Roman
I didn't make it home last night until after 4 and didn't get to sleep until 5. I woke up at 6. No rest for the wicked. Usually, I'd be in the gym but this morning I was in the den, glued to the TV.
"No witnesses, no fingerprints, no motive, no body and apart from a blood soaked knife, no clues," the news anchor reported standing outside of the house I invaded last night. Yellow crime scene tape surrounded the perimeter. The headline on screen read:Former Governor's Daughter Missing, Presumed Dead. "We spoke to the lead detective earlier who revealed that lab test confirmed the DNA was indeed a match for 25 year old Chanel Cothern. He didn't sound very optimistic of her survival after examining the scene and the amount of blood loss. He vowed to use all of his resources to bring the killer to full justice and will commit to solving this case for the Cothern family and this community."
"Good luck," I chuckle aloud. It's the same song and dance every time. Murder, the police make these heroic declarations about justice, the public gets on board, it comes to a dead in within the first month (within the first day actually but of course law enforcement isn't going to reveal this), and finally everyone with the exception of the family stops giving a fuck.
I've had quite a few kills that made headlines over the years but none as high profile as this. I couldn't flip a channel without seeing her face everywhere from the local news stations to CNN to MSNBC to FOX NEWS. She was the number one topic on social media. The hysteria was due to Chanel being young, pretty and having a big following on Instagram, not to mention being the daughter of a once popular politician.
They'd soon discover that 'Chanel' was nothing but charred remains wearing burned fabric. With the overwhelming evidence I planted in the room, it'll be a wrap once they see the necklace on the body and other tokens I left at the construction site. There will be no need for the medical examiner to do a DNA test to confirm if it's really her.
Paul: Job well done, although messier than your usual work.
Me: She tried to attack me. I got carried away in retaliation.
Paul: Just passed by the location of the dump. Police cars everywhere. They'll be announcing it soon.
Not even Paul could know the truth about what I've done, didn't do actually. Thanks to him, this was my biggest contract to date.
It was a Tuesday afternoon and Paul showed up at my house unannounced. All of my business is done through him. He's my go-between. He meets with the client and he gets the contracts all on my behalf. My identity remains unknown to them and I make no contact whatsoever. My only job is to show up and kill. In return he takes home 10%. Depending on the risk and status of the mark, I usually charge between 250-500k. I work 5-6 times a month.
"...and they're offering a million dollar," Paul finished his pitch.
"A million?" I raised a brow. "On whose head?"
"For that price, does it matter? That information will come later when I meet them, that is if you want the job."
"A million dollars?" I asked again.
A million dollars," he confirmed. "You're the best. That's why we we're always the first choice."
In this business, I was renowned for two important things; reliability and the fact that I've never missed. I've prided myself on the care with which I set up and completed my jobs. Studying the victim, the careful examination and exploitation of their routines for a quick, painless and above all else, unsolved murder.
The next day Paul texted me the address of a restaurant where he wanted to meet for lunch. There were a lot of different businesses in that plaza where it was located and I happened to run into a stunner as I was crossing through the lot.
She looked unreal, almost like a doll. Our eyes locked, briefly. An intense shudder passed through me, and judging by the way she reacted, she felt it, too.
It didn't matter though. To me, women were just pretty to look at. Every now and then when I need to blow off some steam, I'll book a hotel room and see what I can pull. That's about it. They ask too many questions. I can't imagine all the lies I'd have to tell about how I make my money, why I'm so secretive, why I own so many weapons, why I'm always coming home late, why bloody clothes were always in the laundry hamper.
Paul was already seated when I walked inside which meant it was time for another briefing, another task, another life ended, another deposit in the bank. He slid the folder across the table to me. I shook my head, thinking my eyes were deceiving me when I opened it and saw the picture inside.
"Hold up, this girl..."
"Yes, is the former governor's daughter," he finished what he thought I was getting ready to say. I didn't even know the governor had a daughter. Politics never interested me so I didn't keep up with those involved.
