Tank

15 - Job done

Nova

Why am I here again?

Oh, yeah, I took the damn job.

When Marlon called me last week with information about a young woman who wanted a job done, I initially refused. I’m here getting to know my father. I’d already warned Marlon that I’d be out of commission for a while. Cunt didn't listen.

He told me a little about the girl and what she wanted. I decided to meet with her. Her story intrigued me enough to get me here.

So here I am, a hundred miles from Dad and Jett, dressed like a rich-bitc.h socialite. Long blonde wig – not the cheap kind, damn things always cost me a fortune, but they look natural – styled in a French twist. Three-inch heels that match my fitted navy-blue dinner dress, silk under-bust length jacket with the turned-up neckpiece at the back, and makeup elegantly done. I look the part, and my hazel contact lenses make me look like a whole new person.

I made the mistake only once of not wearing contact lenses. I know that’s how Ghost remembered me. I’ll never make that mistake again.

I walk into the restaurant Marlon told me the girl wanted to meet in. The place is nothing special, but not a dive, either. It’s four stars, and that will do. If you can’t afford to meet me at a decent restaurant, you sure as hell can’t afford my fees.

Based on the information Marlon gave me, the girl in question will be wearing a green cardigan with a white flower on the left breast. She's been given a fake name to address me by; I’ve been given one for her; this is how I work. I need to make it look like I’m meeting with an old friend. She will need an alibi, after all. Well, when it’s a domestic job like this, at least. I don’t need all this shi.t when it’s a job like Hammer wanted.

I spot her on the left of the restaurant in a booth by the window. This was her request. After pointing her out to the maître d’, I make my way over to her. She looks nervous, fidgeting with her glass of lemonade. Time to put on my little show.

“Julie!”

Her head shoots in my direction, shocked and scared.

Does she really want to do this?

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” She’s out of her seat just in time for me to hug her, shocking her more. “Play your part!” I hiss in her ear.

She nods slightly, and I feel it against the side of my head.

“Guurl, don’t worry, you know I’d wait all day for you.” She laughs, putting herself into character.

I pull away from her and sit on the opposite side of the booth. I can tell she’s in disguise, just like Marlon told her to be. Fake hair, eye color, and makeup are done in a way she wouldn’t usually wear them. It’s all part of covering my tracks. Nothing I do will lead back to the person paying for my services if they play their part correctly.

Take this woman in front of me right now. A domestic abuse victim who wants her ex-husband dead. I know why, but I need her to tell me the reason. I want to hear it from her own mouth. I have to know what she’s telling me is truthful and not just some silly vendetta she has against her husband.

Only then will I help her.

Because there have been people I’ve turned away in the past. I’m good at reading people. I know liars from those telling the truth. Marlon always does background checks on everyone and surveillance in case the person wanting help is an undercover cop.

You can’t be too careful in my line of work. The cops would love to get their hands on me. It won’t happen; they aren’t smart enough. Believe me.

I can see how scared the woman in front of me is just being here with me, how much she's risking to end the hell she’s lived for too long.

“Why don’t you start by telling me why you want this done.”

“But I thought,” She whispers toward me, her elbow on the table, hand covering her face as if it would shield her somehow. “I just had to hand over the information and the money, and that would be it.”

“It’s not that simple. You want help, you need to tell me why. The Exorcist only helps those who really need and truly deserve it. Do you really need and deserve it?”

I don’t know her real name. Names aren’t needed. They never are. I could find out who they are, the people who hire me, of course, I could. But I don’t. I don’t go into their backgrounds. All I need is the name of the “Bastard” and why they need sorting. Once I have the information, I’ll check it out to ensure I haven’t been lied to. Once Marlon returns with what he’s found out, I’ll act, if it is true.

“Can I get you, girls, anything?” Waitress, blonde, young, ditzy. Probably a college student hoping for a tip, that’s why she’s smiling at us like we’re her meal ticket, asks. I ask her for coffee and wave her off.

I wait until she drops it off before telling the woman in front of me to get to the point already. I don’t have time to hang around. They have fifteen minutes from when I walk into a place until I leave it to convince me.

