updated:

4/3/2014

a thing done well

"So here's the lowdown on that bitch the ruskies handcuffed you to," Sweet said the next day. "She's a real piece of work."

"That what - the who that did what?"

It was morning and Mordecai was still a little bleary. Wondering how he would possibly work with someone so unpredictable and impertinent had kept him up the previous night. He was forced to conclude that, at the very least, she was thorough in her work. Her behavior may have been bizarre, but given the language barrier she'd elegantly assured herself of his competence.

Her competence, however, remained to be seen.

"Innochka."

"What about her?"

"She's the – nevermind. I have some background on her. You do prefer to be informed about your partners, yes?"

"I prefer my partners be at least somewhat sane."

Sweet chuckled. "Then you're in the wrong business, my friend."

"Point taken."

"So here's the story," Sweet began. "The ruskie boss did a big favor for some guy - a butcher or something, don't remember exact details so bear with me - anyway, this butcher owed the boss. The guy had fallen on hard times and couldn't return the gesture, didn't know what to do to do. All he had was a very pretty little daughter, sixteen and ripe as a peach. The boss took a shine to her and the deal was done, just like that - the guy was forgiven his debt in exchange for the girl.

"So he takes her back to his - his place, I guess, prepared for her to be upset at having been sold by dear old dad, but she seemed pretty blase about it. So he takes her to bed. She wasn't quite as virginal as advertised, apparently she could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch - "

Mordecai winced. "The sordid details aren't needed."

"Sordid? I'm toning this down."

Mordecai shook his head. "Fine. Go on."

"So there's an explosion, and shots, and suddenly they're in the middle of a goddam ambush, and they're right in the middle of -" he made an obscene gesture " -naked as the day they were born. So boss man is too stunned to move, but this girl just hops right off his cock, grabs the letter opener next to the bed and the semi on the nightstand, and all of a sudden it's the fourth of goddamn July in there! It's a fucking massacre! The boss is just sitting there in bed slack-jawed while a stark naked sixteen year old girl is just *wasting* guys - twenty guys, they said - "

"I'm sure that number is exaggerated," Mordecai said flatly.

"So there's a pile of dead guys in the room and before the boss can even say anything she turns and puts the semi to his forehead. She says - I think it was - 'You can either make sure yours is the last cock I eat, or you can die. You choose.' And so he offered her a job, right there. And she never ate another cock." He chuckled. "I love a story with a happy ending, don't you?"

Mordecai raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a bunch of drunk Russians were putting you on," he said.

Sweet shrugged. "True or not, the rest of the gang is terrified of her. Just thought I'd share."

"Thank you, but her background is of little relevance to the situation at hand. You said she and I are on assignment tonight. What are the particulars?"

ooo

"Are you crazy? What are you doing? Put your clothes back on!" Mordecai hissed.

The lights of the approaching automobile flickered through the copse of trees in which he and Innochka were hidden. She ignored him, shedding layer after layer until she stood in merely a slip and garters. She began pulling her hair out of it's braids until it was a sloppy mess, and smeared mascara down her cheeks with her fingertips. Mordecai just stared, at a total loss. She snatched his hand, curled his fingers into a fist, and pressed it against the side her mouth.

"What? Let go of my - "

"Bam," she said.

"I don't -"

She glanced back. The headlights were getting closer. She pushed his fist against her face. "Bam! Bam!" she insisted.

"You want me to hit you?"

"Yes! Bam!"

Great. Just great. She really was insane after all. And the evening had started of so well.

The job for tonight was a rats-on-the-cargo affair. They needed to resolve the issue of a few goons someone- they knew not who - had hired to intercept a valuable shipment which would arrive by truck in a few days. From what Marigold understood the rats were unaware that the Russians had a St. Louis contact, and weren't expecting a strike. They were to assassinate them on the quiet country road they were expected to be on around nine pm. So, relatively quick work.

The two of them met in Sweet's office to receive their orders, exchanging curt nods. The translator sleepily relayed the details to Innochka. Today she wore a modest black pleated dress, white gloves, and a cloche with a jeweled pin. The outfit met with his approval. Simple and classy. At the very least he wouldn't ashamed to be seen with her.

"I hope this evening finds you well, Miss Innochka," Mordecai said stiffly as he drove them to the locale.

She nodded, looking out the window. "Is good. Ah! Is - is - !" She tapped on her window. Mordecai glanced to see what she was so excited about. They drove parallel to the river, upon which floated a lazy riverboat, white and tiered as a wedding cake.

"A riverboat, yes. You'll see many of them."

"Reef-bot," she said.

"Close enough." He smirked. "Do you happen to know the *name* of the river?"

"Eh?"

"The Mississippi River," he said. "Say that three times fast."

"Ah! Reka! Yes? Me-si-si-si-si-si-pyehn reka."

"Too many si's."

"Eh?"

"Eh?" he repeated.

"Eh?"

