-
"Excellent work, as usual, Brandon." Harry praised his best friend as he walked into the room. His crisp white suit was strangely stoic in the blood-smeared room. Several bodies were littered around, but Harry hardly noticed their presence. Just the fact that, once again, his best friend proved his place as Millenion's best sweeper. "With my brains and your brawn we'll be leading Millenion in no time." He winked confidentially. Bunji, standing just outside the door, eyed their exchange. "I didn't hear a single scream or even a grunt outside and while I was walking up here. You don't even give them a second to say a prayer." He grinned, standing there at the window, looking out at the grungy street of a grungy city. Brandon watched his friend, was caught in the web of contagious excitement Harry spun expertly. Brandon would follow Harry to hell itself. But his mood was darkened when his friend uttered from the window, "I wonder what they think of before you kill them. If they have time to think of anything at all." He gave a slight chuckle.
"Brandon," Bunji whispered from the doorway, "we should be leaving here soon." Harry heard, turned to them, and nodded. They made their way down to the chauffeured car Harry had brought. Brandon's sporty coupe was parked a block away.
"You're coming tonight?" Harry asked of Brandon. The latter nodded. "It should be good. Our job well done today will probably discussed." Bunji, several paces away, waited in silence. "And also," Harry leaned close to whisper, "Maria will be there." Brandon looked down, somber, and Harry gained a grim line to his lips. "I want you to be happy, Brandon. Pushing her away won't—"
Brandon turned to leave in silence. Harry watched Bunji flank him and they turned a corner.
-
The broad body before him sank to the ground with a sickening thud. A pool of hot, dark crimson began to form around him. Brandon chucked out the empty shells, began to load his gun again as he walked away. He met up with Bunji who had been waiting outside. Bunji gave a low laugh, commented, "They must see hell."
-
"Desperation, nausea—hopelessness. It must be terrifying. I'm glad you'll never have a reason to kill me." Harry leant back in his chair, glass of bourbon in his hand, cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "But Brandon, wasn't that an easy job you could have handed to someone else?" Brandon shrugged. "Were you purposely avoiding that picnic at Big Daddy's today?"
"I trust myself," was all Brandon said.
"Yes, you've always been someone who likes to get the job done himself. Even if it is shooting holes in dirt bags who've betrayed Big Daddy or have gone against Millenion—though that's a noble cause.
"Big Daddy asked for you. Maria did too." Brandon stood, made his way to the door. "Brandon, wait." He stopped, his strong hand brushing at the doorknob. "I didn't mean to bother you, I was just being conversational. I can't help it if I'm an insensitive prick sometimes."
"There's nothing to apologize for. I just need to get back."
"Not even a drink?" He motioned to an empty glass and the half-empty bottle of bourbon.
"I have business to take care of." He left without another word.
"Stupid bastard. Too silent to give anyone peace, too noble to save his own soul." Harry leant his head back and down the last of the bourbon.
-
Brandon walked into his dark, cold apartment. He didn't turn on the light. The blinds were open to reveal a bright midnight sky glowing with moonlight and caressed with billowing clouds. He pulled at his tie; it loosened, then fell apart. He took off his jacket and lied it across a chair as he crossed to the window. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked at the scene below. A metal-gray city dotted with metallic pinpricks of light. The busy street below was streaked with the yellow and gold of passing cars on the pavement. Several stragglers walked the street. Late-night couples finding some space for their own, drunk businessmen returning from smoke-clouded rooms full of women on display for the right price. He leant his forehead against the glass, sighed. His fingers began unbuttoning a shirt wrinkled from a long, hard day. He slipped it from his broad shoulders and tossed it on another chair, crossed the room to sit on a couch that didn't seem his own.
The lack of light made the evening sky's brilliance splay across his room and make it seem like a fresco painting. He leaned forward on his knees with a sigh. Dark hair spilled over his brow, across his face. He thought of nights spent running from street punks in his youth, nights spent with his friends in a grimy excuse for a restaurant where hot meals were always served by a blonde friend with a smile. Nights spent sitting by the sea, salty air streaming through his hair, Harry by his side. Nights spent with Maria, on a park bench, on the sidewalk by her door. Her gentle face that would listen to his silent words, understand his wordless thoughts.
These memories were far away from his grasp now. They were only something he could dream of being the top sweeper in the Mafia. Especially Maria with her golden sunshine hair and graceful smile. He couldn't taint her innocence with his bloody hands. And he knows he's the only one who understands this. But he can't change. Can't turn his back now on the organization that gave him purpose—or on Harry.
-
He had assured Bunji he could do it on his own tonight. He raced through the city streets in his compact car as he recalled Bunji's irritation. Was it that Bunji thirsted for blood? Or was it that he hated being left out? Brandon went down a gear, turned the corner, and eyed the case of bullets in the backseat as he cruised across the long bridge.
He parked his car at the other side, walked the length of a large storage building, and let his fingers graze over the guns by his belt. The large door was cracked, just a touch, and within was yellow-green light that glowed around sterile faces of hardened businessmen. Too high class to be in this part of town—without a reason. Brandon didn't pause for a moment as he slammed through the door and shot rounds into each of their chests. There hadn't been a second between their acknowledgement of him and their death. A glimmer of light set off from a corner of the room, a door swung in the breeze. He darted across the room, through the door, and down the alley. A lean man was several paces ahead of him, running for his life. He hadn't a chance.
Within moments he was sprawled on the ground, his pathetic life slipping into nonexistence. Brandon approached, stood over his dying body. His eyes were glossy, bright, his lip trembled, and then nothing. His face was stone.
"I wonder what he saw before he died. I wonder what they all see as your bullets drive them to their pitiful death." Bunji's words echoed in his mind. "I wonder what they think of before you kill them." Harry's sardonic smirk, his rhetorical thought aloud just days before.
"What did you see?" Brandon's own voice startled him, but he only drew closer to the dead man. "What did you see before you died?" He questioned once more. The cloudy sky threatened rain, but Brandon didn't budge. "Did you see me?" He wondered aloud, his voice now barely more than a whisper. "Did you see me, my desires, my hopes, and what I love?" This man, always so silent, unexplainably found that the words spilt through his mouth like a broken dam. "Did you see Millenion, Big Daddy? Did you see Harry?" His tone gained urgency, and his fist grasped at the man's business suit, at the crisp seam of the jacket's shoulder. "Did you see Maria?" He now clutched the collar and drew his body up. The blank eyes stared at him in silence. "Did you see what I killed you for? Did you see what I'm living my life to achieve?" He shook the man, and dark blood drew to his mouth and spilled over his lips. "Did you see me—did you see the man who killed you, and everything he lives for?" He gasped, returning to his senses. He dropped the man, and he once more was splayed on the concrete.
"Or did you just see a killer?"