The Hitman and His Consort

VII – Reunion

First Person P.O.V: VALENTIN HACKSAW

Morning came and I’m already tired before I did anything. I’m not doing work until past noon.

But I was getting ready to deal with business. I even prepared the big car since the three of us will be dealing with this like yesterday but instead, I’m faced with excuses.

“We have a business meeting with the board and I need to be there, you can handle this, Valya,” – Denis as he was walking out the door, wearing something that makes him look more like a pimp than a businessman.

“I’m going to tour around my campus today, Valya, good luck though~” – Diana, already with a frappe in one hand as she ran to Rodrigo’s car whom, at least, had the decency to wave at me before leaving.

It’s not a problem though, I preferred working alone. Knowing that I won’t have to deal with both of their shenanigans almost got me psyched up to get to work. I texted Tyrone to ask if he’s still alive and if he remembers the discussion yesterday. He replied yes and texted me to pick him up by the same dumpsite that Marcello waited by yesterday.

‘No problem,’

I thought as I drove to the location, but I’m mildly irked that not only was there Tyrone; Marcello tagged along. This kid really thinks he’s living the life of an underdog savior, doesn’t he? I rolled down the windows and stared at them, waiting for an explanation.

“I-I don’t think I can do this alone…sir,” Tyrone said, and judging from the stutter, he’s saying the truth.

A split second of thinking I should just shoot Marcello dead would make this mishap disappear crossed my mind but then I’d have to hide the body, bury it and in the future, Tyrone would probably blame me if he ever incurs emotional damage and trauma from it, it won’t keep me awake at night than I already am but still…

I’m paying for my ‘therapy’. I ought to take my money’s worth and chalk this up to progress.

‘F*ck’

“Fine, both of you get in,” I said with an inhale and they did as they were told. I took a glance at them in the rearview mirror and they look surprisingly kind of mature, then again, how old are these kids?

“Hold old are you?” I asked, just to settle the curiosity,

“17, sir—M-Marcello’s the same,” Tyrone answered.

I tilted my head with a frown, “Can’t he answer for himself?” I asked, and they just remained silent, avoiding my eyes. Don’t get me wrong, they’re tall, and they seem large, but it doesn’t hide the fact that they act like grade-schoolers high on sugar during recess.

“Where to?” I asked again.

“322 Gullen St. sir, …near the strip club,” he answered, I’m not sure if he was flustered from that but he paused—oh, maybe he’s been inside.

I drove to the location and surveyed the place, it seemed nothing out of the ordinary. All I can say is it’s a neighborhood with predominantly black and Hispanic residents. I know I have a fine brand of being an asshole but at least I’m not a f*****g racist cracker. The real filth I’ve met throughout my career were not the ones on the streets but those on cushioned throne-like chairs, enjoying 80-year-old wines with ham and steak.

And like a cruel f*cking joke… they’re no ‘People of Color’.

“…I can bring him out,” Marcello said as we slowly passed the establishments.

I scoffed, “What are you going to tell him? That I’m looking for him after you told me you were high off your ass with his drugs when you ransacked my property?” I asked turning to face his black and blue face.

He froze for a second before his head dropped, back to silence he goes. Tyrone gulped when I turned to him instead, “Then again I do need someone to draw him out so we can talk right?” I went on as I leaned back to my chair deep in thought.

‘I kind of like Marcello’s idea, if Ice kills him then that’s not on me, but I think this is another moral challenge that I can ace if I think hard enough,'

“We can try and find him in his club…” Tyrone suggested making me sigh again,

“So we barge in every club and call out his name?” I asked again, but this one’s rhetorical.

Marcello sat straight again before answering, “N-No, he was always just in one club… that’s where he makes some of his... deals,” he explained and I pursed my lips,

“Alright let’s give that one a shot,” I agreed, they told me the place and despite having no expectations of this place whatsoever, I was still disgustingly disappointed. It’s pretty dark by now so the bright neon red lights spelling the word ‘Scarlet Lining’ pierced like a thousand needles in my eyes, the thudding music was muffled from outside and it was overpowered by the irking buzz of the lights.

I shut the engine and tugged at my coat up to comfort before getting off the car, leaning back in and staring at them for a second. “Don’t move an inch,” I warned before walking inside the building. My disdain for it from the outside is nothing compared to the agony I felt once I’m inside.

It was loud, foul-smelling from the mixture of both alcohol and vomit, I was foolish enough to stand close to the dancefloor and had the misfortune to have these ravers in close contact, I even touched something that resembles something wet and cold but when I pulled my hand back, it’s disturbingly dry.

‘I f*cking hate humans’

I went close to the bar. A bartender approached me with a big smile.

“What’chu want, big daddy?” he asked with a wink.

