The perfect Crime – take 2
Isn't it amazing how quiet and peaceful the world is at 3 o'clock in the morning? You could walk for miles without seeing another soul. Totally on your own, the world is your proverbial oyster. But. There's always a but isn't there. See the question you should have been asking yourselves is why? Why is she out at that time of the morning. But do you really want to know?
So, there I was walking down a quiet suburb street at 3am, admiring the simple beauty of flowers with their intricate patterns and colours. I looked down at the paper in my hand to check the address, but never realised that the paper was beginning to curl and wilt with moisture. Glancing to both sides out of habit I crossed the deserted road. This was it. This was the house. Silently I slipped round towards the back and bought out my flick knife to ease open the lock on the door. Easy as pie.
Now I was inside. Looking round the kitchen a small smile spread across my face, "typical man" I thought as my eyes picked out the take-away wrappers and cheap wine bottles in the gloom. The sink was full of dirty dishes and every surface was cluttered with rubbish. Slowly, carefully, I unbuttoned my coat and lay it gently on the side, avoiding the clutter of course.
Now to make myself comfortable, calm and focused. Starting the traditional ritual I slipped my hands into the cold leather gloves, easing my fingers into each cold slot and working the leather until it was supple and warm. Next, the knife I used to enter was replaced into the case merging into my silhouette, becoming an extension of me. Almost ready, two more steps. Gently ease the blade into its casing, secure and reasuuring I felt the weight pull slightly on my arm. Last phase now. Cautiously remove it from the pocket of my jacket, tilt it skywards and softly tap the side. Compress a little to double check my preparation was sound.
Moving through the house like a shadow I glimpsed suggestions of the person upstairs. The modern, metallic lounge with its smooth, glacial leather sofa and sleek chrome lights. Unfortunately the picture was spoilt by piles of magazines thrown carelessly aside, clothes dropped where they were removed. Obviously the dweller was careless and unorganised, this will give me a distinct advantage I thought.
Climbing the winding staircase I entered the soft, drowsy darkness so commonly found when one is in deep sleep. The velvety feel of the air absorbed any sound I made. Slipping like a shadow I entered his room, moved quickly to the bed and paused. Thus my undoing in this story, I hesitated. For I could not help thinking that the room looked so familiar, so welcoming. Why? How? I am sure I did not know this target, had I been wrong. And then the panic started to creep up on me. Adrenaline began to pump around my body surging through every vein like a poison, how ironic. My breath caught in my chest and my hands began to quake as the sleeper rolled over and revealed his face. I stifled a gasp. Just. The colour ran from my face in much the same way that my legs desired to run from the room. I held my breath so to prevent myself from uttering a sound.
I suppose it would be fitting to describe the sleeper to you. His wizened eyes were closed, his smooth skin gleamed with a thin layer of sweat. The perfectly formed mouth was pulled tight in a grimace, slowly cracking his lips. His eyes moved behind the closed lids as if searching for something. If only he could have seen me! His body was curled softly, looking so powerful yet so gentle, so absorbed in his sleep yet so alert, almost feline in impression. Yes I think that is enough, you need not know anymore.
Now what was I to do? I had taken payment yet could not complete my job. I could not do it to him. No. So I left as unnoticed and innocent as I had arrived. Yet I left a, shall we say, reminder for him. For I wanted to prepare him as others would succeed where I had failed. You see I broke the rule, I left without completing the contract. Worse then that I warned the target. Life for me would not be easy any longer.
Walking away from the house countless emotions presented them selves. A sadness so deep and complete that had I been a weaker person I would have ended it all there and then. A regret so complete that I felt my life had been stolen from me. Then anger, fresh violent dangerous anger. As red as blood, as strong as the earth as complete as the day yet as dark as the night. They knew! They sent me without telling me. They had planned and schemed and twisted. Now I would pay, the fairness in this was where?
So I decided to write this story, to tell this tale. These are my confessions, the truth as I see it and as it should be told. Take heed.
