short story #infinite - rough draft
The hit was planned with ruthless precision. The snitch would be leaving the Easter service Sunday afternoon, and would walk ahead of his family to bring around the car for them; it was the same routine every year. Cain wasn’t born into the mob, and neither was his driver, Tessa... but they didn’t mind the mob's dirty money; when a job like this popped up, they pounced on the opportunity to be the first to complete it. He waited across the street from the church, his motorcycle angled towards the park just south of the edifice. He had the machine pistol loaded, his thumb hovering over the safety-catch inside his pocket. His driver, Tessa, nearly blew her load early when a few members of the congregation left early, having taken communion and wanting to avoid the boring homily. Cain put his hand on her arm, steadying her nerves. He could see why she’d get nervous, too; she had started in this job just for the excitement, and never got her head or heart settled around the killing. He was worried he’d have to kill her, some day, to protect his own hide. He loved her, and he wasn’t looking forward to it... but he couldn’t afford emotions right now.
The tolling of the church bells awakened him from his reverie a few minutes later. The driver started the engine, and revved it a few times, to get it ready to jump off the curb and across four lanes of busy, downtown traffic. As they waited for the victim to take his final stroll, Cain remarked to himself that the church always rang the same bells… for a funeral, a wedding, or just calling in or dismissing the faithful flock, it was always the same pealing noise reverberating across the city. Today - joy, tomorrow -grief; thus was the world he knew.
A solitary figure broke from the group and cut across the park. “No emotions,” Cain whispered, as much for his benefit as for Tessa’s, “we are just the executioners, not the judge or jury.” With that, the bike reared and leaped, hurtling haphazardly across the busy road. The pair hopped the curb, allowing the crowd of parishioners to part before them like the Red Sea. The Don in question barely had enough time to turn around and see his assailants before 9mm bullets ripped through his flesh at 1500 feet per second. Undoubtedly, the first three rounds stopped the heart, but Cain jumped from the bike and rolled, as he had practiced a hundred times before. He caught his feet over the recumbent form of his target, and squeezed the trigger to cut short the pitiful wheezing. Son, husband, father, compost… the circle of life completed once again.
Cain turned and paced a few yards away from the corpse. It was the hardest part of the maneuver, surprisingly. Getting onto a moving motorcycle is a lot harder than getting off of one, to be sure. He waited for the sound of the motorcycle engine racing back to pick him up, but it never came. One split second of silence was all he needed to know something had gone wrong. He ducked into a starter’s stance, barely registered the small caliber round whizzing past his head, and then leaped forward; he bolted across the empty space as quickly as possible. Leaping behind an ornamental shrubbery to catch his breath, he dared a look around and saw Tessa lying prone a few feet from the idling motorcycle. It spewed fetid fumes like a wounded velociraptor confused, just waiting for a victim to come within reach, before finally choking on its own fatal phlegm and lying still. Judging by the deep red flowers blossoming over the driver's white coat, she, like the recently deceased, also had an unfortunate encounter with a small-caliber weapon. He had loved her, really... If they had gotten through a few more jobs, he was going to make his intentions clear. Early retirement to a small island off the coast of a third-world country with serving girls and tropical fruit, and time taken for all the romance they denied themselves. He was still entertaining a fantasy of scooping her up and carrying her to the hospital when someone punched him in the ankle and jostled him back to the present. Judging by the resistance his ankle gave when he tried moving it, the fist was a bullet. Judging by the noises he didn’t hear, there was a sniper not very far away.
Cain, not being prone to panic, was still formulating his escape when he heard dainty throat clear behind him. He spun and recognized the face belonging to this throat as the late Don’s daughter. She was ashen, and madness danced behind her eyes. Assuming he’d rather take the wrath of the sniper than the bereaved daughter, he slowly stood up, standing on his one good ankle.
“You killed my father.”
The utterance was oddly intoned. Cain could not make out if it was a statement, a question, a comment, or something else. It sounded like the words had been arranged and then pushed out of the mouth before any meaning could be attributed to them. He now took his time, not sure if he should lie or confess.
“I did my job. I know who wanted your father dead. Take vengeance on that man. I’ll kill him for you, if you help me escape!”
Her delicate eyes dropped to the middle distance over Cain’s right shoulder, taking in Tessa’s form for what was presumably the first time. She sighed, but did not shed a tear. Her lips mouthed a few words, but no sound came out. Finally, all she could manage was, “Dead.”
Seeing this opportunity, Cain boldly pressed forward. “We both have lost someone dear today. I was betrayed, just as your family was. I never wanted to kill your father, but I had to!” The last part was a lie, but he didn’t think she had any reason to disbelieve him. He continued, “That woman over there was my lover; we were to be married soon. You still have a life, flee this world while you can… and, please, take me.”
