Hey guys. This chapter is a rewritten combination of chapters one and two, so hopefully it's better. Thanks so much, hope you enjoy.
Fuck. I'm doing this. Jim frowned at his reflection. His loose shirt and shorts, thick soled court shoes. Tennis bag slung over one shoulder. If he was going to pull this off, he'd have to do a lot better than that.
A cold mask of impassivity fell over his face. He tilted his head slightly to the side and grinned cruelly. Maybe...I'll play the short-tempered new coach.
Don't be stupid, darling. Give the people what they want. Moriarty said silkily. There was a threat hidden there somewhere, and a shiver ran up Jim's spine.
This new job certainly wasn't going to be very exciting, especially by Moriarty's standards, but Jim wanted a break from the constant stress and violence. Moriarty may be the one inflicting it, but Jim felt...crushed beneath Moriarty's expectations and standards for cultivating his growing empire. Not that he didn't usually enjoy it, no. He just couldn't do it 24/7 like Moriarty wanted them to.
Jim would be supervising the sale of steroids and performance-enhancing drugs (or so he told them) to the tennis pros that played and worked at Randolph Tennis Centre. He would pose as a new tennis coach, and thankfully, he could play. He could really play. One of the only things that Moriarty admitted Jim was good at, other than acting. Not that he thought it mattered. A memory tugged at his attention, and Jim's breathing quickened. No. Stop it. We're not going there now.
Jim let a shy, nervous man, new to coaching, mask his dark, glittering eyes and turn them softer. This would do. It'd have to.
He grimaced once more at his reflection, at the dark hair sticking out in all directions, and strode out of the room, and out of his (certainly notmodest) flat. He nodded curtly to a suited man standing by the door, who walked behind him as Jim took the elevator down to the lobby, and was met by a deceptively nice cab-style car. They were off.
o0O0o
Jim tilted his head back against the cool leather seat and blinked slowly. He frowned when he caught the driver glancing at him in the mirror. The man jerked away like he'd been burned.
It's not like I'm going to lash out and kill them at any moment.
Maybe you won't... Moriarty said, grinning.
They arrived quickly, early enough to make sure everything was running smoothly before the general staff arrived. It looked like a storm was already building, not a patch of blue left between the thick grey clouds.
Now, this job was by no means the biggest Jim had done, but it was certainly required a lot of stealth to sell steroids at a smaller centre. This fact had apparently not been rammed through the thick skulls of Jim's employees quite hard enough (literally when it comes to the ones Moriarty got a bit too annoyed with).
"Oh for fuck's sake." Jim breathed as he stepped out of the car. He could feel something was off, and the dangerous mood Moriarty was radiating in waves told him he was right. A black suited man was pacing back and forth along the concrete sidewalk. Jim looked around quickly, but it seemed the security cameras he'd had replaced where doing their job, i.e. the opposite of what the centre's management wanted them to do.
Jim strode up to the man, who explained through stuttered words and gestures that the medic had gotten the dose wrong for an early riser.
"...O-or somethin' complicated li' that." The man finished, and pointed to a short, sandy haired man standing in front of the gap between two buildings. "E's over there."
Jim pushed past him, only barely getting a glimpse of a twitching shape behind the medic before he gave Moriarty the reins.
Better give them a taste of what they signed up for.
Honey, you don't know the half of it.
Moriarty grabbed the medic forcefully by the arm and dragged him over to the dying man, evidently an eager client that got his first dose early.
Moriarty blinked slowly, licking his lips as he watched the athlete twitch on the ground, almost reveling in it. The doctor shivered, and Moriarty smiled softly at him; his glinting eyes promising anything but forgiveness.
"High blood pressure. Muscle and bone weakness. Agitation and…" Moriarty lilted; then tilted his head at the medic, " Psychosis." He toed the barely living man on the ground with the edge of his court shoe. "All symptoms of…" He looked pointed at the nervous man opposite.
"Uh, um, Corticosteroid Overdose, sir." The man stammered. Moriarty closed his eyes and nodded, then turned towards the sky. Jim ignored the small nagging hint of doubt in the back of his mind, and watched.
"Now, dear, you can see why this might be a problem."
"Well, sir, uh-" Moriarty shook his head and gestured to the heavens, the clouds, grey and swollen hanging heavily in tense air, as if waiting for a signal to pour down on them all.
"I'll tell you why, doctor. You always hear the thunder on delay, long after the lightning has struck. That's how my business works. We strike…" Moriarty stepped closer to the medic.
"We finish the job…" He took another step.
"And we're gone-" He snapped his fingers.
"-by the time, if ever, our enemies know we were there at all."