The very start of it all. That fateful day, when we were plucked from the crowd. We were denied the opportunity to have a normal life. But we were so full of ourselves that none of us cared at the start. We were too focused on how special we were and how much better we were then everyone else we couldn't see beyond our egos. I am so bitter now but what you must understand is the rush you get when you're told you alone are capable of this, you are the elite. That feeling is so rarely felt by anyone that it is hard to comprehend.
And we trained, for 3 years we trained with the best to be the best. Any sign of weakness and we were punished. Be that weakness physical or mental. We were trained to ignore our emotions, to ignore that human instinct that resides in everyone. We were taught the importance of accuracy, organisation and preparation.
We all carry the scars from our training. At the end we were as skilled and focused as machines, capable of denying our own instincts, ignoring our physical instincts and refusing to obey emotions. Fit and capable we were sent out into the world to start our working lives.
In the beginning I could cope with it, no it's worse then that, I enjoyed it. The harder the job the more I profited from it. The bigger the job the better the rush. You see it is the perfect crime, no ones to blame, no one gets caught. That's the way it goes, as regular as clock work, but what goes around comes around as they say.
In the beginning the jobs were small, easy, enticing and addictive. Of course I was always careful. A contract was essential, I was not risking anything even with the small unknowns. I say unknowns now but of course they weren't unknown to everyone. What would have been the point if no one knew what I was doing? In a way I was helping; solving (ok ending) marital disputes and stopping corruption in the so called 'upperclass' of our dear country England.
But I got a reputation you see, after a while I couldn't do the unknowns anymore. It got more and more demanding. I had to change my methods, my techniques, as the old ways were no longer appropriate. Simple, physical means seemed unskilled and reckless. There is a certain, shall we say standard that comes with the job. It's a sophisticated world I lived and worked in. To be judged on ones methods constantly brings out the best of you.
As my list of contacts grew so did the methods available to me. As I mixed with sophisticated clientele I had access to sophisticated means, namely toxic. Toxic, consider the word for a while. Toxic could mean anything. I suppose you're thinking alcohol? Drugs maybe? No, what I mean is subtler then that, believe me ... but do you? Why should you believe me? What should you believe?
There are some that will have guessed my profession by now and all I ask of you is to understand that once you start you cannot stop. There is no turning back, no get out clause. You must accept what you're doing and that there are no allies in life, or as was more often the case, death. There are times that you will not enjoy what you do and contracts you'd rather not complete but the job must be done regardless.
Each case was different, each client perceived me in their own way though none saw me as what I am, what I was. No one wanted to see me at all. The human mind is good at these things you see, ignoring the blatantly obvious when it suits.
So how were contracts arranged? Conversations by phone are 'convenient' for most clients but there is no security for me. Phones can be traced, letters can be analysed but face to face conversations? In my experience people don't remember my conversations, convenient isn't it? A signature, a guaranteed payroll and the deal was done. How did I know they would honour their word? Cross me and I can assure you you'd never cross anything ever again. And they knew it all of them knew it. That's what they employed me for after all, my skill and certain disregard of the law. Come on you must of guessed who I am now, what I do. It was a job, that's all.
Do I remember the cases I have dealt with? No. Do I remember my clients? Sometimes, it depends on the effort involved. If I was required to put in extra time, if the case was, well, interesting then sometimes the memory stays with me. Not often.
Some people would call me barbaric, say that I had no conscience, but it's only a job to me. How emotionally involved do you get at work? Exactly. Do you see my point now? This sort of job you definitely leave at the front door, their front door.
Why did I stop? You see the 'perfect crime' has a way of getting back at you. I had a new contract, how could I not be personally involved with this? It had to stop, it was impossible to continue. How could I do it to him? There are problems with this career you see, its not sustainable being an assassin. It's kill or be killed.
I know there's a price on my head now, I know what it is and who put it there. There is nothing I can do. I know I am seen as a challenge and I am honoured by this. The bounty on my head is high and I can guarantee it'll be one of the old crowd who kills me. You see there are standards in this job of mine.
