gilesdereis
Forum Newcomer
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2011
- Messages
- 19
- Location
- London, England
It had become something of a rush job. You never ask why, you don't want to know. All that matters in the fee and the target, in that order. Don't believe the Hollywood crap about «*artistry*» either. At best it is engineering. Often its just staying ahead of the cops.
In the country I was in you don't even think about guns. I had sketched out natural causes for the target, but needed time to set things up. Then I get a panic call from my agent –the job needs to be done by tomorrow at the latest. There will be 50% more on the fee, which was already a big number. Fine, the customer is always right. I discarded the natural causes route. We go «*un*» natural.
He was some sort of journalist, living in a large furnished flat in an old but expensive building near the center of town. The first day I did a simple breaking and entering when he was out an bugged the place. Then I watched and planned. Whoever this guy was, he was not doing much. He didn't go out often, had no incoming calls nor any obvious social relations in the town. That came from a week of watching and listening. He has a laptop, and now the customer wants that recovered. Or, I suppose, what is on the laptop. Not my business to ask.
The guy is over forty, but seems pretty fit (he runs – that was where I planned the «*natural*» event) and likes ladies. He pays. No cruising the bars, he has regulars whom he calls. I listen to the conversations. These are not street girls, but they are not going out with Arab princes or the governors of US states, either. They seem to like him – he isn't wierd and they ususally stay till morning, for the same price.
He is with his favorite today. She is pretty, but makes a lot of noise in the sack. The neighbors must not like that. The girl arrived around ten, and will leave, according to the pattern of the last week, about six. I will «*drop by*» just after. Another thing, if possible, I avoid collateral damage. Its not a moral thing, its just careful – doubling up get complicated, unless its a car bomb or house fire, but those aren't my thing.
At 5:50, regular as clockwork, the girl is saying her goodbyes. She goes through the front door just after 6:00. At six ten, I ring the bell.
There is a long delay, which I expected. I push the bell again, and a sleepy voice asks who it is. In his language, but with a local accent, I tell him that its the police. I hold up an identity card – quite a good one, with my face, and the name of a real local local police detective. For the cops, they always open the door.
It was the first time that I had seen him up close. He was taller than I am, and dressed only in a pair of blue jeans, tolerably well built for a middle aged guy. His face looked smart, rather than handsome. His hair was all there, but had turned grey early, so he had a slight George Cloony about him. He waved me inside.
I mentioned the name of an associate of his (something that I learned from the bugs) about whom we were asking questions. The guy looked puzzled, and a little concerned.
Leading me to the main room, he asked if I wanted a coffee, I said yes, and he turned towards the kitchen.
That was when I hit him. The blow was to his kidney, and probably hurt like hell. He gasped and stumbled to his knees. My second strike was flat handed, against the back of his head. The effect is instant and almost total temporary paralysis. The man toppled forward on the hardwood floor.
With a practiced move, I took the clear plastic bag from one pocket, and the small spray can from another. I sprayed the inside of the bag with a liquid that is used to sedate horses. I pulled the bag over the spawling man's head, kneeling on his biceps to keep him from tearing off the bag.
Stunned from the blow, the man on the floor inhaled the sedating fumes, so his struggle was short and unfocused. Even if he had been trained for hand to hand combat, his ability to resist was greatly reduced. With each breath he was losing more and more control of his environment.
In less than a minute, the target was unconcious and helpless. I hoisted him up, and turned him over, so that he was facing me, lying half on a large leather footrest. With a lady's stocking wrapped around the man's neck, and the plastic bag filling with carbon dioxide, I was in charge of the situation.
But the human body is a funny thing. It will resist death, even when the brain is no longer sending orders to the rest of the body. I had to hold him down with all my strength, as he thrashed as the toxic CO2 built up in his system. It only took about another minute, but it seemed much longer.
