The Life of an Assassin - Intro & Ch. 1

INTRODUCTION

He looked out of place wherever he went - maybe it was his strict look or that regal air around him. With muscled shoulders and a frame of six foot one, there was no doubt he was once a soldier. At first, he fits into a crowd, urging normalcy with that sandy blonde hair and scruffy stubble. A smile usually decorates his mouth, though it never reaches his eyes, a worrying trait for a man only twenty six years of age. Lean, handsome, and always able to find the right words to respond to yours - like he already knows where you're going with any conversation. No, it's obvious nobody can tell he's danger until he flashes those seemingly dull eyes. Those midnight night eyes which depths he does not reveal to any but his prey. -Sally Berfield, Copyright "Ruthless Angels"

The agent chuckled to himself as he placed the manuscript back onto the desk in his presidential like office. Slouching back into his leather chair, he swiveled it towards his bright red phone, sticking out like a blemish upon his sleek desk and the shadows of his working space. His fingertips resting against another, he waited in silence, the only noise the gentle hubbub of late night drunks far away from his bulletproof glass windows.

It soon rang, the vibration reverberating across the large area. Picking up the receiver nimbly, the man tucked it between his shoulder and ear.

"I presume you've read it, then?" A raspy voice asked.

"Yes, it was quite amusing, really. Do you know how this... aspiring... writer knew of me?" The man smiled, and once again, it did not meet his eyes.

"She's a keen one." The other line fell silent for a moment as the stranger coughed. "I believe she started a bit of her own investigation when the officers couldn't solve her brother's death."

"Such a shame... nobody has gotten this far in any of my cases. This world is running out of intelligent people." The assassin responded. "But nevertheless, she's brought it upon herself. Trying to get involved in something even the police couldn't solve." The polished man scoffed. "If someone was willing to go to all ends to hide something, well, I wouldn't carry on further - saying I was in her shoes. However, I'll arrange her death right away. Nosy people have no business here, no matter how little risk they might be to my identity."

He paused, and stood up. Silently gliding across his office's marble floor, he went towards his authoritative balcony, which held a commanding view of everything six blocks in each direction. "That was what you were calling about, wasn't it?"

"Intelligent as ever, sir."

"Mm," The suited man replied. "Now, before I take my leave, I can't help but wonder if she's the only threat. Nobody believes her, I'm sure?"

"No, her family thinks that her grip on reality is slowly slipping due to grief."

"A simple target. You must start fixing up some challenges."

"Yes, of course, sir." The hoarse man said, but all to be heard was a dial tone.

CHAPTER ONE: SAMUEL

Three days later...

"Mr. Samuel Harvey, sir, this morning's papers, perhaps?" A newsboy rushed up to the dapper young man reaching his limo. A large, stunning white house loomed in the background, and the young boy couldn't help but let his eyes dart around its premises. Workmen rushed around, trimming the great hedges and scrubbing the massive windows soaring in delicate patterns that could only be made by expensive architects. This house wasn't just a marvel in the dusty paths of the rest of the neighborhood, but an engineering masterpiece as well.

"Sure, how much?" He replied graciously, snapping the boy's focus back to the business man's face. Waiting for him were gleaming green eyes, sharp yet gentle. After he gazed upon the main feature of his future customer's face, he saw a thin nose, curved lips, with slicked back hair that was quite long for a man. A small trail of stubble reached across his rounded chin. A fragrance of light cologne wafted around this walking bag of money, set with a extravagant suit and leather shoes.

"Three dollar fifty." The newsboy finally stammered, suddenly nervous about being so close to so much wealth.

"Ah, prices are rising, I see." Sam, undeterred, swiftly reached into his pocket and slapped a hundred dollar bill into the boy's hand. "Keep the change." He winked at the shell-shocked newsboy and disappeared behind the tinted windows of the limo.

"How kind," A cold voice spoke from the maroon upholstery beside Samuel. "He'll have a couple more dollars to sustain what's left of his family before they give themselves up to the government's slave site."

"I need to keep a good image, Martin." The tall man snapped, looking into the wrinkled face of his advisor, Westford Martin. His icy blue eyes seemed to be the only thing sharp in his creased face and whitening tufts of hair. "Now let's see what's on that paper, shall we?"

"Hm." Sam's advisor, Westford Martin, sniffed, adjusting the tie on his also pricey suit. "Very well."

Sam unfurled the paper and spread it upon his lap as Martin slid on his reading spectacles.

SMALL TOWN ASPIRING WRITER COMMITS TRAGIC SUICIDE

September 5, 2023

Sally Berfield, known author of 'Ruthless Angels', was found dead on the end of a noose last weekend. While seemingly happy in person, as many have said during book signings, Berfield was secretly housing much grief behind her brother's tragic death. Driven by sadness, it was rumored that she started her own investigation after police found no foul play. An anonymous relative of hers said that she urged them every day to believe that Henry Berfield was "murdered by an assassin because he was working for a drug lord who wanted to dispose of him". This wild theory quickly went downhill, and so did she, when her mother found her hanging by her neck in her room. Detectives and forensics did not uncover any foul play leading to Sally's death, either. The twenty year old's funeral will be held on September 29th, where her family and a select few will attend. She will be buried next to her brother, Henry.

Continued to page 4 for interviews.

"Aha, perfect." Samuel smiled. "'Detectives and forensics did not uncover any foul play leading to Sally's death, either.' What an plan, snapping her neck as she slept, and then hanging it upon a noose."

"Yes, quite magnificent as usual, sir. Shall we move on to the next one on the agenda?"

"Sure. Background?" Sam, busied himself in the rest of the newspaper, checking interviews, stocks, and of course, sports news.

"We've received an anonymous contract saying to kill Damian Sprout, a criminal with a known record for petty thievery and kidnappings. Whoever our requester is, they want him dead ASAP. They didn't list anything else besides how much they'll pay."

"I'll research it."

"I'd advise a disguise - that dead girl got the sandy hair right in her best selling book. People will believe anything these days."

"Do I sense some doubt, Westford? I'd advise you to leave it up to my imagination."

"Very well, sir." He responded, slightly sullenly, and busied himself by looking out the window.

Soon the limo rolled up to a shining building, rising up from the concrete as far as the eye could see, narrowing until there was nothing but a slim tip pointing up into the heavens. This was the Harvey enterprise. Samuel's father had died during a car crash and his mother had left due to grief, leaving the weight of this highly well-known company onto his shoulders. It was good for income - and of course, directing any thoughts of him being an assassin away.

Sam stepped out of the limo, taking his briefcase with him. "I'll see you this afternoon, then, Westford."

"Take care, sir." Martin responded without emotion as the sleek vehicle pulled away. It was the same goodbye every day.

With no thoughts of murder on his mind (that'd be saved for later), the impressive millionaire stepped into his business and disappeared into its depths of normalcy.