Chapter 2 - The Roommate
"Heyman's dead, just like you wanted," said Randy, speaking into his phone's receiver as he made his way down the quiet road. The street was a hodgepodge of different buildings: residential homes already home to occupants resting for the night, old lots that were either cleared for new construction or covered in trash people have thrown into it for years, and small warehouses converted into living spaces for prospective buyers.
As he continued on his journey, a scowl started lining his face as husky chuckling echoed out from the other side of the line, his patience slowly starting to wear thin. "When will I get my payment?"
"You'll get it soon Randy," said the deep voice once the chuckling was over. "I know it isn't really your style, but you just have to be patient for a little while longer, till morning at least. The money should be in your account by then."
"It better be Hunter," the vampire grumbled as a stray tabby darted out of a driveway to run across the street, eventually disappearing into another house's half-withered flower bed. "You know I hate it when my payments are late."
"I know, I know; that's why I'm wiring it to your account right as we speak. Feel free to check once this conversation is over," said Hunter as Randy crossed the street, finally reaching the last block on the road. He walked toward the door of the lone property on the block, a long two-story warehouse that had a dilapidated parking lot as its lone block-mate. "So, what did you do with Heyman's body?"
"I left him for Maddox in Correa Park. He should be handling the remains right this minute," Randy mumbled as he took out a silver key from his pocket. "The body should be gone before the track freaks go on their morning runs. I didn't leave much of a mess, so it should be easy for him this time around . . . You know him Hunter, Maddox may be a bumbling idiot at times, but the little shit is really diligent when it comes to disposing bodies."
"That's the only reason he's still on the payroll at this point . . ." Hunter admitted as Randy got the door open and walked into the building, locking the door before starting his climb up the set of old wooden steps that led to the upper floor. "Anyway, if you ask me, I suggest you lay low for a while Randy. It won't be long now before Lesnar finds out that you killed his advocate."
"You know I won't take that advice, and you definitely know that I'm not scared of Lesnar," Randy indignantly told the other man, taking the steps two at a time to reach the top. "He may have earned the 'Beast Incarnate' title for being a ruthless killer out in the field, but all I see when I look at him is a pompous little boy who needs a fucking fat old man to be his freaking mouthpiece."
"I'd love to see you say that to his face Ran. I really do," said Hunter as Randy came to a stop at a second door. It didn't take him long to open it as well - considering it was already unlocked - so he simply turned the doorknob and went inside, walking into his dark, yet well-furnished home. "If you guys really get into one, I'd love to see who'd win. I may even sell tickets. 'The Beast Incarnate' Brock Lesnar vs. 'The Viper' Randy Orton . . . Now that, that would be a great match. It's a definite conversation starter at least."
"Like you would ever let that happen," Randy argued as he flipped the light switch, illuminating the large space with light dim enough that it wouldn't harm his heightened eyes. "You wouldn't let your employees risk themselves in something stupid, especially the ones that serve the company well . . ."
"That's true. Then again, Brock tends to stray off the beaten path from time to time. Losing him would be a blow to the company's strength, but it wouldn't hurt its brain power," Hunter mumbled as Randy walked into the kitchen. The room contained the usual commodities that typical kitchens had to offer: a toaster, a microwave, cabinets, and the most important of them all, the fridge, albeit a rather old one. Randy walked over to the human-sized machine and opened it, scowling when he saw that all there was inside it were cheese slices, three apples, an old carton of takeout, and two bottles of beer.
"We really need to stock up the fridge." The Viper thought as he took one of the bottles and slammed the door shut, twisting off the cap with his bare hand as he continued to listen to Hunter speak. "Anyway, I see that telling you to lay low was all in vain after all . . . Well, night Orton. You'll get the details of your next mission tomorrow."
"Night Hunter." said the vampire, ending the call from his side before pocketing his phone. He then took one big swig of his beer, the taste barely registering to his senses as he poured the contents down his parched throat.
"I don't get you sometimes. What's the point of eating human food and drinking human drinks if you can't even taste the flavor of it all? I thought the only thing that satisfies you vampires was blood."
"Oh, stop with the misconceptions John. They're not even funny anyway . . ." Randy mumbled as he turned to see the man leaning against the doorframe. John was shorter than him, but he was stockier, his bare muscled arms proving that as he walked in all his t-shirt and basketball short glory. "I've told you this before anyway. A vampire's senses are heightened and more sensitive than a regular human's. It's not that I can barely taste stuff, I can taste stuff better than most, including you. . . Of course, vampires must drink blood to ensure our survival, but if we want to enjoy a steak like normal people, we'll fucking enjoy a steak."