The Don’s daughter finally met his eyes. Cold resolve had replaced the dancing madness, and Cain felt himself stepping back, onto his bad ankle that gave way. He stumbled and yelped, and found himself caught by the young woman. She held his wrist in one arm, supporting his weight. The machine pistol was still gripped in his hand, and the daughter pulled his arm straight forward from his body, watching the instrument of death trail through the air. She brought back her free hand, and then shot it forward into Cain’s elbow, hyper-extending the joint and causing immediate hematoma. The gun dropped to the grass, bounced once, and then came to rest pointing directly at Cain, and Tessa beyond him, imploring silent accusations with its haphazard arrangement.
“I put the hit on my father, because he killed the man I loved, the father of my unborn child. It took me some time to realize it, but he did that out of love, to protect me from an abusive junkie that would have brought my life and my child down, into his pit of despair. He would have introduced great shame into my family. I have since wanted to call off the hit, but I couldn’t; it was too late. Now he is dead, and I’ll never again be able to tell him that I love him. All… dead; all we love is dead.”
She swayed this time, and it was Cain’s turn to catch her. She blinked away a tear and gasped at the cold air, maybe hoping to chill her heart and stop the hot flood of emotion. Cain looked down, to see just the bare tip of a butterfly knife poking into his abdomen. It was barely a surface wound, most definitely not a threat, but if she drove that blade any deeper he’d be lucky to survive long enough to be booked. Already he was getting dizzy, the loss of blood making it difficult to control his equilibrium and frigid resolve. “Please… don't.” he whimpered.
“I can’t. I can’t do it. Why should the killing continue?”
Sirens wailed in the distance, the police now preparing to show up once all the action had subsided. The Don’s daughter had no reason to flee, but Cain was running out of time. “Meet me by your father’s car… I’ll try and get the keys, and meet you there. If you give me back my life, I will be forever in your debt and service. Please help me.”
She nodded, and turned. He saw her head turn back, and thought she had more to say, but the blood spray across his face told him otherwise. "How considerate of the sniper to give us that moment," he thought. Surely this hotshot was a rival on the contract, and now getting revenge for being... beaten to the punch, as it were. He fell on the daughter, raising his machine pistol in the presumed direction of the shots and emptying his clip.
"I don't even know your name..." he whispered into her ear as empty casings clattered around them like rain. He pleaded silently with God that she might still be conscious, that she might still hear him.
"Delilah..." is all she could muster through her shattered face. In the split second before attack and muster, he realized the bullet had hit her face, but she would live. The .22 round had flown in one cheek and out the other, with only only a brief layover as it passed through her jawbone, against all modern concepts of physics. Between the automatic fire and the sirens, Cain was certain the sniper was packing up, if not fleeing the scene entirely. He felt a bold new rush of confidence as he swept up his damsel in distress and headed to the Don's parked car. pausing only to pry the keys from his limp fingers. He thus dragged Delilah to safety, unlocking the car and lifting her into it. He pulled her into the backseat, on top of himself, and closed the door just as the cruisers careened around the corner.
"We'll be safe here," he panted. Thus they bled into and onto one another, waiting for the sirens to abate and dusk to fall and clinging desperately to the very life they had sought to shun.
The tolling of the church bells awakened him from his reverie a few minutes later. The driver started the engine, and revved it a few times, to get it ready to jump off the curb and across four lanes of busy, downtown traffic. As they waited for the victim to take his final stroll, Cain remarked to himself that the church always rang the same bells… for a funeral, a wedding, or just calling in or dismissing the faithful flock, it was always the same pealing noise reverberating across the city. Today - joy, tomorrow -grief; thus was the world he knew.
A solitary figure broke from the group and cut across the park. “No emotions,” Cain whispered, as much for his benefit as for Tessa’s, “we are just the executioners, not the judge or jury.” With that, the bike reared and leaped, hurtling haphazardly across the busy road. The pair hopped the curb, allowing the crowd of parishioners to part before them like the Red Sea. The Don in question barely had enough time to turn around and see his assailants before 9mm bullets ripped through his flesh at 1500 feet per second. Undoubtedly, the first three rounds stopped the heart, but Cain jumped from the bike and rolled, as he had practiced a hundred times before. He caught his feet over the recumbent form of his target, and squeezed the trigger to cut short the pitiful wheezing. Son, husband, father, compost… the circle of life completed once again.
Cain turned and paced a few yards away from the corpse. It was the hardest part of the maneuver, surprisingly. Getting onto a moving motorcycle is a lot harder than getting off of one, to be sure. He waited for the sound of the motorcycle engine racing back to pick him up, but it never came. One split second of silence was all he needed to know something had gone wrong. He ducked into a starter’s stance, barely registered the small caliber round whizzing past his head, and then leaped forward; he bolted across the empty space as quickly as possible. Leaping behind an ornamental shrubbery to catch his breath, he dared a look around and saw Tessa lying prone a few feet from the idling motorcycle. It spewed fetid fumes like a wounded velociraptor confused, just waiting for a victim to come within reach, before finally choking on its own fatal phlegm and lying still. Judging by the deep red flowers blossoming over the driver's white coat, she, like the recently deceased, also had an unfortunate encounter with a small-caliber weapon. He had loved her, really... If they had gotten through a few more jobs, he was going to make his intentions clear. Early retirement to a small island off the coast of a third-world country with serving girls and tropical fruit, and time taken for all the romance they denied themselves. He was still entertaining a fantasy of scooping her up and carrying her to the hospital when someone punched him in the ankle and jostled him back to the present. Judging by the resistance his ankle gave when he tried moving it, the fist was a bullet. Judging by the noises he didn’t hear, there was a sniper not very far away.
