Chapter 24: Minty Memories
I'd just barely laid down when I remembered I needed to talk with Spottedleaf about the whole tourniquet thing. Grumpily I rose to my paws expecting the coming assault on my nostrils and mind that is mint. Meanwhile Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw were over by Yellowfang who seemed to be giving them some advice about their rat bites. It wasn't pertinent to me because I was unharmed from that fight. I briefly stopped to watch Firepaw try to leave camp only to be denied by Darkstripe. Honestly, I get where he was coming from. After such a violent raid, it was unsafe for apprentices to be wandering the woods alone. There could be Shadowclan stragglers still in the territory. I saw Firepaw turn back with a huff before coming to join me. He is kind of adorable when he pouts.
Regardless, we made our way into the medicine cat's den only for the scent of mint and something else to assault me. The strange scent mixture actually staggered me. It was familiar, too familiar. Firepaw briefly looked over to me to check on me before I followed him towards the source of the scent. Firepaw was first with me following. The scent of distress flared off my best friend, so I pushed past him to see. I was not ready for what I witnessed.
There cooling in the grass lay the cat I both avoided and respected. Her throat was torn clean through in what could only be a deliberate attack. Her sightless eyes still looked towards the camp like whomever had killed her had been coming from the camp's direction, more specifically the direction of the nursery. Then the scent hit me again, only much more powerful than before. Something broke loose from the repressed barriers of my memory, forcing me to relive something.
In rather common business attire, I was walking down the street in what was essentially the storage district. Next to me walked another man in a more red suit. His hair was orange to match, spiked up, ruining the image of professionalism the suit implied. He was twirling a zippo lighter, letting the flame dance around his fingers.
"So, we've been working together, what, fifteen years now? I mean look at us. We're thirty-five. We're past our prime. I heard our handler talking about one last job, so what do you want to do when we're done? Where will the Bloody Smudge go?" Asked my companion jovially.
"I don't know Richard. This is all I've ever done. What else can I do?" I asked in a monotone.
Somehow, nothing seemed to register to me. My job was coming to an end, but the only thing I felt was the cold. It didn't matter. I'd survive, like always, living in the cold unfeeling logic I'd grown accustomed to.
"I can't believe after all this time you still won't call me my nickname. It's Rusty. Can you at least say it for me once?" He asked while overdramatically gesturing.
"Rusty." I said plainly.
It was like I'd just given him a new car. He pumped his fist in the air triumphantly.
Richard was not my friend. I don't have friends. He was a coworker, an asset. He'd saved me from some tight situations, and I'd done the same twice as often. I still don't know how he got into the business with how unsubtle he it. After I'd gotten my nickname from pushing a target off the twentieth floor of a building, he'd become fixated on having a signature. His favorite, much to our employers' dismay, was expensive Molotov cocktails. He'd buy the most expensive thing in the liquor store, dump it into a cheap bottle, fill up the old bottle with gasoline, and use that on the job. It was such a waste of money, but it also kept him efficient. As long as he had his signature, he wouldn't do anything stupid to make a name for himself. Right now, they just called him the arsonist.
"You know, I was browsing the book store recently…" He started to say before I cut him off with a bit of dry humor.
"You read?"
"I must be going mad if you're making jokes. Anyways, I found this book while browsing. Check it. First few pages, Rusty and Smudge, two childhood friends." He said after withdrawing a book from his coat and waving it in my face.
The cover depicted a green forest with an orange cat on the cover. I snapped it out of his hand and briefly perused it and the summary.
"You do realize this is about a cat, right? Not only that, but this 'Rusty' is just going to leave his friend behind for no reason."
Richard just shrugged childishly. "Meh. I just thought it was funny to find it. Honestly, got me hooked on the series. I've finished the first one, so I thought I'd share."
I stared a hard stare at Richard before deciding to humor him and sliding the book into my coat. We walked on, Richard yammering all the while until we came upon what appeared to be a small house between all the warehouses. Before I could go in, Richard stopped me.