"As long as you drink blood?" asked John, a smirk lining his face.
"As long as I drink blood . . ." Randy told him as he drank another mouthful of beer. "And speaking of drinking, what kind of beer am I drinking right now? This stuff barely has any flavor to it!"
"Sorry, I was having a bad day and I decided to buy some beer to, uh, alleviate the pain with . . ." John explained as he brushed a hand through his short hair, styled in a buzz cut that any drill sergeant would be proud of. "Unfortunately, I didn't take the time to look at the names of the beers on the rack. I just picked up the first one I saw."
"Yeah, next time, look before you buy," said Randy as he poured the remaining contents into the sink. "So, care to explain why you're still up this late John?"
"What? Can't a guy welcome his roommate back home after a long night's work?" John asked, his bravado waning as Randy crossed his arms. ". . . Alright, I give. I was finishing some old paperwork that I need to do when I heard the front door close. Steph wants the reports on her desk first thing tomorrow morning."
"You do know you wouldn't be in this mess if you just hadn't decided to "unintentionally blow up" an entire boat filled with enemy mercenaries, right?" the Viper asked, a rare smirk appearing on his face as he walked past the smaller man and into their living room.
"Hey! If I hadn't blown up that boat along the river last week, we would still be dealing with those enemy mercenaries trespassing on our territory," John argued as he followed after him. "If you asked me, I was doing our organization a favor."
"Yeah, you did do the organization a favor, and everyone appreciates that . . ." Randy told him as he sat down on the leather sofa. "The problem is that you had to blow up a boat to do it. We're supposed to be inconspicuous, and what you did last week was, well, less than inconspicuous."
"Okay, so I could have done something a little more discreet, but when I saw all those guys gathered on that boat, I just had to take the chance that presented itself to me, and man, that chance paid off," said John as he shook his head. "And what's my reward for all my hard work? I have to do a boatload of paperwork by morning, no pun intended."
"Just be glad that your punishment is just paperwork, and not being suspended without pay or something of the like . . . We both know how much of a workaholic you are, so I can't imagine what you would do with yourself if you were forced to not work for two weeks straight."
"That would be torture, absolute torture," John mumbled, watching as Randy chuckled at his misery. "Anyway, enough about me. What did you do tonight?"
"I took out Lesnar's advocate, plain and simple," Randy replied, sobering up as he lay back in his seat. "It was a pretty easy job. A decent paying one too."
"You took the job to take out Heyman?!" John asked, slightly aghast as he stared at his friend. "That job was made optional because no one wants to deal with the aftermath, and when I say aftermath, I mean Lesnar . . . It's been up in the air for months now, and now here I am finding out that it was you out of all people that took on the suicidal gig."
"You know as well as I do that the bosses were getting tired of waiting for someone to take the job on their own free will. They were going to assign it to some unsuspecting fool eventually, so, I decided to be the nice guy and took the job myself. . . It was a well-paying job for crying out loud!"
"True, but still. No one wanted to deal with Brock afterward!" John exclaimed, shaking his head. "The job may have paid well, but it was still too risky of a thing to take on. . . Did you clear this with Hunter at least?!"
"I did so right before I did the deed. Get this: when I called him to tell him that I completed the job, he suggested that I should lay low for a while to avoid Brock once he gets back," said Randy, looking mock offended. "And of course, I told him that I wasn't afraid of the big brute."
"Of course you're not, since the big, scary Viper isn't afraid of anything . . ." grumbled John. "You're just lucky that Brock's still on his mission in Minnesota or else he would have been breaking down our door right now to kick the vampire shit out of you."
"Yes, thank the heavens for that," said Randy, rolling his eyes at his friend's worries. "Do you at least want to hear how I ended Heyman?"
"Did you kill him before he could even notice you?" he guessed, shock appearing on his face when Randy shook his head in the negative. "You didn't do a one-shot kill? Dude, that's like, your trademark, your signature . . . Did Heyman actually spot you before you killed him?"
"No, I willingly showed my face to him before I ended his life . . ." Randy told him as he cracked his knuckles, his face hardening as he looked back on the recent memory. "I figured I'd have a little fun scaring him before I killed him."
