A/N – I'd just like to thank all you brilliant people who've reviewed so far. You've given me a much needed confidence boost, so thanks a lot! Hope you like the latest chapter! :-)
Twelve
Matador saw himself as more of an artist then an assassin. In his opinion death qualified as an art. If it wasn't handled with a certain sophistication and style, it was nothing more then graceless murder. That's why he tried to make every killing unique in some way. Sometimes he tried to carry out jobs with just a single bullet. As a rule, he never used the same poison twice. Occasionally, he used his knife to cut pictures of skulls, flames or Grim Reapers into his victim's chest before he hid the body. For all this show however, he wasn't skilful or rich enough to allow his art to jeopardise his missions. If he couldn't finish the job with style, he'd finish it any way he could, but hate himself for many weeks afterwards.
He'd been a hired killer for nearly a year now, ever since that fateful day when he'd been fired from a car production facility in Tokyo for taking one too many smoke breaks. At the time he'd already been in a tight spot financially, and this had been enough to push him over the edge. That night, he'd broken into his ex-manager's office and put a bullet through his head. That had been the beginning – the realisation that killing people was actually very simple when you got down to it. All it required was a loaded gun and a little finger motion. So it had started.
From that day on he'd trained himself to become an assassin. Although his first kill hadn't been particularly elegant, he'd been able to make successive kills more and more professional and creative. He'd renamed himself Matador since in his opinion it was the kind of cool, classy name that an assassin should have. His mates had laughed at him for it, but they could fuck themselves for all he cared. They didn't understand true artistry or that ironic feeling of life that came with bringing death.
He'd been in the middle of developing his latest poison when this latest call had come. This drug was set to be his magnum opus and because of that he'd given his name to it – Matador's cocktail. Even a single dart's worth of the stuff could be fatal, with the victim dying slowly and horribly over the course of an hour. Of course, it was too slow-acting to be practical as an assassination weapon, but that didn't concern Matador. After all, what kind of artist didn't take risks for his art?
He'd taken the call, expecting it to be the Ferzas. He'd owed them money for a while now, and had a feeling that a final warning was in the post. But, thankfully, it had been an offer of work instead. Naturally he'd been interested and given the woman on the other end of the line his full attention.
Fortune had finally smiled on him with this offer. It wasn't unusual for big-time clients to offer more than normal to make sure that the job was done properly, but this woman was offering four times the asking price! That was more money than he'd ever had! He'd receive his regular fee immediately and then the rest once the job was done. Matador truly couldn't believe his luck – he'd be able to pay off the Ferzas and have enough money left over to keep his hands in for a good while yet. He'd even be able to afford that new X-78 sniper rifle he'd had his eyes on!
To make things even better, his target was an eleven year-old girl. Talk about money for nothing! Several of his victims had been well-protected or capable of fighting back. Most of them could at least put up a struggle. But this little girl? It was almost too easy.
There was a catch of sorts. Payment was based strictly on provision of photographic evidence that she'd been assassinated and that her death could not be confirmed as a murder. She was to die 'accidentally' in a manner that could not be seen as a targeted assassination. That a common enough condition; his clients were often obvious enemies of the victim, so they were the obvious murder suspects. Despite that, Matador had been disappointed – he'd wanted to try out this new poison of his, but a poisoned dart in the body was ample evidence of a murder. Maybe next time.
Naturally, his client was anonymous. That was fairly typical as well, since they didn't want a lead back to themselves should a murder inquiry be launched. Matador guessed that it was some big corporation, if they were dealing with this kind of money. But in truth, he wasn't so interested in his client's identity, only the green stuff mattered to him.
After opening a beer in celebration, Matador looked over the details with which he'd been provided and started contemplating which method of death he would use for this job. Ruri Hoshino was her name. Eleven years old. Short, pale, white-haired. Orphan at Seven Oaks, no known relatives. He looked over her photo and committed it to memory. She was a cute little thing, he noted with a vicious leer. It would be very pleasing to taste her fear. But cute or not, she would soon be knocking on Hell's door.
So what was it to be this time? Most of the time he just used a gun-shot, but in this scenario he wouldn't be able to pass that off as an accident or suicide. Oral poison was possible, but difficult since everything she ate was taken from a larger batch of food. If more then one person died at the scene, there would be a fully-fledged investigation, so another way was needed. It looked like he'd have to use the good old method of kidnapping the kid as she walked home from school, taking her to some isolated spot, slitting her wrists and/or throat before disposing of the body. Yep, that was the way to go. Tried-and-tested. He'd think of some way to make it artistic before he struck.
Well, the details were here and the cards were on the table. He'd carry out the job tomorrow. The sooner that girl was sleeping with the fishes, the sooner he'd get his money. Matador grinned once again in anticipation as he drew out his shiny blade and tested its sleek edge with his finger. Oh yes, blood for money could certainly prove rewarding if you found the right client.
* * *
Erina felt slightly nauseous and more then a bit light-headed as she closed the communication channel. She immediately drained the glass of water on her desk, which helped to steady her, but didn't do anything to remove the niggling guilt lodged in the back of her mind. The fact was she'd just made a call which would end a person's life. She hated the side of herself that felt remorse. It only served to weaken her and instil her with doubt. Doubt which was the most deadly enemy to what she held dearest - her own ambitions.
Normally, she wouldn't have had such a problem with it. Sometimes people had to be killed for the greater good, that was the way it was. However, when you had known that person and served on the same crew as them for the best part of a year, it became much more difficult to take somehow. It wasn't that she'd liked Ruri – in fact she'd long thought that the kid deserved to be taken down a notch or two. But still she was just a child. How could one justify killing a child?
"It's her own fault!" she reminded herself. "If she hadn't been so selfish and stubborn she wouldn't have to be killed. She brought this on herself."
Still she couldn't shake the guilt. It was unquestionable that she'd earned her death but still, it just didn't feel right. Why was it that whatever option she took, she always ended up feeling like the bad guy?
"Put your guilt aside. It's not like you were given a choice about this. Isn't your career more important then the brat's life?"
Well, obviously it was. That was the decisive argument for her. If she was to ascend in the world according to her ambitions, she had to play by Akatsuki's rules. He'd said the girl had to die, so that was that. End of story.
The Nergal secretary tried to shut out her thoughts by busying herself with a report. Soon, when the Nergal Five was operational and their plans were coming to fruition, she would be revelling in success and such pathetic feelings would be behind her. Now was not the time to let emotions stand in the way of success.