I was crushed against him, looking down at his face, with the wide, bulging eyes, and the mouth that was gasping for breath like a fish out of water, and the surprisingly powerful arms struggling to get free.But the struggles began to slacken. Then the arms weakened, and ceased to claw at me. His torso was still moving, but it was as if in slow motion. Both arms fell away, one at a time. I still held on to the stocking tightly around his neck, but there was no need for the kind of force that had been required only a minute before.
The guy's face, had turned red, except for the lips, which were becoming white. His eyes were wide open, but stared unblinking through the clear plastic, and the pupils had dialated so much that there was only black in the center of the eyes, no color was visible.
By that point the only movement was spastic jerks from the arms and legs. These quickly lessened.
I stood up, shaking from the adrenalin rush, and looked down at the body, with the bag and nylon stocking still in place. There is always a danger that their system will bring them back. One sign of a professional is that they never assume that job is done quickly. I counted to a hundred slowly, watching for any sign of life.
By then, I was breathing regularly, I glanced around the room. In a corner was a desk, with the laptop. Conveniently, its carrying case, was on the floor beside the desk. As I packed it up I noticed there was a back up hard drive, so I put that in the case as well, with whatever papers were on the desk. I found two memory sticks, and added those to the bag.
All this went on, ignoring the half naked, dead, thing, lying half on and half off the footrest, arms flung out in a final abandonment of life, lying face up, with the killing plastic bag filling its gaping mouth. I stripped off one of the thin gloves that I had worn through the whole event, and placed my hand on the bare and hairless chest. There was no heartbeat. The already pale skin as cool to the touch, and the sweat from the final struggle to survive was rapidly drying. This job was done.
There were six bugs I had put in the flat. I recovered all of them. Hoisting the laptop bag to leave, I did something that I don't normally do. I took a picture. Trophies are for sick people. But its what pays my rent. It could be anyone. He could be you, next time, if someone is paying me.
Three hours later I was out of the country where all this happened. Never by air – too many records. The corpse wasn't found for a day or so.
Oh, in case you were wondering, of course the local cops arrested the hooker who had just left the place, and charged her with the crime. But she got a good lawyer and beat the rap. By that time the acquital came down, and the cops reluctantly re-opened the case, it was almost two years later. Long before that the trail was as cold and dead as the vic.
Giles
In the country I was in you don't even think about guns. I had sketched out natural causes for the target, but needed time to set things up. Then I get a panic call from my agent –the job needs to be done by tomorrow at the latest. There will be 50% more on the fee, which was already a big number. Fine, the customer is always right. I discarded the natural causes route. We go «*un*» natural.
He was some sort of journalist, living in a large furnished flat in an old but expensive building near the center of town. The first day I did a simple breaking and entering when he was out an bugged the place. Then I watched and planned. Whoever this guy was, he was not doing much. He didn't go out often, had no incoming calls nor any obvious social relations in the town. That came from a week of watching and listening. He has a laptop, and now the customer wants that recovered. Or, I suppose, what is on the laptop. Not my business to ask.
The guy is over forty, but seems pretty fit (he runs – that was where I planned the «*natural*» event) and likes ladies. He pays. No cruising the bars, he has regulars whom he calls. I listen to the conversations. These are not street girls, but they are not going out with Arab princes or the governors of US states, either. They seem to like him – he isn't wierd and they ususally stay till morning, for the same price.
He is with his favorite today. She is pretty, but makes a lot of noise in the sack. The neighbors must not like that. The girl arrived around ten, and will leave, according to the pattern of the last week, about six. I will «*drop by*» just after. Another thing, if possible, I avoid collateral damage. Its not a moral thing, its just careful – doubling up get complicated, unless its a car bomb or house fire, but those aren't my thing.
At 5:50, regular as clockwork, the girl is saying her goodbyes. She goes through the front door just after 6:00. At six ten, I ring the bell.
There is a long delay, which I expected. I push the bell again, and a sleepy voice asks who it is. In his language, but with a local accent, I tell him that its the police. I hold up an identity card – quite a good one, with my face, and the name of a real local local police detective. For the cops, they always open the door.