"Oh no; when your face gets all Terminator-like, then it means something especially unsettling happened to you," John knowing grumbled as he sat down next to his friend. "What did Heyman do?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Randy mumbled, staring daggers straight into their plasma screen TV. John thought, then and there, that if looks could kill; their TV would have been obliterated by now. "Then again John. You're a smart man. I think you can make a good guess on what exactly happened tonight . . . Here's a small hint: Before I killed him, Heyman made the fatal mistake of mentioning someone that he had no right to speak about."
"Oh, he talked about her," said John, a look of realization dawning on his face. "Huh, I figured Heyman would be much smarter than that. Everyone in the organization knows not to mention you-know-who's name whenever you're in hearing range, let alone right to your face. That's just asking for death right there."
"You got that right. My only regret is that I didn't make Heyman's death slow and painful like I originally intended for it to be. As soon as he mentioned Sam, I lost it."
"Hey, I understand," said John as he tentatively brought a hand to the taller man's shoulder. "You two were together for so long, so attached to the hip back when she was still around . . ."
"Yeah, we were quite the couple back then," said Randy as his face began to soften a little. "If I remember correctly, you always playfully did a gagging reflex whenever you saw Sam and I kiss."
"Well, you two were so in love with each other that it was basically sickening for the rest of us . . ." mumbled John as he pats his friend on the back, quickly taking his hand a way when he noticed the intense stare Randy was shooting him. "Anyway, you completely changed when Sam . . ."
"Kicked the bucket? Died?" Randy grumbled as his voice started taking on a darker edge. "Was violently murdered without being given an ounce of a mercy?"
"I was thinking of a more pleasant term to describe Sam's sudden departure from our world, like 'passed on' or 'deceased', but your suggestions? Yeah, those work too." said John as he shot his friend an unsure glance. "Anyway, ever since her death, you've totally been a different person. You were cocky, arrogant, a bit of a show off, but now? You're a steely-eyed mercenary with an anger problem who doesn't hesitate to kill or harm others if they start talking about your dead girlfriend."
"Uh, it's dead fiancée, John," said Randy, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "There is such a difference between a girlfriend and a fiancée, you know."
"Uh, you don't think I know that?" John asked, blunt in the face of the irritated vampire. "Uh hello? I was married before!"
"Of course I know that John! I was your best man at said wedding!"
"And you, my friend, we're a great best man," said John as he shook his head with a smile on his face. "Although, I did not appreciate you getting me hardcore drunk during my bachelor party Ran. I ended up waking up in a bathtub with Ted's ass on my face! That was not a good sight to wake up to in the morning for fuck's sakes!"
"Hey! In my defense, everyone at the party agreed that you needed to live a little, and you did . . ." said Randy, raising his hands in self-defense. It was amazing how well John could get the Viper out of his angry funk. All he had to say was a couple of lines, and boom, the Viper was back to his sarcastic, teasing self once again. "We just never realized how crazy you could get when you have ten bottles of whisky in your system. That was quite a sight . . ."
"Yeah, too bad I can't remember it all. I was hardcore drunk that night!" said John as he got off the sofa.
"Where are you going with this conversation John?" Randy asked as he raised an eyebrow, a smirk now in place. "I doubt it's to reminisce about your days before your first marriage."
"No, this is not about me. It's about you . . . What I'm trying to say is that it's understandable why you react the way you do whenever people, especially enemies and strangers, mention Sam's name. It's a sensitive topic for you, even after all these years."
"I know what you mean . . . It's just that, sure, being a vampire has its perks, but it also has its drawbacks. My emotions happen to be one of those drawbacks. They're as heightened as my senses, which means I can get a lot angrier than most people can, even when the situation doesn't call for it."
"Which can be good or bad, well, depending on the situation that is . . ." said John as he began to walk out the room. "Anyway, I got paperwork to get back to. I'll see you in the morning Ran!"
"G'night!" he called back as he watched his friend leave. Once Randy was finally alone with his thoughts, his mind began to wander, his thoughts slowly moving toward the woman he saw walking down the street not too long ago. He could still see her piercing blue eyes and cocoa colored skin quite clearly in his head, the mysterious aura she held somehow catching his eye. He doubted that he would ever see her again, but still he couldn't help but daydream a little.
"Who in the world was that woman?"
If only he knew what was in store for him next.
A/N: Leave a comment if you like.
