Chapter 1: The Lonely Loser

I'm a loser. Or at least that's what people say about me, whispering into eager ears, always fearful I might hear something. Had anybody really known me, they probably would have started shaking like leaves, cold sweat breaking out on their foreheads and running down from their armpits.

Because I'm a hitman. I kill for money and my services are available to anyone willing to put enough cash on the table

A hitman wil take out anybody if the price is right and if he's good there is never any shortage of work. A hitman plays by a self imposed code, a set of fixed rules dictated by his need to survive his assignments and which he will never break, lest he make himself the target.

The single most important rule is to stay anonymous, meaning a hitman, more than anything else, needs a cover and it has to be a good cover if he wants to stay in the trade. He does not socialize. He has no friends whatsoever and stays away from his family.

And most important of all, he does not engage in relationships with the other sex, no matter what. Those are the rules.

If you know your tradecraft, you stay out of trouble.

You play by the book and you play for keeps.

Those are the rules. No exceptions.

Until you yourself become a target. That is the moment when everything changes and rules are being overturned, when you have to run for your life, playing every dirty trick you know and then some. That is the moment every hitman fears and it was about to come down on me.

The target is right on time. A middle aged man, eager to get to his office in the Justice Center. He isn't going to break stride for anybody, spitting out the occasional "no comment", whenever some press guy throws a question at him. More journalists start to crowd around him, as he approaches the marble stairs leading to the entrance of the halls of law. He is slowed down momentarily and I make my move. Reaching into the pocket of my jacket, I pull out the small silenced .22 and push into the press crowd. Nobody hears the muffled reports of the gun, as I fire two rounds into Justice T. J. Warren.

Always shoot twice. Leave nothing to fate.

When the judge finally sinks to the ground and the panic-stricken crowd around him starts to disintegrate, I'm already on the other side of the street, headed north. I need to make a phone call.

Hank's Bar is my kind of place. None of the patrons will ever ask you stupid questions apart from the occasional "how 'ya doin' man" and if anybody asks them a question, they're likely to throw you out of the joint. After slitting your throat and bagging your wallet, that is.

I signal for Hank to dish out a club soda and a turkey sandwich and walk towards the back. The phone is in a corner, giving you a good view of the whole bar, while you place your call, which is the reason why I come to this place and no other.

I punch in the numbers and when the person on the other end lifts the receiver, I simply say "It's been delivered".

"You sure about the address?" whispers the voice of my present employer.

"No doubt about it."

"Then payment will be arranged as soon as we have official confirmation." The pompuous prick is acting as if I don't know the game, but I don't complain. He will pay good money so I will put up with his being a jerk.

"You know my accounts. divide it evenly. Unless you have more deliveries, this is our last conversation." With that I hang up before I have to listen to more high strung bullshit. My job is done and there's nothing more to it. If the Johnson wants to shoot the shit, he can do it with his wife for all I care. It's friday and that means I won't have to get up for my regular job tomorrow. I'm going to get me a bottle of Bourbon and sit in the window, enjoying the warm L.A. night.

"I didn't know you had some business on the side. How many accounts do you have?"

The voice of a woman rips me out of my thoughts. I spin around and find myself face to face with my boss' wife. The wife of the boss of my regular job, that is. In my "real" life I work in construction as a simple carpenter, leading a seemingly boring and uneventful life. The life of a lonely loser.

She has a mocking expression on her face as if saying "what could a loser like you possibly put in a bank account, let alone multiple accounts." I had always thought she was a bitch, but now I know for sure. She's her to bust my chops and if she starts spilling it to her husband, I'm likely to loose a good cover, a cover I have been building up for years. For a moment I think about killing her right here and now, but it's a bad setup and will expose me even further. I have to come up with something quickly, have to get here of my back, cover my tracks.

"I was talking about e-mail accounts, and yes, I do some business on the side. It's called e-commerce" I say and my voice sounds hollow and hoarse to me at the same time.