I usually don't care enough to ask questions but she didn't fit the profile of my usual marks which left me curious. "What did she do?"
"What did HE do," Paul corrected. "Gang ties that he's had since his city councilman days went bad over the last 4 years. Undercover business deals with foreign entities and other shady characters. Hush money to women he's sexually assaulted or had bastard children with. He was up to his eyeballs in debt that he couldn't pay and owed a lot of people. He had nothing to offer financially anymore but being the governor still granted him power which they used to their advantage. They turned him into a puppet. They called the shots. Everything he stood for in the beginning was overturned. His new policies and tax cuts that they wanted almost bankrupted the state, had the unemployment rate sky high and depleted the education funds. He should be in jail right now on multiple malfeasance charges. His approval rating was in the toilet. Once he lost in embarrassing fashion, he was no longer an asset and no longer protected by the state."
Nothing about this shocked me. You'd have to be naive to believe there's a squeaky clean politician. "Okay, why not put the money on his head if that's the case?"
"Where's the fun in that," Paul asked with a sadistic smile spreading across his face. "Cothern goes, he'll be celebrated in the media as a martyr despite his disastrous last term. It'll be the easy way out after all he's done. He needs to suffer. If his only, well the only daughter he claims dies, it'll hurt him to his core knowing that he's to blame. He'll live out the rest of his days in misery. Are you in?"
Hesitantly, I nodded and he went on to close the deal.
The next day my intel on Chanel began. People like her live their lives on social media so all I really had to do was watch her IG stories to know her every move but I'm old school so I decided to hit the streets. I followed her to gauge her vulnerabilities, and gain an understanding of her routine. Every now and then she'd notice me but I'd act casual to not raise her suspicion. Watching her certainly wasn't an unpleasant task.
I'd frequently see her with the same guy who I assumed to be her boyfriend. Aspiring model who didn't have a real job. He'll probably be on to the next girl once Chanel dies.
I got the floor plan for her house and had a skeleton key cut by a friend of a friend. Even with all of this, I wasn't ready to move on it yet.
Paul impatiently called one night. "I just checked my bank account and sadly, there hasn't been a 100k deposit transferred yet. What's going on? It's never taken you this long to finish the job."
"Chanel is a party girl and socialite. She's at a different spot every night and sometimes doesn't go home at all, either spending the night with her friends or boyfriend. Unless you want me to take out witnesses that we aren't being compensated for just to get to her, sit back and let me do what I do, Paul. Matter fact, go back and ask if they want this shit done right or not," I replied.
"I'm holding them off as best as I can, Roman. Another week and that's it. Anything beyond that will make the contract null and void and they'll seek services elsewhere," he said.
"That's all I need..."
The house across the street from hers was for sale. I contacted the realtor for a tour the next day. The master bedroom was facing hers so when the agent turned his back, I unlocked the window to make my return later.
This happened to be one of the rare nights when Chanel stayed in. Perfect, or at least it should've been. I set up my sniper rifle and took aim right into her open curtains, zooming in on the scope.
Poor girl, she had no idea someone wanted her dead and that whatever book she was reading was going to be the last thing she'd ever. I had a clear shot. One finger was curled on the trigger but I couldn't bring myself to pull it.
My resume was 98% shady men and crooks who had it coming. There was only one woman but she was the modern day Griselda Blanco. Chanel was innocent.
As I kneeled there on the floor, the realisation hit me: I was starting to see her as an actual human being instead of a job. For so long the only real person who existed was myself. Everything and everyone else was just background noise and scenery. Hell, sometimes I wondered if Paul was real or just a figment of my imagination...until it was time for me to transfer him his cut of the money.
I've been dead inside since I was a teen and grew into a man with little to no emotion. That was actually a plus in this line of work. I've watched men beg, plead and cry as I stuck my gun to the back of their heads and it never moved me. I've administered brutal beatings by hand, rubbed shoulders with some of the most dangerous men in the world and felt more at ease than I did right now. I've lost track of the number of people I've killed, but somehow I was incapable of adding one more that night.
