The Hitman and His Consort

XVI - Accounts

First Person P.O.V: VALENTIN HACKSAW

I’m not even going to lie or act like I wasn’t impressed because I am genuinely in awe of what just happened. She’s fast—insanely fast, but I suppose I can only expect this from a professional. One thing I can’t tolerate, however, is her non-lethal shots. First, she aimed for the leg, then again that was fine because I did need that guy alive to use for shield.

They won’t shoot a live colleague, wouldn’t they? That’s why they lost. Second, she shot a guy in the thigh.

She had no use for that man because I have already taken care of the next possible threat to her so she could easily make the decision to dispose of him rather than cripple him, does she pity them or is she keeping them alive for a reason, whatever that reason was, consider me oblivious.

“Monsters… you're monsters,” the last man standing said in almost a whisper,

How dare he, just because Arthur is built like a gremlin-like killing machine does not give him the right to refer to her as any kind of monster—

‘Oh, right the guy behind is still alive,’

I know where he is, so without looking I shot behind me and the soft thud should clarify that I hit the mark. Arthur probably didn’t trust my aimless shot and checked, seemingly pleasantly surprised, before looking at the man again, who’s already sweating like hell.

“What did Lovanné instruct you to do with us?” she asked, not sure why she was curious about that.

“We were instructed to investigate your purpose and… neutralize the threats,” he answered,

“How is that going for you?” I asked I couldn’t help it, I absolutely lose it when people think they can kill me, it’s one of my few joys in life.

I didn’t need to look at Art to know she almost lost it, I heard her snort and a glance at her proved I was right because she’s biting her lip now. She has a very questionable sense of humor. The man looked like he’s at his wit's end despite continuing to stand his ground in a place surrounded by his dead colleagues,

“Are you going to kill me too?” he asked.

“No, we’re going to send you back as a message for the others,” I replied, and I heard Art suck in a deep breath, holding on for dear life not to burst out laughing,

“… you are?” the man asked again.

“No,” I replied before I shot him right in the chest, his body dropping to the ground with a thud,

“HEY! Valya that’s too much,” Art scolded, gesturing to the dead body, correct me if I’m wrong but is there a way for people in conflict with one another to be able to kill each other on a good note, forgive me if I was too rude in my way of killing someone who was about to kill me in the first place.

“Frankly, I don’t understand your take on this, Art,” I told her making her frown and sigh,

“Let’s just go, Frankenstein,” she grumbled, holstering her gun, as I did, before looking out back on the street.

Speaking of, why didn’t she immediately notice we were being followed? Oddly negligent and lax for a professional. I would like to make her think about changing careers, but seeing her little showcase earlier convinced me that she has talent for this.

Her skills make up for the lack of vigilance, I suppose.

Still, in the event that someone sneaked up on her, and she did manage to survive from that, then I would be able to tolerate or acknowledge the fact that this would be something that could eventually end up putting her in harm’s way.

She turned to me and raised a thumbs up, “I think the coast is clear,” she said,

‘Again…’think’ is not a dependable judgment,’

I sighed and looked out the street too, seeing as everyone is back to minding their own business and not even throwing us a look, I suppose she was right, then again it’s next to impossible to actually make sure of things like this, they could be anywhere from an elevated place or inside a random store in the vicinity.

“We should get out of here first, let’s try something else to find more info on him,” I told her as we walked out of that small free space, I did see a crowd already starting to form in that area so, needless to say, we bolted out of there.

Soon after that, cops will come and they’ll do a whole investigation so I’ll need to talk to Christopher, I just hope Anselmo lets him for a while, he’s been overprotective of Chris to the point it’s ‘Mother Gothel’-like. Once we got a cab, we opted to get the bike from the library again. Clearly, Art is not going to stop using that place as parking space in the near future.

Once we drove to an actual free space with almost zero human activity, a crappy diner, the discussion began. Although Arthur went ahead and order a cup of instant coffee for us so we can at least discuss ways to find information about Pierre to use for tormenting him soon over some beverage.

“So what do you have in mind?” she said in a hushed tone,

“Why are you whispering?” I asked, making her frown,

“Obviously because I don’t want anyone to hear about my plans to hunt someone down?” she argue which only made me scoff I leaned back in my chair,

“Who would listen to you? The only people here are that guy at the far back who’s out cold, smelling like alcohol and piss, and the sole cook in this place who's in the kitchen, smoking,” I listed, but she only rolled her eyes,

“We—no, I was careless today, look where that got us, would it kill you to whisper? Why do you always make whispering a big deal?” she snapped, I sighed and leaned closer again to participate in this ‘hushed’ conversation she’s insistent to put on.

“Thank you, now what, Valya, what other ways can we do?”

“I was thinking we could find records of him,”

“Records, like criminal records,”

“Well, not just that, we can find vulnerabilities too,”

“I guess, but you make it sound easy how are we going to do that,”

“We have the internet Arthur, we can even go in the secret records hall,”

“We have a secret records hall?” she asked in shock and awe, making me smile,

“Are you sure you live here?” I asked, it was more of a joke since I doubt she’d know about it but that made her frown at me followed by a fake laugh, huffing I followed up, “but yes, we do have a records hall, it’s not something official because again more people use the internet now, but I doubt Pierre didn’t clean that up to his convenience, so I’d rather we check the actual hard copies, they’d be our receipts,” I explained making her smile.