"E-commerce" she says with a grin "I sure wasn't aware that you had the necessary knowledge for this kind of business. Still, one account should be enough for you to handle your business mail, don't you think"?

"If you're so smart lady, you should know that if you're sending too much similar mail from the same account, you get accused of spamming."

I'm starting to get pissed off now, but also a little curious as to what she's actually doing in a place like this. Ninety percent off Hank's female customers are hookers, the other ten various kinds of lowly criminals, and she sure doesn't belong to the either group.

"What brings you to this place, Mrs. Delaney? It's not the nicest neighborhood to hang around."

"I saw you coming in here and thought I'd just say hello. It seems to be true, what they say though: you're a jerk." Her expression has changed, her eyes wary now, watching my every move " What are you doing in this joint?"

"As you have heard, I was making a phone call. Other than that, I wanted to enjoy a sandwich and a soda" I whisper, my face now close to hers "Are you following me around, Mrs. Delaney?"

All of a sudden she grabs my shirt and pulls me towards her. I'm so surprised by this move that I oppose no resistance, as she pulls me down to her and whispers in my ear:

"I know that you have some kind of secret. I don't know what it is, but I'm going to find out."

Her breath is hot in my ear now and her voice echoes in my head. "To tell you the truth, I get a kick out of secrets." With that she slips out of the corner and walks towards the door. Within seconds she is gone, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth and a feeling of foreboding that I can't shake, however hard I try.

Finally sitting in my window, I try to enjoy the smoky taste of the Bourbon but the usual easyness of having completed a hit will not come. I'm thinking about Karen Delaney and her strange appearance at Hank's today. What is she up to? She doesn't seem to know anything definite, but her snooping around is enough to at least shake my cover. But I can't simply take her out without finding out what she knows. I will have to get some leverage on her, pry out her knowledge and maybe that way I can get to the bottom of this mess.

As I stare down towards the hustle and bustle of the street, I hear a knock on the door. Shoving the gun under the waistband in the back of my jeans, I slowly approach the door. I don't look through the spy hole, only idiots in movies do that. In real life, the guy standing outside is only waiting for the hole to go dark. Then he puts two rounds in your guts and is on his way.

Standing on one side of the doorframe, I slowly open the door. Karen Delaney is standing in the sickly light of the corridor and she looks slightly scared.

My boss' wife is about forty, a petite, slender woman with no apparent female curves. She wears a long black silk skirt, slit almost up to her hips, a matching grey silk blouse and a leather jacket, but almost no makeup. while she looked quite stylish, my take on her was always, that once you got her out of her fancy clothes, you'd find something skinny with a lot of angles. Although her nose is a bit too long she's quite pretty with her shoulder length red hair and a pair of green eyes, that usually are piercing.

But not tonight. Tonight she has the look of a deer caught in the headlights

"What do you want?" I ask flatly. This is starting to get frustrating and it's sure no pleasant way to spend a friday night.

"I wanted to talk to you" she retorts nervously "are you going to let me in, or do we have to do the talking in the corridor."

I look at her and I can tell that coming to this neighborhood has her freaked out quite a bit and the junkies in the stairwell are no nice sight either. I open the door all the way and motion for her to come in with a quick jerk of the head.

I point to an armchair. "Have a seat. You look like you could use a drink." She just nods and I fix her two fingers of bourbon and hand her the glass. Then I light a cigarette and draw the smoke deeply into my lungs. I need to remain balanced, calm. I need to control this situation and find a way out.

"What exactly is it, that you want from me Mrs. Delaney? If this is some kind of a game you're playing with me, you'll find that I'm not into games" I say as calmly as possible "And I don't like people nosing around"

The liqour seems to have brought some colour back to her cheeks, as well as some confidence. She looks right at me with those green eyes and I wonder once more what the hell she's up to.

"I told you, secrets make me curious" she says in a strange voice "and it's clear to me that you're not who you seem to be. You play dumb when you are on the job, but as soon as you stamp your time card you become somebody else. Who are you?"