It was the first time that I had seen him up close. He was taller than I am, and dressed only in a pair of blue jeans, tolerably well built for a middle aged guy. His face looked smart, rather than handsome. His hair was all there, but had turned grey early, so he had a slight George Cloony about him. He waved me inside.
I mentioned the name of an associate of his (something that I learned from the bugs) about whom we were asking questions. The guy looked puzzled, and a little concerned.
Leading me to the main room, he asked if I wanted a coffee, I said yes, and he turned towards the kitchen.
That was when I hit him. The blow was to his kidney, and probably hurt like hell. He gasped and stumbled to his knees. My second strike was flat handed, against the back of his head. The effect is instant and almost total temporary paralysis. The man toppled forward on the hardwood floor.
With a practiced move, I took the clear plastic bag from one pocket, and the small spray can from another. I sprayed the inside of the bag with a liquid that is used to sedate horses. I pulled the bag over the spawling man's head, kneeling on his biceps to keep him from tearing off the bag.
Stunned from the blow, the man on the floor inhaled the sedating fumes, so his struggle was short and unfocused. Even if he had been trained for hand to hand combat, his ability to resist was greatly reduced. With each breath he was losing more and more control of his environment.
In less than a minute, the target was unconcious and helpless. I hoisted him up, and turned him over, so that he was facing me, lying half on a large leather footrest. With a lady's stocking wrapped around the man's neck, and the plastic bag filling with carbon dioxide, I was in charge of the situation.
But the human body is a funny thing. It will resist death, even when the brain is no longer sending orders to the rest of the body. I had to hold him down with all my strength, as he thrashed as the toxic CO2 built up in his system. It only took about another minute, but it seemed much longer.
I was crushed against him, looking down at his face, with the wide, bulging eyes, and the mouth that was gasping for breath like a fish out of water, and the surprisingly powerful arms struggling to get free.But the struggles began to slacken. Then the arms weakened, and ceased to claw at me. His torso was still moving, but it was as if in slow motion. Both arms fell away, one at a time. I still held on to the stocking tightly around his neck, but there was no need for the kind of force that had been required only a minute before.
The guy's face, had turned red, except for the lips, which were becoming white. His eyes were wide open, but stared unblinking through the clear plastic, and the pupils had dialated so much that there was only black in the center of the eyes, no color was visible.
By that point the only movement was spastic jerks from the arms and legs. These quickly lessened.
I stood up, shaking from the adrenalin rush, and looked down at the body, with the bag and nylon stocking still in place. There is always a danger that their system will bring them back. One sign of a professional is that they never assume that job is done quickly. I counted to a hundred slowly, watching for any sign of life.
By then, I was breathing regularly, I glanced around the room. In a corner was a desk, with the laptop. Conveniently, its carrying case, was on the floor beside the desk. As I packed it up I noticed there was a back up hard drive, so I put that in the case as well, with whatever papers were on the desk. I found two memory sticks, and added those to the bag.
All this went on, ignoring the half naked, dead, thing, lying half on and half off the footrest, arms flung out in a final abandonment of life, lying face up, with the killing plastic bag filling its gaping mouth. I stripped off one of the thin gloves that I had worn through the whole event, and placed my hand on the bare and hairless chest. There was no heartbeat. The already pale skin as cool to the touch, and the sweat from the final struggle to survive was rapidly drying. This job was done.
There were six bugs I had put in the flat. I recovered all of them. Hoisting the laptop bag to leave, I did something that I don't normally do. I took a picture. Trophies are for sick people. But its what pays my rent. It could be anyone. He could be you, next time, if someone is paying me.
Three hours later I was out of the country where all this happened. Never by air – too many records. The corpse wasn't found for a day or so.
Oh, in case you were wondering, of course the local cops arrested the hooker who had just left the place, and charged her with the crime. But she got a good lawyer and beat the rap. By that time the acquital came down, and the cops reluctantly re-opened the case, it was almost two years later. Long before that the trail was as cold and dead as the vic.
Giles