“I like that, so when are we going there?” She asked again,

“We can go now, it’s at the city hall,” I replied and for the nth time today she gave me a mistrusting frown, “I’m not f*****g with you, it’s there,” I assured as I took a sip of the coffee only to spit it back on the cup.

‘That was f*cking disgusting,’

With a shrug, she just stood up and gestured that we get going. Despite seeing and riding her bike multiple times it still hasn’t grown on me.

Perhaps I and this monstrosity will forever be on opposite ends of the spectrum. I salute its work ethic but to each, their own, and I for one would never own anything that looks remotely like this.

That said, I have no choice but to bear with it, wear the helmet, take my seat and wait until it’s over or we arrive at our destination, I personally prefer if they meant the same but unfortunately I’m not that confident the possibility of death is something I shouldn’t be concerned about while riding a bike that should be illegal if not for a few tweaking.

I would like to assume that we didn’t take long and we probably did not but the bike ride was too insufferable for me to think that, we arrive at the city hall in all its glorious showcase of expensive-looking architecture and just went right in.

This should be a surprise to me but as usual, this place is filled with women wearing white dresses and men wearing their proper counterparts. I’ve seen this scene plenty and it only fuels my irritation with humanity’s obsession with matrimony.

Why would you willingly choose to spend the rest of your life with another person in a legally binding contract when you’ve seen many instances of the same process leading to failure? I’ve seen failed marriages more than I've seen actual marriages and it certainly does not reinforce what an old acquaintance told me that ‘love changes you’ because I’m confident the contempt I feel for intimacy now was same, forever, since I’ve known it.

“Looking a little sour there, mister,” Art quipped,

“Don’t look at me, this place is an architectural masterpiece look around,” I replied,

“Why so bitter? And I mean, yeah this place is pretty, sure, but why’s your face like that,” she said, pointing at me,

“That’s awfully rude, мой король,” I said as I push her hand away from my face,

“I didn’t mean it like that—no way, are you bitter about the brides and grooms?” she went on, unrelenting.

Exhaling through my nostrils, I just shook my head at the scene and proceeded to lead the way to the records room.

Christopher told me that people keep the ‘really confidential’ files here, and he knows that because he’s a lawyer who actually has to work in messy instances involving people whose records not only needed to be hidden but also guarded and checked from time to time, people with secrets are different from people who’re starting anew but they have one thing in common which is paying for ‘professionals’ to make sure none of what’s in that room gets out to the public eye.

We reached the room, and I just went ahead and welcome us both in there. We were greeted by rows and columns of filling cabinets after the next one, labeled with names and dates. Some were filled till they sandwiched the files and contents,, while some only had more than a few folders and documents.

Art was looking around in awe and surprise. She even started looking for her name, “do you think they have me here?” she asked as she went through the cabinets that were unfortunately not arranged alphabetically.

“If you’re thinking they magically got files that you didn’t even process, no, this is not a magic library,”

“Wait so...does that mean I’m practically a myth?”

“…Arthur what?”

“Like does this mean I exist but not actually, as only a select few know of my existence, but because I’m always in disguise when meeting clients, do they actually know anything about me other than my name? I mean, I could’ve been anybody,” she exclaimed, making me pinch the bridge of my nose.

‘I can admit that it’s a very inquisitive question, it’s how she uses ridiculous words that make me not want to take her seriously,’

This woman seriously asked me if she was a myth.

A MYTH.

“You’re an unregistered individual, and let’s say that is not a crime by itself but once you get involved in a criminal activity who came to investigate your identity, the lack of such may put you at an advantage but your presence is confirmed so you’re not a myth, you’re simply… unknown,” I explained, I’m not someone who should talk about things like this, that is to say, I’m unqualified but I felt the need to make that clear.

“Besides, even mythical creatures have records, and even when their appearance is inconsistently depicted their description is consistent, like how vampires have pale skin and drink blood and have fangs, while you have no solid description, if people talk about you they’ll assume you’re some shape-shifting creat…ure…" I paused. Why is this going in this direction?

"Are you a myth?” I can’t believe I’m gullible enough to actually thread and delve into this conversation to the point I understood her issue.

I’m not sure if it widened my perspective or I am just becoming more stupid the more I spent time with her.

“Right? Like, am I a myth, Valya? Because that would be very cool,” she repeated, walking close to me, which pulled me back to focus.

“You’re not a myth, myths are fake, you’re very much real,” I said, pinching her nose,

“Well, what proves that?” she replied, removing my hand from her face, at this point I just pulled out my phone and took a picture and showed it to her, not helping but smile at my triumph.

“This should be plenty of proof,”

“Valya, you did not!”

“I just did,”

I looked at the photo I took and I supposed she had every right to be mad and annoyed. She looked ridiculous in this, eyes wide open, mouth gaping, and her hair messy and pointing in all directions. She crossed her arms, but that only gave me affirmation as I, in turn, give her a smile, putting my phone back in my coat pocket, gesturing at the filing cabinets to remind her what we’re here for.