“I’m not going to sit here and spin you a sob story about how he beat me all the time. He did. However, I will tell you how he beat my five-year-old son to death and got away with it.”

“How did that happen?” I’m genuinely interested. He killed her son and got away with it. That, to me, is crazy.

“Cain is a manipulator,” Her short thumbnails scratch the sides of her coffee cup. “He convinced the cops that my boy had fallen from the bedroom window, two stories. According to the MD, my baby’s injuries were consistent with a fall, but she couldn’t rule out that he wasn’t beaten.

“The jury believed my husband’s bullshit, and he was released. He was given a restraining order to stay away from me, but he walks around like he hasn’t a care in the world. He’s got a new life and family while my baby is gone.”

I can’t even imagine how in the hell she’s survived this.

My mind flits to the baby I left behind.

What would it do to me should I lose what this woman in front of me has lost?

How would I go on?

I may have run from my child, but I did it for the best reasons. I am not a stable person. I live a dangerous life. I will not put my child in danger when I don’t have to. I have my child’s best interests at heart. I swear that I do.

“How in the world is it fair that he gets to walk away from what he did and find a new family, and I’m left heartbroken and wondering why my baby isn’t here with me anymore?” She wipes the tears from her cheeks.

I see so much pain in those green-colored contact eyes of hers. She’s a grieving mother who wants revenge on the man who stole her child’s life.

I’m going to help her. No mother should have to go through what she’s going through, what she’ll always be going through because of the man she thought she loved, whom she thought loved her.

“Do you have the information you were asked for?”

Her eyes widen, still glistening with tears. “You mean he’ll help me?”

I hold my hand out to her. She hurriedly rifles through her oversized purse, finds the envelope I assume holds what I need, and hands it to me.

“Is everything inside?”

“Yes,” She nods frantically. “Everything that I was asked to gather, plus the payment.”

“Good.” I tuck it inside my jacket and get to my feet. She gets to her feet, and I hug her for appearance’s sake. “It will all be over this time tomorrow. Believe me,”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I pull away, nod once, and walk away from her. She will never see me again, nor will she see the murdering bastard she used to be married to.

* * *

Men. They’re so weak. So very fuckin’ weak that it's laughable. They see a pretty face in a bar, enjoy a little flirting, and can’t believe their damn luck that a beautiful young woman would want to leave with them. Wives forgotten; they always follow.

Lead men by the dic.k, and they’ll follow, no matter who they are.

Take my assignment, for instance - I call them that because I don’t want to know who they are. I get their names, but I don’t use them. They don’t deserve the recognition.

Anyway, he was at the bar, just as his ex-wife explained. It took five minutes of flirting before he was asking me back to his hotel room. One he’d booked for a “special” lady. Shame he didn’t get the night he was hoping for.

He tried to kiss me. I wouldn’t allow it. His hand on my ass in the elevator was enough. I told him I liked to be in charge, and if he lay down on the bed, I’d make all his dreams come true.

The idio.t couldn’t wait to get on that damn bed.

I could have done without having to see his tiny fuckin.g dic.k, rock hard and standing to attention. I seriously think he’s the smallest man I’ve ever seen. But whatever, each to their own.

He watched as I removed the tiny dress from my body, leaving me in my sex.y underwear. His fuckin.g eyes almost popped out his fuckin.g head. Just the reaction I wanted. Motherfucke.r couldn’t believe his damn luck.

I handcuffed him to the headboard and then straddled his lap. It made me cringe inside, but it was necessary. I watched as he squirmed beneath me as I leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes!” His enthusiasm was laughable.

“Ever taken a little something to keep you going?”

He shook his head.

I lifted to look at him with an innocent but mischievous smile on my face. His big brown eyes sparkled with lust, and the smile on his face told me he'd do anything I asked of him as long as he’d get what he wanted from me.

I leaned over the bed, and grabbing my jacket, I pulled out the small baggy with two little blue pills inside. I giggled while holding the baggy up for him to see. He narrowed his eyes, so I did what I knew I had to to get him where I wanted him. I unclasped my bra and dropped it beside me, and let him stare wide-eyed at my tit.s sitting pertly on my chest. He was practically drooling.