‘This is why I get therapy... This is why I get therapy...’

“I’m here for Ice,” I replied, and I watched how his face fell from being chirpy to downright stunned. He tried to chuckle it off when he gathered his composure and shook his head.

“I… never heard of that drink before!” he announced, grabbing a rag and wiping the counter, trying to end the discussion at that.

But I will not be disrespected like this, not after he called me ‘big daddy’, I feel insulted. I tapped on the counter, clearing my throat, looking at him straight in the eyes. “I’m his ‘customer’, where’s Ice?” I asked, more forcefully this time.

The man frowned before he eyed me up and down. He scoffed before resuming to wipe the counters. “Like hell you are, you look like some kind of detective s***h investigator,” he argued as he gestured to my attire.

“A suit is a businessman’s uniform, where’s Ice?”

“A suit is a sleazy man’s uniform, it’s a dress code for everyone else,”

“I don’t care, where’s Ice?”

“I mean, I guess it looks good on you—“

I grabbed the man’s back of his hair and slammed his head hard on the counter before lifting him up again to meet my eyes.

“I was doing so f*cking well… I didn’t hurt anyone until now," I cursed, pressing his head hard on the cold marble counter, "You’re going to pay for my next therapy session, and…” I trailed off, pulling out my knife and pressing it right on his jugular vein, “Tell me…where’s Ice?” I asked for the fourth time, it caused a minor commotion as bystanders formed a small circle surrounding us. The man’s nose bled as he got choked up.

“C-Can cops hurt civilians like this?” He asked,

“I’m not a cop, pull out your wallet and tell me where the f*ck is Ice?” I asked again as I slammed his head on the counter for the second time.

He grunted a little as I lifted his face back up, he’s losing the little integrity he has as he pulled out his wallet, I sheathed my knife and took a couple of hundreds, crumpling them when I shoved them in my inner coat pocket, waiting a second for his answer, I will not ask again.

“a-at the back, the door with the star… he has guards so you won’t be able to just barge in if he doesn’t know you,” he answered.

Letting go of his head, I looked around to find the door he was talking about. I found it quick enough or as fast as I could despite the annoying multi-colored lights. I grabbed my gun instead and have it ready. I kicked the door opened and had my gun ready at aim, but the guards that I was expecting to put up a little fight at least were lying unconscious on the floor.

‘What the… f*ck?’

I thought, but this would mean someone else was here before me.

‘Ahh s**t—‘

I cursed as I bolted through the long hallway. One room was opened and in a split second glance, I saw a room filled with unconscious bodies with the silhouette of a rather small-framed man in the middle. I hid outside the room leaning against the wall, his back was against me and he seems weaponless.

I gripped my gun tightly, if he has the skill to take on all the people inside this room and win he’s certainly someone skilled. I peeked inside again but this time he was facing me, he was wearing a black and faceless mask but I’m sure our eyes met for a second.

‘Sh*t!’

He bolted to the other door in the room, and now I have to chase him. I can’t overlook things like this just in case it grows to become another problem that I need to resolve again. He was fast and nimble, even as I chase him in the dark alley he didn’t stop to decide where to go which means he knows the place, climbing railed gates, and making sharp turns.

I won’t be able to catch him at this point, but if I try to go on an elevated spot…

I ran up the tenement stairs and scaled up my way to the next building, it has a wider and clearer view, running onwards and jumping from roof to roof, now it’s up to my luck if I could find—FOUND HIM.

I aimed my gun, he seem to be looking around here to check if I was still following him, without wasting a second I shot him on the leg, or I think I did but when he fell to his knees I knew I secured my catch. Scaling down this time, I landed on my feet and walked to his crouched position, he spun to look at me and—

“It’s you!” he, no, she yelled.

The man is actually a woman. She took off her mask to show her face with a stupidly pleasant smile.

“I have never seen you before in my life,” I said, watching her as she limped, standing up. She chuckled before waving off my unamused expression. I tried to go through my mental logs of where and when I met a woman that even resembled her. She has short black hair, her skin is brown, olive-toned, she’s not that tall either, around 165 cm maybe.

“Of course, you’d say that, I’m the one at the wake! I was the one who kidnapped Georgio,” she introduced, and I frowned. That was her?

“You changed ethnicities?” I argued since I distinctly remembered pale skin that day.

“Oh, I painted that on, I was rushed that day so my disguise was pretty messy,” she explained.

“Did you also disguise personalities? You were a lot ruder back then,” I argued,

She snorted before waving me off with a chuckle, “I’m on work mode that time, of course, I need to get serious,” she replied.

But now that I notice it her leg wasn't bleeding as much, I just probably grazed her, however, since she seems to be willing to cooperate I focused more on talking, “Why we’re you looking for Ice?” I asked.