Isn't it amazing how quiet and peaceful the world is at 3 o'clock in the morning? You could walk for miles without seeing another soul. Totally on your own, the world is your proverbial oyster. But. There's always a but isn't there. See the question you should have been asking yourselves is why? Why is she out at that time of the morning. But do you really want to know?
So, there I was walking down a quiet suburb street at 3am, admiring the simple beauty of flowers with their intricate patterns and colours. I looked down at the paper in my hand to check the address, but never realised that the paper was beginning to curl and wilt with moisture. Glancing to both sides out of habit I crossed the deserted road. This was it. This was the house. Silently I slipped round towards the back and bought out my flick knife to ease open the lock on the door. Easy as pie.
Now I was inside. Looking round the kitchen a small smile spread across my face, "typical man" I thought as my eyes picked out the take-away wrappers and cheap wine bottles in the gloom. The sink was full of dirty dishes and every surface was cluttered with rubbish. Slowly, carefully, I unbuttoned my coat and lay it gently on the side, avoiding the clutter of course.
Now to make myself comfortable, calm and focused. Starting the traditional ritual I slipped my hands into the cold leather gloves, easing my fingers into each cold slot and working the leather until it was supple and warm. Next, the knife I used to enter was replaced into the case merging into my silhouette, becoming an extension of me. Almost ready, two more steps. Gently ease the blade into its casing, secure and reasuuring I felt the weight pull slightly on my arm. Last phase now. Cautiously remove it from the pocket of my jacket, tilt it skywards and softly tap the side. Compress a little to double check my preparation was sound.
Moving through the house like a shadow I glimpsed suggestions of the person upstairs. The modern, metallic lounge with its smooth, glacial leather sofa and sleek chrome lights. Unfortunately the picture was spoilt by piles of magazines thrown carelessly aside, clothes dropped where they were removed. Obviously the dweller was careless and unorganised, this will give me a distinct advantage I thought.
Climbing the winding staircase I entered the soft, drowsy darkness so commonly found when one is in deep sleep. The velvety feel of the air absorbed any sound I made. Slipping like a shadow I entered his room, moved quickly to the bed and paused. Thus my undoing in this story, I hesitated. For I could not help thinking that the room looked so familiar, so welcoming. Why? How? I am sure I did not know this target, had I been wrong. And then the panic started to creep up on me. Adrenaline began to pump around my body surging through every vein like a poison, how ironic. My breath caught in my chest and my hands began to quake as the sleeper rolled over and revealed his face. I stifled a gasp. Just. The colour ran from my face in much the same way that my legs desired to run from the room. I held my breath so to prevent myself from uttering a sound.
I suppose it would be fitting to describe the sleeper to you. His wizened eyes were closed, his smooth skin gleamed with a thin layer of sweat. The perfectly formed mouth was pulled tight in a grimace, slowly cracking his lips. His eyes moved behind the closed lids as if searching for something. If only he could have seen me! His body was curled softly, looking so powerful yet so gentle, so absorbed in his sleep yet so alert, almost feline in impression. Yes I think that is enough, you need not know anymore.
Now what was I to do? I had taken payment yet could not complete my job. I could not do it to him. No. So I left as unnoticed and innocent as I had arrived. Yet I left a, shall we say, reminder for him. For I wanted to prepare him as others would succeed where I had failed. You see I broke the rule, I left without completing the contract. Worse then that I warned the target. Life for me would not be easy any longer.
Walking away from the house countless emotions presented them selves. A sadness so deep and complete that had I been a weaker person I would have ended it all there and then. A regret so complete that I felt my life had been stolen from me. Then anger, fresh violent dangerous anger. As red as blood, as strong as the earth as complete as the day yet as dark as the night. They knew! They sent me without telling me. They had planned and schemed and twisted. Now I would pay, the fairness in this was where?
So I decided to write this story, to tell this tale. These are my confessions, the truth as I see it and as it should be told. Take heed.