Oh yeah, he wanted me badly.

I ground my hips into him, my panty-covered puss.y rubbing against his tiny dic.k, giving him a taste of what he thought was to come. He groaned so loudly I thought he’d cu.m on the damn spot.

I took the pills from the baggy and leaned down, my breasts brushing his hairy chest.

Took all I had not to gag!

“Open your mouth. I want you to fuc.k me for hours and hours, and this will help you do that.” Seductive was my tone, my puss.y grinding harder against his tiny dic.k. It did nothing for me; I wasn’t even slightly wet, but it did a hell of a lot for him.

He opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out. I popped the pills in and smiled as he swallowed both pills. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. Let me touch you.” I giggled like a stupid hooker working her trick for everything she could get from him.

I removed the handcuffs. This was all too easy. He touched my right breast lightly before his eyes rolled, and he fell asleep. Filthy fuc.k!

I dressed quickly before calling to let Marlon know the job was done.

“What’s for me to clean up this time? A hotel of all things? Jesus Christ!”

“Shut up, Marlon, I know what I’m doing,” I told him. “And there’s no mess to clean up.”

“What? No bloodbath?” He laughed.

I rolled my eyes while grabbing my clutch and checking the room to ensure I’d left nothing behind. There would be no fingerprints because I still hadn’t removed my satin gloves. That was my assignment’s kink. Lucky for me.

“I gave him a little something to help him sleep. A little something that is completely untraceable after thirty minutes. Something that right now is causing a massive, fatal heart attack.” I chuckled to myself.

“You’re an evil bitc.h, Nova.” He laughed.

He was right, I am evil, but you can’t have feelings and connections in this job. I don’t feel anything for those I take out. Never will.

“Right. Look, I need you to call the front desk in about fifteen minutes and ask to be put through to room five-five-four. They won’t be able to. Wait half an hour and try again. Then tell them it’s an emergency, and you must speak to him immediately. They’ll send someone to the room, and they’ll find him.”

“Job done.”

“Job done.” I parroted back before ending the call.

Was I worried that the police would find out?

No, they’ll think he was a kinky fuc.k who had a heart attack and died. But it does help that I know one or two cops who know their stuff. They don’t know who the hell I am, and the police would no doubt love to haul The Exorcist in, but they’ll never find me. Every person I take out is a bad one. I’ve never just killed for the sake of it, and never an innocent person. I do my research before I do the job. You never know who might be feeding you false info.

I have had one or two who have paid me to take someone out, and I’ve ended up not doing the job because it was all bullshit. The person ended up being an innocent, whom those who hired me had beef with. I’m just grateful Marlon is good enough to figure the truth out quickly enough so that I don’t end up killing innocents.

Their shi.t is not something I wanted part of, so I dropped the job.

I always keep the p*****t. I’m not stupid. Fucker.s don’t try setting me up and get away with it.

Yes, I may have taken those lying fuck.s out.

Well, you don’t fuc.k me over and live.

An innocent person is not a spiteful cunt who tries to hire an assassin to take out someone else. That shi.t is low. I don’t stoop to that level. Ever.

I took the beads from my clutch and placed them in his hand, not bothering to cover him up. He was a sick fuc.k who killed his own child.

Why the hell should I have covered up his tiny dic.k?

He didn’t deserve modesty.

I took one last look at Mr. Pathetic, checked his nonexistent pulse to make sure he was gone and walked out of the room with my head held high.

I was unrecognizable, so I wasn’t worried about being spotted. Even if the cops checked the CCTV footage, that would be able to tell who I was. I never look directly at any camera; my face is never in the frame.

I always have the place scoped out before I enter any building. I always have to know where each and every camera is. I have to know where those who work in those buildings will be each and every time.

This is why I charge so much for my services. It costs me money to set all this shi.t up. I don’t just walk into a place and off a person. It takes time and thought to make it all happen. I can’t afford for anything to go wrong. Period.

I smiled to myself in the elevator mirror without lifting my head enough for the camera to pick up my face. The job was done.