encapsulated his life–the endless tedium of living amongst those who were no more useful than rotten fruit. They disgusted him, every one of them, and he wished he could destroy them all.

  Everything would change once he had killed Vain.

  Surely somebody in this God-forsaken town knew where his nemesis hid. Squirrel had proven a disappointment, and Dante had thought of killing him slowly to make up for his lack of information. His only saving grace had been the small morsel about the Marcello contract–that and the fact that Dante might need Squirrel for information in the future.

  Even though he found the little drunkard repulsive, nobody knew more about the happenings of the underworld than him. Dante would use that information until the last of it dried up, and then he would kill him. Painfully. He could almost hear the screams now and hungered in anticipation.

  A soft knocking at the door rudely interrupted his thoughts.

  “Who’s there?” he asked roughly, drawing a wickedly curved blade from its sheath at his hip.

  “Room service sir. We have your order of lobster ready.”

  Dante had forgotten about the lobster. He’d called almost half an hour ago and felt his appetite returning. Peering through the spy hole, a pimple-faced young man stood expectantly with the tray of freshly cooked lobster.

  “Leave the tray and go,” called Dante through the door while still watching for any sign of a trap.

  He heard the clatter of the tray being placed on the floor and waited several minutes before eventually opening the door a crack and glancing down the empty corridor. He’d insisted on staying in the very end room for this precise reason, although at the time he hadn’t expected to leave before finishing the job.

  Dante sheathed his blade and collected the serving platter before letting the door swing closed. Reaching out to place the platter on the bedside table he felt a cool breeze on the back of his neck.

  “Time to die,” murmured a cold voice.

  Dante whipped towards the sound, drawing his blade and preparing to throw.

  A brief flash from the corner of his sight, and everything faded.

  * * * *

  Vain gazed at Dante’s corpse. Half of its face had disappeared–sheared away when the bullet exited through the cheek.

  The assassin felt nothing. He had anticipated anger or perhaps some perverse sense of accomplishment having destroyed his hunter, but emptiness consumed him. This had long ceased to surprise him. Ever since his first kill it had always been the same. With emotions came memories, and the Dark Man knew that memories would bring him pain. It was better this way.

  He wondered at the simplicity of it all. For such a notoriously skilled assassin, Dante had made two fatal errors. Although he had chosen a room on the topmost floor, he’d failed to notice the easy accessibility by way of scaling the outside wall and pushing through an unlocked window. A single shot through the head had finished him.

  If only all my jobs were so simple.

  Dante had been overconfident. He hadn’t believed Vain would come for him directly. Ultimately that had been his downfall.
/>
  That, and his weakness for crayfish.

  Vain moved away from the still-twitching remains, exiting via the same route he’d entered. The body would remain undiscovered until the morning, but he still paused regularly, ensuring no one followed him. Eventually this paranoia paid off when he observed a dark shadow slipping into an alleyway behind him.

  Proceeding as though he hadn’t noticed anything, Vain quickly ducked into the next alley and waited. Within moments, he recognized the silhouette in the passing crowd. Vain pounced, roughly dragging the figure into the shadows, out of sight from the evening’s revelers.

  Reaching into his pocket, Vain looped his fingers into the spiked knuckle-dusters, hauling his victim further from sight. Even approaching midnight, the street remained busy. It would only take one curious idiot to ruin the entire thing, and tonight he wasn’t in the mood for killing tourists. Vain threw his captive against the brick wall, pinning a forearm across his throat.

  Watching the writhing figure, surprise jolted Vain, finding not a man in his grasp, but rather a short, blond girl, no more than fifteen years old. She leapt and bounced helplessly against his hold, striving to free herself, all to no avail.

  “Who are you? Why are you following me?” Vain hissed. The still struggling girl stared malevolently through her mop of blonde hair. Vain returned the dusters to his pocket, and cuffed the girl on the side of the head with his open hand.

  “Who are you? Tell me now or I’ll cut out your ovaries and string them around you like a necklace.”

  The girl’s eyes flashed with fear, but still she said nothing. Although impressed by her fortitude, Vain knew she had seen too much; she could identify him, and he drew the knife from his right boot. She was probably nothing more than a homeless kid looking to pick his pocket. A quick and merciful death. Leave her presence here a mystery.