First Kill Chapter 5: Eirenism

Claes looked up at the scowling man, her eyes wide. "Please, sir. All the other stores are closed, and my sister really needs to use the bathroom."

As they rehearsed, Dina whimpered, "I can't hold it. I… I… I might-"

"Get in here!" A calloused hand sporting a snake tattoo around his thumb yanked Claes past the restaurant door. Like the windows, it was covered by a blue-and-white checkered curtain. "You too."

Once inside, he put one hand behind each girl and hustled them toward the back. A chorus of voices from one corner filled the otherwise-empty restaurant.

"Hey!"

"Mario! What's this?"

"Quick, put it away! Put it away!"

"Why'd you open the door, idiot?!"

He waved the other men to silence as he not-quite-gently nudged the two girls into the restroom. "Make it quick."

Claes nodded.

He closed the door. Through it, Claes and Dina heard his reply. "She was going to piss right outside on the mat!"

"So let her! This is kinda important, you know!"

"I just washed the entryway! I don't wanna hafta do it again."

Satisfied, the voices died down to a steady rumble.

From her book bag Dina handed Claes the customized Heckler & Koch VP70, then the buttstock. After Claes quietly clicked the two together, the smaller girl removed the silencer from its padded pocket. Claes gave a single dip of her chin in thanks and started twisting the oversized cylinder onto the threaded barrel.

Once done, she glanced again at Dina, who was doing likewise to her Beretta 90two. As she laid it down to shrug her book bag back on, it fell from her hand the last two centimeters.

The clattering seemed to echo in the bathroom.

"Sorry. This pistol is so big," Dina mouthed at the scowling older girl.

Raballo's voice boomed outside. "You inside! Open the door! Carabinieri!"

Claes locked eyes with Dina and mouthed the countdown.

Three.

Two.

One.

The girls burst from the bathroom, rounded the corner and started firing at the half-dozen people, most pointing guns at the front door.

Claes fired first, her VP70 clattering off a three-round burst at the man holding a submachine gun.

Dina fired second, her trigger pooling red across her target's azure shirt at the third rib.

Heart and lung shot, Claes thought. Pretty good. As she did, she methodically swept across the other four, each pull of her trigger loosing three rounds into each assailant. That last one was almost able to get a shot off at me. I need to be faster.

Her mulling was interrupted by sudden movement as one person, until now motionless, started running toward the kitchen. Claes swung her machine pistol to track the escaping man, but halted when her sweep neared Dina's motionless form.

"Dina. I missed one. Get him."

No response.

"Dina!"

The man ran past them and through the door.

A single suppressed gunshot from around the corner almost immediately afterwards startled her out of her paralysis. Eyes red and cheeks damp, she turned to Claes. "I… I… I'm… sorry."

Paolo walked through the kitchen door, a briefcase under his right arm holding a matching Beretta 90two, and dragging the slight body of the man who ran out of the killing zone with his other. "Look what the cat… Dina, what's the matter?"

Twin thumps reverberated in the desolate restaurant as the body and briefcase both hit the floor.

Claes nodded at Paolo. "Signore Di Tomaso." Without waiting for his acknowledgement, she started walking toward the front door.

Dina pointed with her free hand at the body she felled. "I shot him. One shot. I shot him."

Paolo walked over. "Not bad. Pretty good, actually - a profile shot is much harder. I don't see anything wrong with your placement. It's all right you didn't fire the two follow-up shots like we practiced. You still put him down, right? "

"I killed him." She nudged the body with her patent-leather shoe. "I killed him, and I don't feel any different."

"What?"

"You said that killing someone would change me, Signore Paolo. I don't feel any different." Tears quickened their flow as shivers racked her body. "Why? Why don't I feel different? What's wrong with me?"

Dina turned her gaze to her handler, eyes pleading for answers. "Signore Paolo, am I… am I defective?"

Ξ§§§Ξ

They walked the evening streets. Paolo politely declined Raballo's earlier offer to drive him and his charge back to the Agency. He hoped Dina would not be sad when they returned.

It didn't work. His attempts to ply her with cheer and sweets both failed. She mostly ignored the gelato, mumbling monotone replies at the melting pile as the two cookies slowly tipped, leaned, and eventually fell.

Still, his efforts continued. "You're fine, Dina. As I said already, I was the one who said the wrong thing."

"Yes, Signore Paolo."

He looked around. The streets weren't deserted, but no one was near enough to overhear. "Killing someone doesn't change the way you feel. Well, not always."

"If you say so, Signore."

"I say so."

"All right."

"So why are you still so… so unhappy?"

"I think … I think I was hoping it would."

"Why? I already told you, it doesn't. I shouldn't have said that in the first place."

"I… I was hoping it would make me…" Her voice trailed away.

"Make you … what?"

Her voice was nearly inaudible. "Whole."

"How so?"

"This is what I was meant to do, right, Signore Paolo?" She took a quick scan of their surroundings, then continued softly. "To eradicate the enemies of the State?"

Paolo took a deep breath. He nodded very slowly, but the simple word was frozen on his tongue.

"I did that. I fulfilled my purpose, but … I don't feel fulfilled."

"Would doing that again help?"

"Hm?" Curiosity lifted her eyes.

Paolo lifted his chin slightly. They were back along the same street as where they started the day. The restaurant where they massacred the Padanian cell was but two blocks away. Section One's crime scene vans no longer blocked the road. Crowds and police barricades no longer gathered on the sidewalk.

Two men exited a car, carefully sneaked past the police tape, and entered.

Dina nodded. She shook one shoulder free of her backpack and drew her pistol. She looked up to see Paolo doing the same.

He raced the first block, then quickly walked half of the remaining way. The final leg he quietly walked sideways with his back to the other storefronts. He stopped just before the first window.

Inside, the men stacked a chair atop a table by a wall. One held the furniture steady while the other was pulling something out from a vent.

Paolo turned back to Dina to relay the situation. His voice was low. "They're by the back right-"

Dina rammed him.

He slammed onto the sidewalk. His surprised cough stole all the air from his lungs.

The streetlights were eclipsed by flashes of gunfire; the night calm shattered first by muzzle reports, then the cries of glass as pieces fell from the storefront windows.

The car! We forgot to check the car!

Paolo raised one arm to shield himself from the rain of shards. Through clenched eyes, he saw Dina crouched above him, her pistol barely moving with each pair of shots she squeezed off.

The car roared off.

Dina turned and fired two rounds into the restaurant. A clatter of furniture and meat falling to the ground showed her shots to be true.

"Good work, Dina."

She looked down at him and smiled. "Signore Paolo? I'm sorry."

"For what, Dina?"

"For worrying. I'm not defective. I know that now."

He carefully placed his hand on the pavement, patting it to be sure it was free of glass. "I told you. What took you so ... long?"

Dina eased herself atop him. "Because I did what I was supposed to ... to do, Signore Pao..."

"Dina!" Her jacket was dark with blood.

"It's.. it's all right, Signore Paolo. It doesn't ... hurt."