Moriarty cracked his neck, his head oscillating back and forth like some exotic snake, before turning a menacing look of mock concern on the shivering medic. "So, I'll ask you again. Do you see why this could be a problem? "
"Uh, y-yes, sir, Mr. Moriarty, s-sir-"
Moriarty smiled again and spoke softly. "So the next time I find you've endangered our operation like this again, you'll find yourself being donated to science, and that's only if you're lucky enough to be intact when I'm done with you." He winked. The medic nodded hurriedly and skittered off; while Moriarty snapped his fingers and a couple more men dragged the now-still body away.
Jim drew in a deep breath as Moriarty released control. It was always a bit refreshing to come back up. He didn't really know how this whole thing worked, though sometimes he mapped out the human brain and hundreds of notes on the windows of his flat for days, not stopping for food or sleep as his own mind seemed to consume him...but he mustn't think about it now.
"Not much to do about it now, on such short notice. It will end up reported, but make sure it won't be tracked back to us." The men nodded, one heading back to the car and and the other two back to the alley to finish the body clean up. Jim turned back to the tennis centre, and tried to push down the persistent nervous flutter in his stomach.
oO0Oo
Jim pushed through the heavy glass door and stepped into the front office, his features arranged to send hopeful, innocent waves towards his coworkers. This was easy for Jim. Playing the role. Pretending. Nothing new...which was a bit boring, now that he thought about it. Sometimes he wished he didn't have Moriarty to help him, to do the work that required a cold, violent front that Jim wasn't capable of. It would make things harder, for sure, but perhaps it might have given him a chance to be challenged.
Nothing was ever a challenge.
Jim smiled nervously at the receptionist, who directed him to a room behind the counter. He entered quietly, and found a group of six tennis coaches sitting around the table, some talking, others fiddling with their phones or rackets. A middle aged man with dark brown hair shook his hand and pointed him to a chair.
"Hullo. I'm Chase, the head coach here at Randolph. You must be James." He said in a thick cockney accent.
"James." Jim said, flicking his eyes excitedly around the room.
"Brilliant." Chase scanned the table, and rolled his eyes. "You didn't happen to see a cocky twat on your way in?"
Seriously? This is what I'm going to be concerning myself with?
"Sorry?"
"Bout' one-nine. Sorta ginger."
"Nope, sorry. I'll keep my eye out though." Jim said, cringing internally at the sickly sincerity in his voice. The meeting consisted of Chase explaining how the practices would work, how each group of students was assigned a court and one or two instructors. Today was apparently not a class day, which Jim knew already, of course, and they would be allowed to use the ball machines for the rest of the day.
"Right, one more order o' business."
Jim groaned internally, and a couple other coaches sent sympathetic looks his way.
"Jim, you're new here, so unfortunately you'll be on court five." Chase grimaced. Due to the obvious pity the other coaches were giving him, Jim was apparently going to be teaching in joint with Mr. Better-Than-Thou. If he didn't already have enough to deal with.
Chase ended the meeting and told them to go mess around with the ball machines or hit with each other if they wanted. Most of the coaches went home, shaking their heads as if the mere thought of getting some extra practice in if they didn't have to was absurd.
Jim strode off in the direction of the equipment shed, past the numerous courts sectioned off with chain-link fencing. He trailed his fingers along the intertwined wire, his gaze lowered, eyelashes brushing the skin beneath his dark eyes. He reached the shed and unlocked the door with his new ring of keys. The wood was old and splintered, the only part of the clinic not rebuilt when the renovations were done a couple years ago.
He grabbed a ball machine and dragged it out to to the back of the clinic, away from the few others who had elected to stay. After setting it up on one side of the court, he tugged his racket out of his bag and jogged to the opposite baseline. He twirled his racket between his hands, and waited for the the first pop of a tennis ball being shot towards him.
oO0Oo
Jim was covered with a thin sheen of sweat. A yellow ball soared over the net. He drew back his arm smoothly, whipped it forward with a sharp turn of his shoulders, and sent it spinning back.
Jim was good at tennis. He probably could have gone pro if he wanted to, but he didn't. Want to, that is. However much Jim loved the way the game could numb his mind, make him blind to distractions and allow his fragmented mind to focus, he would never be able to stop his work. Not to say the sport hadn't been a grateful barrier in his youth against his own mind, but...he didn't think about that.
Hitting the ball over and over, his mind blissfully blank and free from Moriarty, there was a downside to being completely unaware of his surroundings. i.e., he was completely unaware of his surroundings.
"Not bad." said a warm, slightly gruff voice from behind him. Jim froze.
Alright. The chapters do get longer in the future. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, catch you guys later.
ciao