"I forgot. If we only have one last job, can you go get me something from the liquor store? I want it to be something special." He asked beggingly.
I sighed before turning towards the edge of the commercial district. There was a liquor store only fifteen minutes away, so it wasn't a long walk. I walked in and grabbed the most gaudy bottle I could find, stained blue glass with an overly intricate topper. The liquid even had gold flecks sparkling within. Such a wasteful thing, but it was what Richard wanted. I paid for the bottle and headed back, noting our handler's vehicle, a black trailblazer, parked in the driveway.
Already I could smell the scent of mint perfume he seemed to bathe in. I opened the door to see him waiting, one of his no name goons by his side. Strange, there usually was two. Then I felt it pressed against the side of my head, an overly customized pistol with all the engravings to make it as gaudy as possible. It was an abomination to anything functional, but that's who our handler was. Slowly our handler began clapping.
"Congratulations! You've done your job to its entirety. You and your partner managed to rout our rivals in the business, and now you've done your time. Unfortunately, your shelf life has expired. I'd love to just let you go, but that'd be bad for business. We can't have the Bloody Smudge wandering the streets, now can we? We need the name, so you're being replaced." He monologed.
The only thing keeping me from snapping his neck was goon one with the pistol. The bottle in my hand started to crack under my vice like grip.
"Don't worry. We have the whole thing planned out. You'll get a nice grave, and we'll even leave a memento." He stated, pulling a collar from his pocket.
It was purple with an engraved tag hanging below it. On it read 'Smudge: Killer of Vermin'. My eyes briefly searched the room, looking for an escape or a weapon. Instead of a salvation, I noticed the blood. The kitchen door had a bloody hand print on it, and the scent of alcohol seemed to be coming from that direction. Richard, no, Rusty must have made a final stand, spilling the fridge of all the expensive booze he'd collected over the years.
The cold within me seemed to ignite. He'd stolen everything from me! The bottle in my hand shattered as I swiftly ducked, caught the bottle in my other hand, and stabbed the first goon. Goon two drew his pistol, but I was already moving in on him. He got off one shot before I managed to slit his throat. It was miraculous that it hadn't killed me, given It'd hit right by my heart. I knew it punctured my lung, but I was filled with fury. The handler needed to pay. I stabbed him mercilessly, not wanting him to die fast. I wanted him to bleed out slow. On Rusty's body, I found his zippo. I managed a twirl like he so often did before tossing it into the puddle of alcohol waiting below.
Then a bullet hit me from behind. That slimy handler had a gun on him I hadn't noticed, and he had to get in one final shot. I knew it had to have clipped my liver and my intestines. This, with the lung shot, was a wound I knew I wouldn't survive. I didn't even get a chance to retaliate. The handler was already dead, the pistol he had still smoking. Here I was, going to die, and I had nothing. Everything I valued was gone. Even that bottle of booze. Ironically it had been sold to me for only fifteen dollars. I pulled Rusty's book from my coat, noting how it had slightly deflected the bullet's path. This book had given me my chance for revenge. I couldn't even call it mine either. It was stained, punctured, and overall destroyed. It fell from my hand which was beginning to shake. The inferno in the kitchen was already escaping the room, eating at the carpet. I tried to take a step but tumbled with my weakness. There was one thing here that was still mine. It was given out of spite, but it was mine. My fingers gently gripped the silver tag on that purple collar, leaving behind a bloody smudge, obscuring all but the name. This was mine. As I felt the flames begin to lick at my skin, at least I still had something. I still had my name.
I snapped out of my trance with a start, the scent of mint somehow no longer headache inducing. Rusty, no Firepaw, was shaking me.
"Smudge! Smudge! Are you ok?"
"Yeah… Yeah. I'm fine. I just remembered some things. I'm sorry about Spottedleaf. I know you liked her."
Let's… talk about that later. Right now the kits are missing! We need you!"