Interaction with Art always ends up making me lose a few brain cells.

As we went back to focus on looking for our target’s info, it was laborious. I’ve seen a range of names from familiar to foreign, but it was hard to navigate through all of this. I don’t even go here often, but when I do, the fact still stands that their organizational approach is sh*t.

I even found Denis’ file, I didn’t open it, of course, I already know what’s in them.

“Valya, I found it!” Art yelled from across the room. I know that this mission didn’t exude much stealth in the first place, but I would at least prefer if she didn’t shout.

I went to where she was and we shared a solemn moment where we just stared at the cabinet labeled ‘Pierre Lovanné – 2006’ which meant that this was stored here since 2006, everything that happened prior to that year up to the present that needed to be hidden will be in this little box.

Arthur took the honor of opening it up and, with no surprise, the box is generously filled, not tightly packed like the others, but it sure wasn’t ‘a few’. She grabbed the first one but before she can even open the folder, I heard the doorknob click.

In a snap, I aimed my gun, the bigger one, at the possible intruder but lightly lowered my gun at the sight, “Mr. Hendrick,” I greeted, and he nodded to acknowledge my attempt to be civil despite having him at gunpoint first thing.

“Mr. Hacksaw, may I ask what you are doing here? ...With company at that,” he asked, raising a brow at Art who just stared at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Business, I’m currently working,” I replied, and he hummed tugging at his coat,

“Someone was paying you to do this then,” he asked again,

With a shrug, I replied, again, “That’s how business and employment work… doesn’t it?”

“I’m just clarifying Mr. Hacksaw, I just want to know if the person, whose privacy you’re invading, would care whether you’re doing this for business because bottom-line Mr. Hacksaw, this is illegal,” he droned on like a boring recording.

Arthur, bless her, put the folder back into the cabinet before facing him too, clearing her throat, “are we in trouble?” she whispered,

“No,” I whispered back, I just sighed and holstered my gun, “We didn’t even see anything, thanks to your righteous timing Mr. Hendrick, and there is no such thing as ‘attempted Invasion of Privacy’ right? So we must be done here?” I asked with a small smile.

He’s no righteous lawyer, that for sure, but he can be such a pain in the ass sometimes.

What does stopping me now do in the long run, rather than deter it, just delayed me? He flared his nostrils with a frown before gesturing for the door.

‘Oh hoh oho... this dehydrated sh*t-stick,’

I nodded to Arthur subtly to tell her we’re leaving and the moment that we got out of the premises of the city hall, despite my scorn for her bike I wasted no second riding it and put on my helmet and impatiently watch Arthur put on hers as she keeps looking at me weirdly.

“…Are you okay—”

“Drive woman,”

“damn, okay…”

She, as usual, sped through the traffic. I’m not sure where our next destination is but I’m sure as hell I do not want to explode within close vicinity of the place and that man. She didn’t ask where we’re heading next, so I suppose she’s the one deciding this time. Soon enough, we reached another rundown motel that looked like it was close to shutting down entirely. We just went right in with Arthur in the lead and we reached a room with Inka busy on the computers as always.

“How was school, children?” she asked, but I was too pissed that the moment I set foot in the room I pulled out my knife and threw it to the conveniently distanced mannequin head across the room, effectively knocking it over with my knife at the center of its forehead.

“Not that good, huh?” Inka quipped,

“An old man stopped us right when we got Pierre’s files in our hands, we could’ve found something good!” Art narrated, to my further annoyance, and Inka nodded with a frown,

“That explains it… so about the investigation part, I did find something, but…Arthur, can I speak to you in private?” Inka said, but then gestured for Art to follow her outside.

Clearly, they’re about to discuss something even I shouldn’t know and I only hope it’s something not involved in this case because that would be counterproductive.

A few minutes later, as I’ve somewhat calmed down from my f*****g tantrum fueled by my intolerance to old men and took a seat on the hard bed, they came back looking somber. I raised a brow at Arthur, who initially averred from my eyes, and to Inka, who looked pissed more than somber actually.

“What happened to you?” I asked Art and as if it wasn’t suspicious as it is, Inka threw a glare at Arthur who responded with a small flinch, before turning to me,

“I…I’m just a bit overwhelmed we just got something new and…Valya I need to go through this next bit alone,” she began,

Cue my f*cking confusion, “…because?” I asked,

“It’s something I can’t just tell you…in particular,” she replied not giving much of an explanation.

‘What kind of f*ckery is this?’

“Are you politely telling me to get off?” I asked again, now resting my elbows on my knees,

Arthur then threw a helpless look at Inka who only ignored her, “I-It’s not like that—”

“I see, I’ll just get a cab,” I said with a wave as I stood up and headed out the door.

Frankly, I’m not familiar with this burning and itchy feeling I have in my chest that made me want to stop on the floor and near damn well shoot the receptionist who told me to have a nice day. One thing was certain though. Something started going wrong with me ever since I met Arthur and perhaps the end of our interactions starting today might do some good.