Fan Fiction ❯ The Final Job ❯ Chapter 1

AN: Written solely for the MM Action Autumn Oneshot fiction contest. Any plagiarizing will result in me hunting you down and damaging you indefinitely with a frying pan.

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

A lot can happen in my job. Which is why this is my last hit. Why hit, and not delivery, production, or some other such nonsense? Well, you see, I'm a hitman. A hired hitman.

 

The name's Demos Lykken. Pleased to meet you, whether you're pleased to meet me is beside the point. But, well, since you're here, might as well tell you about what caused me to sit here, in this plush black velvet chair in a dark room lit only by firelight, with a patch over my left eye and a scar along my side, although you can't see that, what with this long coat I'm wearing. But I digress. I brought you here to tell you what happened that fateful hit so long ago.

 

(Flashback)

 

So there I was. Last hit of my life, being paid a good hundred grand to take out this Chinese warlord living in, you guessed it, China. My contact remained very aloof in his reasoning, only giving me names, dates, times, and the key info like that.

 

Hit's name: Chu Ng Pak

Family: Wife killed in previous hit, son off running his own business, daughter living with him.

Crimes/Reason for Being Wanted: Not mentioned, didn't argue.

Best place/time to take him out: Anywhere, anytime soon.

Best way of doing it: Discreetly

Gang: 4500 men at his disposal, always guarded, snipers best option

Payment: $100,000

Usually found doing business at Fuu's Diner, 1345 Hu Road.

Residential: 1690 Ng Pak Estates

 

So that was all I needed to know. Who, where, when, and payment. First day on that particular job may as well have been my last if not for quick thinking.

 

I entered Fuu's Diner at 12:01 exactly to survey the surroundings. I stuck out like a sore thumb, but thanks to my choice of clothes I looked more like a tourist than hitman out for blood. Waiting in line, I noticed most eyes on me, mere glances that were made by possible gang members. When I reached the front, I could tell the man behind the counter wasn't pleased with what he saw, but I ordered a cup of coffee whether he liked how I looked or not. Mistake number one-never drop your cover.

 

When I reached into my pocket to pull out the amount I owed the guy, I accidentally hit my rather large wad of hundred dollar bills, all from my previous hits. Anyway, they dropped to the floor, and the golden holder hit the floor with a solid `thunk.'

 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the guy behind the counter's eyes opened a bit, and the customers all stopped to turn and look. Trying to be nonchalant, I just made a semblance of a smile and bent down, picked it up, and put it back in my pocket. I knew then for sure that the hit would know about this as soon as word could travel. I picked up my coffee cup and turned, heading for the exit.

 

As I turned, the door opened and in stepped a well-dressed Chinese woman, about my age, into the diner. Time resumed its pace, and I took a good look at her as we passed. Possibly the hit's daughter. Probably, in this town.

 

(Present)

 

Now, whether you know this just by sheer trivial circumstances or not, hitmen need all sorts of reflexes to survive in this line of work. Otherwise, well, tough luck kid. Pro hitmen usually start their gig whenever their sensei, or teacher, feels as though they have trained enough to become of any use to society's backend. My parents died in a bombing after I was born, so I was taken off to an orphanage where the Masters were searching for new recruits. I was one of the few taken.

 

Around the age of ten, the sensei's believed I was ready to become a full-fledged hitman. However, because of my age, they thought it best to wait a long while. They felt as though I didn't need to be introduced to actual, real-life gore just yet.

 

Around the age of fifteen, skills honed with such precision and skill that a microbe couldn't hit me if I wanted it to, I set out to become a professional hitman. I started working as a mercenary, and then began working for a long gone warlord who died after I started working for him. Coincidence? You decide. Anyway, I returned to being a mercenary, and by the age of 25 the body starts slowing down at a rate dangerous to a man of my, ahem, talents.

 

(Flashback)

 

So there I was, walking along a busy street in downtown Beijing. I didn't think that, under the circumstances of a busy, crowded street with thousands of witnesses, they'd attack. Mistake number two-never drop your guard.

