Prologue
Bullseye sat in silence in the interrogation room. He watched his publicly appointed attorney, William Forester, as the thin man paced. Forester was tall and balding; he was the epitome of stereotypical lawyers. The kind one would see on the television. All brain, no brawn. Bullseye hated guys like him. And his incessant jabbering was getting on the hit man's last nerve. He sat in silence as the lawyer droned, his hands fidgeting impatiently.
Fucking wanker…God what I wouldn't give for a ballpoint pen right now…I bet he's a bleeder…
Bullseye watched his hands as Forester continued to talk. He stared intently at the circular scar on his left palm and the matching scar on the back of his right hand. The Devil marred his hands. His perfect instruments. The greatest weapons anyone had ever seen, tarnished in one second against that costumed bastard.
As Forester continued his dialogue about why Bullseye should confess to killing that girlfriend of the Devil's, Bullseye let his mind roll over the different ways he could kill Forester. He could gouge his eyes out with his thumbs. He could wring the little worms throat. Or he could put him through the two-way mirror that they two cops on the other side were watching through, and go from there.
"…So you see Mr.…. Doe…. Your best option is to just sign the confession. Right now there is only a small amount of evidence, which could help you in court… Maybe. Courts go easier on the people who confess though. So…" Forester slid the typed confession to Bullseye. "What do you say?" he asked.
Bullseye looked at the lawyer, then the confession, then back to the lawyer. When he spoke it was in a soft Irish brogue, "Have ye' got a pen?" Forester took a fine silver pen from his jacket and slid it along the aluminum table to Bullseye.
"One thing I can't figure out is…" The lawyer began, "How do you kill someone with a playing card?" He looked to Bullseye, who was smirking. There was a dark gleam in his eye. "Why are you smir-" Forester did not have time to finish his question. He flew back into the two-way mirror; his own pen lodged within his throat. He instinctually brought his hand to his throat, blood running out between his fingers as he slid down the mirror to the floor.
Bullseye's smirk turned into a grin. Bullseye loved that part of his life. Some men loved women. Some love cars. Bullseye loved to kill. He had almost forgotten how it felt to have the power to take someone's life. Watching his prey as panic set in. Nothing compared to the look in a man or woman's eyes in those last seconds, when their final breath rattled from their lungs and they realized who was in power. Bullseye.
"I hate watching these worms do their work." Said Detective Jim Baker as he and his partner watched Forester through a two-way mirror from an observation from. Baker's partner Tom Sikes nodded his agreement.
Baker took a long drink from a coffee mug, watching symbol on Bullseye's forehead. "Cocky son of a bitch… Thinks he's untouchable. Puts a fucking target on his forehead for everyone to take shots at him." Baker glared at the symbol carved into the Irish killers forehead. The scar really was a sign of Bullseye's confidence. Nobody fucked with Bullseye. Not if they were smart. And if they did, he was sure enough that he could drop them, he gave them a nice big target to hit. To him, all killers were the same. Future victims of the gas chamber.
Sikes stood, his arms folded as he listened to Forester talk, handing a pen to his client. This brought a smile to both Baker and Sikes' faces… He was going to sign the confession. Forester opened his mouth to speak but stopped suddenly as Bullseye smirked, a flick of the hit man's wrist sent the pen gliding through the air and into Forester's throat. Sikes went wide-eyed as Forester flew back against the two-way mirror.
Forester slid to the ground after a second. Baker and Sikes looked at each other for only a second. They hurried out of the observation room and into the interrogation room. The hit man's expression was highlighted by a nearly demonic grin at the sight of his now dead lawyer.
"Down on the floor now!" screamed Baker as he moved in, pistol drawn. Sikes looked down at Forester; the lawyer dead on the floor. A pool of blood forming beneath his head. He converged on Bullseye, "You son of a bitch!" Sikes forced Bullseye into the floor face first. The force with which Sikes used to put Bullseye to the floor knocked a tooth free in Bullseye's mouth. Bullseye grinned again, blood running out through the gap in his teeth. He could feel the tooth rattle around in his mouth.
Sikes stood, his pistol trained on the hit man. "Thanks." Bullseye grunted and spoke. The world muffled by his faces position on the floor.
"What?" Sikes asked in a perturbed manner.
Bullseye rolled over quickly, still grinning. Bullseye spat the loose tooth up at Sikes. The only sound Baker heard was an audible crack as the tooth shattered Sikes' skull. Baker watched as his partner started to fall towards Bullseye. The hit man deftly planted his feet into the dead cop's abdomen and, using his legs, pushed the body at Back.
Baker dodged Sikes' body while Bullseye flipped up onto his feet. Baker took aim and shot three times at Bullseye. Bullseye was too quick though and dove. He slid under the table to Forester's body. Baker trained his pistol on Bullseye but was force back when Bullseye thrust his right leg up at Baker and into the cop's groin. Baker staggered back, firing twice into the floor. Bullseye took hold of the pen in Forester's throat. He snapped his hands out at Baker, the pen flying from his index and middle finger. The Irish hit man chuckled merrily as his weapon hit its target… Bakers eye. Backer howled in pain as the pen pierced that supple membrane.
Quickly Bullseye lunged from his place on the floor, his right hand lashing out and smashing the pen further into Baker's eye socket with the palm of his hand, the detective's blood spattering the Irish killer's face. Baker howled again and crumpled to the floor. Bullseye licked at some of the blood as he used his right thumb to drive the pen as far in as it would go. Baker's cries of agony gave way to the sound Bullseye loved most… The rattling last breath of a dead man.
Bullseye made easy work of finding handcuff keys on Baker's body. He then shed his restraints and searched his victims for tools of his trade. Namely, anything that the assassin could turn into a weapon. He left the interrogation room with five paper clips, a toothpick he found in Sikes' pants pocket, and three pens, one of which dripped with the combined blood of Baker and Forester. But not before leaving his mark on that scene of carnal mayhem. On the confession Forester had offered Bullseye was a simple statement written in blood.
I did it.
It was signed simply with a crosshair, drawn in the same blood he wrote his confession with.