I don't know what came over me. It's not like I felt anything for Chanel besides sorry because her shitty father put her in this predicament. Maybe I just didn't want to rob the world of her beauty. She's fucked either way though because even if I told Paul the deal was off, it would only be prolonging the inevitable. Whoever ordered the hit would just find someone else who would do it without hesitation.
There was much to think about that night when I got home. Then it hit me, the only way Chanel wouldn't be killed is if she was already dead.
The cat in front of me snapped me out of my thoughts. It was growling, tail thrashing, and making sounds I didn't even know cats made. I'm not used to being disrespected, let alone in my own home...by a cat. I bet if I kicked that motherfu...
"Stop it, Jace!" Chanel hissed right on time. She was in a new set of clothes and her hair was wet so I'm guessing she showered. She watched me cautiously, her lips in a trembling pout. "Goodmorning?"
It sounded more like a question than a greeting.
"Morning," I replied as she continued to stand there. "You don't need permission to sit."
She moved to the sofa across from mine and turned her head toward the television. "They couldn't find a better picture of me than that to broadcast all over the world?"
"I think that should be the least of your concerns right now..."
"We didn't discuss it last night but are you expecting sex or free maid labor or something in exchange for me being here?" she asked.
"You watch too many movies," I shook my head.
"Well it's not like this is something that happens everyday," she countered. "More importantly though, what is going on? Why did you 'kill' me?"
Before I could open my mouth to speak, a breaking news bulletin flashed. "We're sending you live to town hall where the former Governor and First Lady are set to give a statement."
The camera switched to a packed town hall where camera crews were everywhere pointing at Chanel's parents. The mother looked inconsolable and could barely stand straight due to her shaking and crying. The father was emotional as well but there was something else, shell shock or maybe guilt because he was fully aware that her death was a result of his crooked dealing.
After clearing his throat multiple times he finally began. "We don't want to be here under these circumstances but we'd rather the confirmation come directly from us. This morning at approximately 9:18 AM, our daughter, Chanel was found dead with multiple stab wounds, acid poured on her beautiful face and then burned to a crisp."
"Glenn! Please, stop!" the former First Lady cried out.
"No, I want the world to know exactly what they did to our child in vivid detail!" he stated firmly. "We positively identified personal items found at the site, a necklace, a phone and articles of clothing as belonging to Chanel. Although the outcome was disappointing, we want to take the time to acknowledge the support we've felt from not only this state or America, but the world. You have searched with us, prayed with us and hoped with us. We thank you from the very bottom of our hearts. Chanel was the centerpiece of this family. Not only was she our daughter, she was this state's first daughter for 4 years. Chanel, I know you're with us and I want you to know that we've always loved you and we will continue to love you. I will not rest until your killer, or killers are identified and held accountable. Even if I have to follow the clues and solve it myself."
Bullshit. It was all bullshit for the cameras because deep down he knew that identifying Chanel's killer, or at least identifying one of his many enemies who orchestrated it, would mean exposing his own dark secrets.
I looked over at Chanel who was sniffling and on the verge of tears. What do I do? Try to string some words of encouragement together? Go over and give her a 'there, there' pat on the back? I'm not good with sentimental shit.
"Do you want to know what's so bad? He called me last night and I was annoyed and didn't answer. Then he sent me a text that I didn't respond to," her voice broke. "I was a horrible daughter and didn't deserve a father like him."
Damn, now she was going to torture herself about this. She needed to hear the truth. "I'm pretty sure it's the other way around?"
"What are you talking about?" she rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.
"He's the reason you're 'dead' in the first place," I revealed.
"What?" she raised a brow.
"How many siblings do you have?"
"None, I'm an only child," she stared at me like I was crazy. "And what does that have to do with anything?"