"EH?"

She crossed her arms and said something biting in Russian, in a tone Mordecai might have used himself. It was odd to be on the other end of the 'what's so funny?' exchange. She shook her head and opened her purse, producing a mirror and lipstick.

They drove on. She straightened her hair in the mirror and looked contentedly out the window at St. Louis. It began to feel almost normal, as though they were a regular couple taking a drive on a Thursday night. To an outsider they probably looked like Atlas and Mitzi. Not that those two were a normal couple, but they were the closest example Mordecai could summon.

Half an hour later they drove off the road and deep into the copse of trees.

"Hold on to something," he instructed her as the car bumped along the uneven ground, weaving between trees. Once the car was properly sheltered they simply waited for the target to appear. And now here Mordecai was, standing in the woods with a half naked woman begging him to punch her in the face.

"Bam!" she demanded, pressing his fist against her lips, her breath warm and moist.

Something rippled in him. A pleasurable stirring. He flexed the fingers of his hand and made them into a fist.

"You're sure?"

"Da!" she said, glancing back as the lights of the oncoming car lit up the canopy of trees above them. "Bystro, bystro!"

He drew his fist back, and socked her across the face. It was ugly. She hadn't even braced herself, letting his fist do as much damage as possible. She yelped, holding her face, stumbling. "Просто чертовски Христа!" she gasped. "Ow!"

"Well I don't know what you were expecting!" Mordecai nearly yelled.

She nodded, steadying herself. She took her hand from her mouth and saw the blood on it.

"Da. Spasibo," she panted."Thanks you."

She wiped the blood along her face, down her neck and across the tops of her breasts with a quick swipe of her hand, took off a single shoe, and grabbed her jacket in which she'd wrapped her pistol. Clutching the burden to her chest she limped onto the road, stumbling and trying to run, like a woman who'd just escaped an assault. The car's headlights made her slip nearly transparent against her firm body, the white hem flashing above the black garters on her thighs, offering little hints of her behind.

The car of rats skidded.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" one of them said, exiting the car before it had fully stopped. She turned, her face a fright.

She was sobbing.

She had transformed into a hysterical, terrified wreck in the span of ten seconds, complete with real tears that left trails through the mascara and blood on her face. Mordecai's jaw dropped. They sky may as well have turned green and rained bats. How in HELL had she done that? He could barely read emotions, much less summon them on command.

All three of the men excited the vehicle. "God, are you all right?" one said.

She looked back and forth between them, as though deciding whether or not to trust them. She finally gave herself over. "Please, please, please," she wept, hunching over the jacket-wrapped gun she clutched to her chest. "Please, help."

"Holy hell, what happened to you, sweetheart?" another said, putting his hands on her shoulders. She shook in terror and threw herself into his embrace, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Please help," she repeated, her voice breaking.

"Do you speak English darlin'?" another asked, hearing her accent.

"No no, no English," she said. "Please."

"Who did this? Where's the guy?" one said, looking into the woods.

She exploded in a fit of desperate hacking and doubled over, spitting blood on the ground, clutching the man's coat.

"We have to get her to a doctor," one of them said. "Sweet Jesus."

"We should take her to the cops."

"We can't take her to the cops, dunce."

"Come on darlin'," the first one said, gently leading her to the car. He opened the back door for her. She stopped a moment, as though again unsure whether or not to trust her saviors.

"It's okay," he said gently. "We'll help you. We'll take you to a doctor."

"Help?" she asked, her voice sweet enough to sprinkle in coffee.

"Yes. It's okay," he said.

"Is …is okay," she said shakily. She got in the car and he shut the door behind her.

"The fuck is wrong with some guys, huh?" he said to his friend. "Who does that to a woman?"

"Christ. Poor little thing."

The men got in the car. A moment passed, and Mordecai saw a flash illuminate the windows and heard the loud pop of a pistol. Confused cries, two more pops. The windshield shattered. Silence.

The door opened and Innochka stepped out, one careful foot after another, perfectly calm. She stood on her toes and tilted her head towards the copse of trees.

"Mordecai?" she asked. She put on her jacket and deposited the pistol in the inside pocket. The jacket was short, stopping just above that little white hem, the black garters, her ripped stockings. The blood he'd spilled was red as a curse across her face and neck.

Her lips had felt so soft against his fist.

"Mordecai?" she asked again.

Looking at her and hearing her call for him summoned something in him he couldn't put a name to, but it was intense and intimate in a way he nearly felt violated by.

"One minute!" he called back. He took longer than he needed gathering her belongings, calming himself by neatly folding them.

"That was quite something," he said when he finally approached her, clearing his throat and handing over her clothes.

She took her clothes and gave him that crooked hint of a smile. "Thanks you," she said.

She did not put her clothes back on, merely put them on the roof of the car, likely to save them the blood. She went around to the driver's side and began to drag the body out of the seat. Mordecai opened the trunk. She seemed to be struggling against the body's weight.