Cain, not being prone to panic, was still formulating his escape when he heard dainty throat clear behind him. He spun and recognized the face belonging to this throat as the late Don’s daughter. She was ashen, and madness danced behind her eyes. Assuming he’d rather take the wrath of the sniper than the bereaved daughter, he slowly stood up, standing on his one good ankle.
“You killed my father.”
The utterance was oddly intoned. Cain could not make out if it was a statement, a question, a comment, or something else. It sounded like the words had been arranged and then pushed out of the mouth before any meaning could be attributed to them. He now took his time, not sure if he should lie or confess.
“I did my job. I know who wanted your father dead. Take vengeance on that man. I’ll kill him for you, if you help me escape!”
Her delicate eyes dropped to the middle distance over Cain’s right shoulder, taking in Tessa’s form for what was presumably the first time. She sighed, but did not shed a tear. Her lips mouthed a few words, but no sound came out. Finally, all she could manage was, “Dead.”
Seeing this opportunity, Cain boldly pressed forward. “We both have lost someone dear today. I was betrayed, just as your family was. I never wanted to kill your father, but I had to!” The last part was a lie, but he didn’t think she had any reason to disbelieve him. He continued, “That woman over there was my lover; we were to be married soon. You still have a life, flee this world while you can… and, please, take me.”
The Don’s daughter finally met his eyes. Cold resolve had replaced the dancing madness, and Cain felt himself stepping back, onto his bad ankle that gave way. He stumbled and yelped, and found himself caught by the young woman. She held his wrist in one arm, supporting his weight. The machine pistol was still gripped in his hand, and the daughter pulled his arm straight forward from his body, watching the instrument of death trail through the air. She brought back her free hand, and then shot it forward into Cain’s elbow, hyper-extending the joint and causing immediate hematoma. The gun dropped to the grass, bounced once, and then came to rest pointing directly at Cain, and Tessa beyond him, imploring silent accusations with its haphazard arrangement.
“I put the hit on my father, because he killed the man I loved, the father of my unborn child. It took me some time to realize it, but he did that out of love, to protect me from an abusive junkie that would have brought my life and my child down, into his pit of despair. He would have introduced great shame into my family. I have since wanted to call off the hit, but I couldn’t; it was too late. Now he is dead, and I’ll never again be able to tell him that I love him. All… dead; all we love is dead.”
She swayed this time, and it was Cain’s turn to catch her. She blinked away a tear and gasped at the cold air, maybe hoping to chill her heart and stop the hot flood of emotion. Cain looked down, to see just the bare tip of a butterfly knife poking into his abdomen. It was barely a surface wound, most definitely not a threat, but if she drove that blade any deeper he’d be lucky to survive long enough to be booked. Already he was getting dizzy, the loss of blood making it difficult to control his equilibrium and frigid resolve. “Please… don't.” he whimpered.
“I can’t. I can’t do it. Why should the killing continue?”
Sirens wailed in the distance, the police now preparing to show up once all the action had subsided. The Don’s daughter had no reason to flee, but Cain was running out of time. “Meet me by your father’s car… I’ll try and get the keys, and meet you there. If you give me back my life, I will be forever in your debt and service. Please help me.”
She nodded, and turned. He saw her head turn back, and thought she had more to say, but the blood spray across his face told him otherwise. "How considerate of the sniper to give us that moment," he thought. Surely this hotshot was a rival on the contract, and now getting revenge for being... beaten to the punch, as it were. He fell on the daughter, raising his machine pistol in the presumed direction of the shots and emptying his clip.
"I don't even know your name..." he whispered into her ear as empty casings clattered around them like rain. He pleaded silently with God that she might still be conscious, that she might still hear him.
"Delilah..." is all she could muster through her shattered face. In the split second before attack and muster, he realized the bullet had hit her face, but she would live. The .22 round had flown in one cheek and out the other, with only only a brief layover as it passed through her jawbone, against all modern concepts of physics. Between the automatic fire and the sirens, Cain was certain the sniper was packing up, if not fleeing the scene entirely. He felt a bold new rush of confidence as he swept up his damsel in distress and headed to the Don's parked car. pausing only to pry the keys from his limp fingers. He thus dragged Delilah to safety, unlocking the car and lifting her into it. He pulled her into the backseat, on top of himself, and closed the door just as the cruisers careened around the corner.
"We'll be safe here," he panted. Thus they bled into and onto one another, waiting for the sirens to abate and dusk to fall and clinging desperately to the very life they had sought to shun.