Just what I thought. She was clueless and naive about who her father was behind the scenes. "I don't know how to tell you this but your father was not a very good man and a horrible governor. He tried to swim with the sharks without realizing he was the bait. That shit finally caught up with him, you rather."
"You're right. My father wasn't a very good man. He was a great man and a damn good governor!" she defended.
"I did my research on Glenn Cothern when I got the job. If he was such a damn good governor, why did he lose his re-election 27.1% to 65.0% as the incumbent? Highest turnout in 20 years just to get him out of office," I replied.
"My father was a lifelong politician that started locally as councilman and then mayor, went on to serve 8 years as Senator and 4 years as Governor. That's 12 years in office for this state. Maybe the people just wanted change and a new face in power," she shrugged. "I don't know but it has nothing to do with him as a person."
"Oh, okay, so after the people embarrassed him with the election results 6 months ago, they decided to really get their point across by raising a million dollars to have his daughter killed. Makes sense," I nodded.
"A million? Are you serious? Someone wanted me dead that bad?" she shook her head disbelievingly. "What happens next? I have to spend the rest of my life here?"
"It's like I told you last night, I'm not holding you hostage. You can spend the rest of your life wherever the hell you want, but you'll be safer here," I answered.
"Because you have guns?" her eyes wandered around the den that she didn't see last night where I had multiple rifles hung and displayed.
"That, and I basically don't exist. No one knows who I am, where I live or what I look like because unless I'm following someone, I rarely go out in the daytime. The only person who knows my real name is Paul."
"Real name? I don't even know your fake name yet..."
"Roman is all you need to know..."
"Can I at least talk to my boyfriend so he won't worry, Roman?" she ridiculously requested.
"What are you going to say? Hey, I know I'm supposed to be dead but I'm not. Don't tell anyone, k?" I mocked.
"Are you sure that absolutely nothing can be done? How about we go to the police and you can explain everything?"
"And how do you suppose I explain it?" I asked. "Yeah, I'm a contract killer but I decided not to kill Chanel, questionable on my part, I know. Now that I'm here feel free to look into my background, raid my house and find me responsible for a good chunk of the unsolved murders around this state and beyond over the past 15 years. Even if you go alone and leave me out of the equation, it won't stay a secret. I know how these guys operate so whoever ordered the hit will probably double it and involve your mom now too just for the hell of it."
"Won't you face consequences as well?"
"I took a million dollars without doing the job, of course there will be consequences but I can handle myself. Even if I have to move, I'll be alright," I explained. As for Paul, he's been in this business for a long time and is respected so he'll be alright too. "So yeah, there's no way out unless your father can make it right with whoever ordered the hit but if they're willing to drop a million on your head, it's probably beyond the smooth things out stage. Maybe after a year or 2 when your pictures aren't on every news station, you can find a new identity and move far away from here."
"A year...or 2...here...with you?"
"Would you prefer the alternative because it's never too late," I threatened. I went through too much trouble to pull this stunt so I had no plans to kill her but if the threat keeps her in line, so be it.
"My friends, my family. They all think I'm dead. How will they go on?" reality seemed to be setting in on her.
"People die everyday. Eventually, they'll get over it, probably sooner than you think. So rest in peace, Chanel Cothern, because from this moment forward, you're just a memory..."
"You're so mean!" she complained. She must've forgotten that I'm not her friend, boyfriend or one of her ass kissing followers.
"I showed enough kindness when I spared your life," I pointed out.
"Well thanks for sparing my life, I guess..."
"You're welcome, I guess..."
"Welp, last night was long and traumatic and I still haven't recovered so I'm going to lay back down for a while," she said, standing. "Oh, and I don't know if you have to go out today but if so, don't forget the litter because..."
I smelled it as soon as she trailed off. It did it right in front of me like it was trying to send a message. I took a deep breath. "I'm really starting to regret this."
"Me or the cat," she looked startled so I guess my threat worked.
"Just the cat, for now," I replied.