"You don't want to know, lady." I reply, looking at her through the smoke "It's better if you don't go down that road."

"I think you are somekind of criminal, you know. Don't worry, I won't go to the police or something like that"

"Don't go down that road." I repeat. She is beginning to be a threat, I can feel it from the way my hair stands up on the back of my neck. But I still don't know what to do with her. I can't take her out in the apartment and in any case being my boss' wife puts her to close to me for any investigation to simply overlook me. Gotta play it safe here.

"You have quite a place here. Very exciting neighborhood as well." She says it as if she were on a camping trip

I watch her as she stands up and takes a few steps to look around the hole I call an apartment. Then she approaches me, trying to grab my shirt again, only this time I'm prepared. I grab her throat with one hand and push her against the wall. To my surprise she doesn't try to escape nor resist. I bring my face close to hers and stare hard into those green eyes.

"Back off, Lady." I rasp "I'm in no mood for games"

"Really" she barely manages to pronounce. Then, despit the long skirt she starts to lift up her feet and hooks them around my waist. Slowly she starts pulling me towards her, while never breaking eye contact. We remain like this for several long seconds, while I try to decide what to do with this woman.

"If you try to set me up, lady, I'll kill you" I finally say. She just closes her eyes and pulls harder with her feet, her nostrils flaring now. Then her hands start to tug at my jeans, frantically trying to open buttons, pulling out my shirt. Her hands finally make it into my briefs, eagerly grabbing my cock. I feel myself getting hard despite the situation, despite the danger this woman represents. Her hands slide up and down my cock now, while she's still suspended in mid air with my hand holding her throat and her feet behind my back. Slowly I let go of her and she starts to slide down the wall.

Kneeling on the dusty linoleum floor, she puts her mouth to work and when I come hard and fast, she grabs my ass and shoves my prick down her throat as far as she can. As I explode, my head spinning, I hear the gun fall to the floor with a loud thud.

As she stands up, I can see her eyes sparkling with excitement. Maybe this was what she wanted all along. Maybe this is all there is to it. And who knows what advantage I might be able to take from the whole situation? But I'm wrong.

"I knew you had a gun, I just knew it." she exclaims, excitment in her voice "maybe you are a professional killer"

Again I grab her, this time putting my hands on her hips, turning her to face away from me, pushing her roughly against the wall. She holds both hands to avoid crashing into the wall, suppressing a gasp. I slowly start to hike up her skirt, stroking her inner thighs, finding she came to my apartment without underwear. In response she pushes out her little butt, sighing softly.

When my fingers reach her ass, it is firm and round, not skinny as I expected. I massage her buttocks for a moment, then slide my hand slowly down the crack untill I find her asshole.

She stiffens and I know that I have just found her weak spot, wondering how best to exploit it. To reassure her, I move further towards her pussy. She is completely shaved and her juices are already flowing, her tight lips hot with anticipation.

I start rubbing her pussy slowly, my fingers moving up and down her slippery lips and her breathing becomes faster and louder. My fingers are exploring every part of here pussy lips, slowly at first, then faster and faster as she starts to moan in response to my moves. She throws her head backwards and moves her legs, trying to spread them wider.

When my fingers finally part her now swollen pussy lips to find her clit, she starts to buck and wriggle. Little cries are coming from deep down in her throat. She is now begging me to make her come but I have other plans. Ever so slowly I move my hand upwards, spreading her juices in her crack.

Then I move back towards her pussy to find more juices. I insert one finger into her, then two, making her twitch. I turn my fingers to find the bump that characterizes the g-spot and start massaging it gently. At this point she looses control and virtually starts riding my fingers, trying to make herself come. She is in extasy, almost ready to come when I slow down and then stop moving altogether.

"Do it now, you bastard, make me come." she hisses breathlessly but I don't care to reply.

Instead, I pull my moistened fingers out of her and place them between her buttocks, slowly moving inwards in search of her asshole. She breathes in sharply when I insert one finger into her asshole, cramping in fear.