"Allow me," he said, taking off his coat to spare it a stain. She gratefully transferred the body to him, thanks-ing him as though he were the very model of chivalry. He lifted the bulk with his hands under the arms, and she lifted the feet when he dragged them out.

"I take it you've performed that little ruse before," Mordecai said as they lifted it into the trunk. "Brilliant. Never would have occurred to me to put myself at their mercy to assure a one-shot kill. Though I suppose they wouldn't respond to me with pity the way they'd respond to a crying woman - HOW did you just cry like that, by the way?"

"Thanks you," she repeated, though he was certain she hadn't understood him.

"It's thank. One thank. Not -" he began, but stopped when a car came down the road. The driver stared at them with wide eyes, Mordecai dragging a limp body into the trunk and Innochka in her blood-spattered unmentionables. The driver floored it and sped away.

Innochka cursed in Russian and dashed behind the wheel. Mordecai shoved the body in the trunk, slammed it closed hard enough to snap a leg, and hopped in the passenger seat. "Go, go!" he said, and Innochka slammed on the gas, speeding after the witness.

A gurgle came from the backseat. It was from the rat Innochka ran to and buried her crying face in. Mordecai drew his pistol and put an extra shot in him for good measure. Innochka barely registered it, focusing on the chase.

"Stop!" Mordecai cried out, and she slammed on the brakes. The witness's car was parked in the driveway of a house so well hidden by maple trees he almost didn't see it. The driver's side door hung open. They took a moment to reload and got out of the car, stalking towards the house like a pair of hunting panthers, slipping in through an open window.

Thy crept down the hall to a closed door. Light spilled from beneath it. There was a voice.

"I don't know," the witness said. "I don't know! They're fucking dead - yes, all three. I don't know … just get someone out here quick. Who -? I don't know, but it looked like the Marigold butcher - yeah — yeah - no, I'm not positive - I don't KNOW, man, fuck if I know what the fuck Marigold has to do with it, I – what?"

Mordecai glanced at Innochka. She peered up at him, her eyes gleaming in the dark, her gun ready. He put his hand on her gun and pushed it gently down, then pressed her against the wall. She nodded.

Mordecai stepped out, kicked in the door and fired in one motion. The witness turned at the sound of the door being kicked, and the bullet landed neatly between his eyes. He crumpled to the floor.

"Hello? Hello? Max? Hello?" the person on the the end of the phone chirped. Mordecai took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and gingerly hung it up.

Innochka stepped into the doorway to admire Mordecai's work. "Is good," she said, nodding.

"Thank you," he said, puffing with pride.

They carried the body to the car and threw it in the backseat with the others.

ooo

Innochka made it clear she wanted to stop to look for her clothes but Mordecai drove on, not knowing how long it would take for the witness's requested reinforcements to get there. She didn't seem to understand why they couldn't stop but didn't protest. He told her they could search for her dress and shoes when they returned for their car. She didn't understand that either, but nor did she complain. She seemed to have developed a pleasing faith in his judgement. As consolation for her clothes he offered her his coat, which she accepted gracefully.

"There you are," he said as she put it on. He looked at her a moment, tilting his head. "You know, it flatters you. Or it would if you weren't a mess. You look a bit like a melted clown at the moment. You don't usually wear that much makeup, do you?"

She tilted her head at him, hair a mess, mascara running down her cheeks, lipstick smeared. In his too-big coat looking for all the world like a little girl who'd been caught red-handed playing in her parent's closet.

"Eh?" she said, eyes wide.

He was going to repeat himself but instead he laughed.

ooo

He drove into the factory district to the warehouse where there was a secure incinerator, for which Marigold paid a premium. He spread out a tarpaulin and they dragged the bodies out of the car. The opening of the incinerator was not large enough to accommodate a whole body so some hatchet work was always needed. It was his least favorite part of the job. The pig farm was so much simpler.

He pushed aside a cabinet to retrieve a crate of hatchets and cleavers from a trap door underneath it. Innochka stretched her arms above her head and yawned, then casually took a hatchet from the crate, swinging it to test its balance. Satisfied, she knelt down next to a body and pulled the arm out straight.

"Wait wait wait!" Mordecai cried. "Don't get blood on my coat."

He stepped behind her to help her out of it. She looked up at him over her shoulder with those icy eyes and smiled. He found himself smiling back. What a revelation she was! Fast, knowledgeable, competent, focused. It was so difficult to find a real professional in this business.

He hung the coat up across the room. "Well then, we've got some work to do," he said, selecting his favorite cleaver from the crate. "Yes? Is good?"

She nodded. "Is good."

Sweet mentioned she was a butcher's daughter. Mordecai eagerly watched her begin, wondering if any of those skills had transferred over. To his delight she dismantled the witness with grace and ease, singing a little foreign tune as she worked.

He sighed happily.

It was such a pleasure to watch a thing done well.

ooo