“Oh, is he your target? Sorry, it’s kind of a personal vendetta,”

“He’s not, I’m just here to tell him not to do business near my warehouse,”

“Well…I guess now he won’t, does this solve your problem?”

She asked with a smile and a thumbs up but ending this here now seems irresponsible, “What kind of personal vendetta were you settling with him?” I asked, and the cheery smile on her face melted into a more menacing one,

“Why are you asking?” she asked with a nod, her brows furrowed.

“I need to be sure it won’t interfere with my business,” I replied, holstering my gun and fixing my coat.

She looked around before walking closer to me, “It won’t,” she whispered before bumping me on the side with her shoulders. Gutsy move. I grabbed her shoulder to force her body to face me again, but she utilized that momentum and threw a sidekick right at my torso pushing me back.

‘A fighter,’

I charged for her again blocking her kick to my head with my arm and countered with an uppercut to her side, it made contact but she met my punch so it didn’t connect to her at full force, she grabbed my arm, twisting it and using it to throw me over her shoulder making my lie flat on my back.

This relentless woman then propped her booted foot right at my face ready to stomp the daylights out of me and I managed to turn just in time and jerked her legs, bringing her down. I tried to pin her down but she punched my gut right after I tried and just like that our roles were reversed but I took that time to grab my gun again, and as she sat on top of me, pulling a knife from her boot and digging it right under my chin, I pressed my gun under hers.

Both of us panting in silence, “You couldn’t just mind your business?” she asked taking deep breaths,

“I’m kind of meticulous,” I replied, doing the same.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

‘She doesn’t seem like she’s working for anything or anyone remotely legal, it should be fine,’

“Valentin Hacksaw, you?” I replied, and I heard her gasp a little,

“Hacksaw…Oh, that’s you? I know your mom! I’m Arthur Delavigne, call me Art,” she gushed, offering a handshake despite our position and I don't know what came over me since I shook her hand.

“Yeah, she’s pretty famous, and is your name really Arthur?”

“Your mom is awesome and yeah, it’s kind of a family tradition thing,”

“I see,”

“Yeah,”

“Are you going to get off me soon?”

“Right,”

She sheathed her knife, and I holstered my gun as we both stood up. Dusting herself, eyeing me intently, walking around me even. I can’t count how many times I’ve been eyed so obviously and blatantly but she’s the first who opted for a full 360 view.

She pulled out her phone and started texting somebody. At this point I’m debating whether should I just leave this as it is because it's becoming more and more bothersome.

“You got anywhere you need to be after this, Valentin?” she asked as she pocketed her phone.

“I need to bring two 17-year-old snitches home, and Valya is just fine,” I replied.

She clicked her tongue before pulling out a card this time. It’s reflective, like a mirror but it's engraved with a phone number and her name. Are business cards really as helpful and classy as they look? I was told by Denis' friends to make my own but then again, I only work with referrals, I won’t have use for it.

Besides every annoying *sshole I know also has a card. I'm not big on correlations but I don't like the odds.

“Call me if you’re interested in what happened today, or you need fighting lessons so you don’t get knocked off by someone a foot shorter than you,” she joked with a small smile.

“I’m going to burn this,” I jeered back, making her giggle.

‘What the hell is with the emotional range of this woman, it’s like she’s just spinning a roulette of what emotion she’ll feel for every minute,’

I pocketed the card, and she patted my shoulder before walking away, I should leave too. I need to get out of this alley first and enter the highway.

I’ll try to find my way around and back to my car from there. I managed to reach the highway soon enough but this was unfamiliar so I must be going to wrong way—

“SIR!” I heard someone call and saw Tyrone and Marcello behind me, what the hell are they doing outside of the car?

I frowned at them as we walked toward each other, “what are you doing out here?” I growled.

They shared a look before Marcello answered, “You were in there for a while… we just thought something might’ve happened,” he explained.

Sighing, I just waved it off, “Fine, where’s the car?” I asked and they pointed the opposite way, nodding along. We just walked back to the car and I drove them back to the dumpsite. That’s where I picked them up earlier anyway.

I was about to drive away the second they got off but Marcello knocked on my window so I rolled it down, he’s not going to say anything worth listening to but it's better to end all ties with them right now.

“Is…Is Ice dead?” He asked.

“Probably,” I answered. I’m not the one who did the deed, but if Arthur’s that good, she probably took care of that properly.

“…thank you,” he mumbled, Tyrone nodded, agreeing along.

“Sure,” I said as I rolled up the windows and drove away.

‘What the hell are they thanking for, they got things mixed up,’ I thought as I drove home. I have a therapy session tomorrow.