The very start of it all. That fateful day, when we were plucked from the crowd. We were denied the opportunity to have a normal life. But we were so full of ourselves that none of us cared at the start. We were too focused on how special we were and how much better we were then everyone else we couldn't see beyond our egos. I am so bitter now but what you must understand is the rush you get when you're told you alone are capable of this, you are the elite. That feeling is so rarely felt by anyone that it is hard to comprehend.
And we trained, for 3 years we trained with the best to be the best. Any sign of weakness and we were punished. Be that weakness physical or mental. We were trained to ignore our emotions, to ignore that human instinct that resides in everyone. We were taught the importance of accuracy, organisation and preparation.
We all carry the scars from our training. At the end we were as skilled and focused as machines, capable of denying our own instincts, ignoring our physical instincts and refusing to obey emotions. Fit and capable we were sent out into the world to start our working lives.
In the beginning I could cope with it, no it's worse then that, I enjoyed it. The harder the job the more I profited from it. The bigger the job the better the rush. You see it is the perfect crime, no ones to blame, no one gets caught. That's the way it goes, as regular as clock work, but what goes around comes around as they say.
In the beginning the jobs were small, easy, enticing and addictive. Of course I was always careful. A contract was essential, I was not risking anything even with the small unknowns. I say unknowns now but of course they weren't unknown to everyone. What would have been the point if no one knew what I was doing? In a way I was helping; solving (ok ending) marital disputes and stopping corruption in the so called 'upperclass' of our dear country England.
But I got a reputation you see, after a while I couldn't do the unknowns anymore. It got more and more demanding. I had to change my methods, my techniques, as the old ways were no longer appropriate. Simple, physical means seemed unskilled and reckless. There is a certain, shall we say standard that comes with the job. It's a sophisticated world I lived and worked in. To be judged on ones methods constantly brings out the best of you.
As my list of contacts grew so did the methods available to me. As I mixed with sophisticated clientele I had access to sophisticated means, namely toxic. Toxic, consider the word for a while. Toxic could mean anything. I suppose you're thinking alcohol? Drugs maybe? No, what I mean is subtler then that, believe me ... but do you? Why should you believe me? What should you believe?
There are some that will have guessed my profession by now and all I ask of you is to understand that once you start you cannot stop. There is no turning back, no get out clause. You must accept what you're doing and that there are no allies in life, or as was more often the case, death. There are times that you will not enjoy what you do and contracts you'd rather not complete but the job must be done regardless.
Each case was different, each client perceived me in their own way though none saw me as what I am, what I was. No one wanted to see me at all. The human mind is good at these things you see, ignoring the blatantly obvious when it suits.
So how were contracts arranged? Conversations by phone are 'convenient' for most clients but there is no security for me. Phones can be traced, letters can be analysed but face to face conversations? In my experience people don't remember my conversations, convenient isn't it? A signature, a guaranteed payroll and the deal was done. How did I know they would honour their word? Cross me and I can assure you you'd never cross anything ever again. And they knew it all of them knew it. That's what they employed me for after all, my skill and certain disregard of the law. Come on you must of guessed who I am now, what I do. It was a job, that's all.
Do I remember the cases I have dealt with? No. Do I remember my clients? Sometimes, it depends on the effort involved. If I was required to put in extra time, if the case was, well, interesting then sometimes the memory stays with me. Not often.
Some people would call me barbaric, say that I had no conscience, but it's only a job to me. How emotionally involved do you get at work? Exactly. Do you see my point now? This sort of job you definitely leave at the front door, their front door.
Why did I stop? You see the 'perfect crime' has a way of getting back at you. I had a new contract, how could I not be personally involved with this? It had to stop, it was impossible to continue. How could I do it to him? There are problems with this career you see, its not sustainable being an assassin. It's kill or be killed.
I know there's a price on my head now, I know what it is and who put it there. There is nothing I can do. I know I am seen as a challenge and I am honoured by this. The bounty on my head is high and I can guarantee it'll be one of the old crowd who kills me. You see there are standards in this job of mine.