 

I noticed the first few by a quick, nondescript look around. Two in suits were trailing at a small distance, and then two more joined them, four total behind. For now. Looking around a bit more, I noticed that others were quietly coming from around, converging on one center point-me. I was stopped at a crosswalk, and cars whizzed past me and the group on the corner, now growing in numbers from suits all trying to get at me. I tried my best to shove my way to the front of the group, where it was the most treacherous, yet oddly the safest, and waited for the light to turn. A glance at the traffic light revealed that it wouldn't happen for quite a while.

 

Another nondescript look around told me I was now only one or two person away from the suits. Mistake number three showed it's ugly head-don't panic.

 

But, alas, I did. Acting on a blind reason, I took off running into the street, hybrids and gas-guzzlers almost knocking me over. The suits, I could sense, went into panic mode behind me, not expecting me to run into a crowded street. Angry honks followed me as I raced across, and I was nearly flattened to a pancake when a semi almost decked me.

 

Two lanes down, waiting on the small island in the middle, and two to go. A shot whizzed past my ear, and singed the hair on my head. These suits were good shots. Shouts and screams erupted behind me as more gunshots came after me, and acting on another instinct caused me to race out in front of heavier traffic. I jumped onto and rolled over the hood of a hybrid, and the man behind the wheel shouted angrily at me. Tough luck, buddy, these things happen.

 

A semi driver coming along the other side saw my little act and sped up, trying to get past the scene as quickly as possible. When I rolled off the hybrid, I ran limping just in front of it, the wind coming off of it moving my clothes as it missed me by a hair. I heard the audible `thunk' of a bullet hitting metal plating, and the sound of a tire being punctured. Lucky for me, the truck didn't fall to the ground bleeding.

 

Also lucky for me, it was a long truck. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me through the streets of Beijing, never stopping for breath or to turn around. When I reached the slums where my apartment was, I slowed down and calmly headed to it as if I had just gone for a light jog without the bullets, suits, and semis.

 

The landlady smiled at me when I walked by, and I smiled back somewhat, putting on my pleasant facade. I took the steps up to my room, which was on the fifth, and top, floor. I had wanted one on the third floor, so that if I jumped out as a safety maneuver I wouldn't kill myself in the attempt, but this was the lowest, and ironically the highest, they had.

 

My apartment was small, only two rooms, but that was all I needed. A kitchen and living room all as one, and a one-person bedroom. There was a couch and TV set in the living room half, but it was rarely used. The kitchen only used as necessities, and the bathroom was the same, only when needed. And right now, after that, I needed it.

 

After dealing my business in the potty, I heard a strange sound. Like a door being opened that shouldn't be opened. Grabbing the gun I kept in the bathroom just in case I was caught while relieving myself, I opened the door slightly to look out. A clear view of everything in the apartment would be nice, but wasn't available, obviously.

 

Stupid architects, never putting anything where people need them.

 

Seeing that nothing of danger was in the hallway, I advanced slowly to the living room, forgetting one fatal item of business. I stopped at the edge of the wall, leaned in, ready to run in.

 

When I ran in, gun out and cocked, I shouted, `Hands up where I can see them!' But instead of a horrified and shocked gasp, I heard a shriek of feminine laughter.

 

Lounging on my couch was an old business partner of mine, Jasmine, and my fatal item of business showed itself to me finally.

 

My pants were down around my ankles, and my revealed boxers had the little stripes and hearts on them.

 

Jasmine, however, was dressed in her usual fashion: small, sexy, and leaving nothing to the imagination. As to why she was a professional hitman, I had no clue. This time she was dressed in a red silk dress, small cut, size two, three at most. Her red hair was done up in a bun, complete with chopsticks to accentuate it. Putting the gun down, I pulled up my pants quickly before sighing and looking her in the eyes.

 

“What?”

 

“Thought you might want help, pardner.”

 

“Yeah, well, I may be old for this profession, but not so old I need a babysitter to change my diapers.”

 

“Didn't think you'd need them, and after that little peek…”

 

“Shaddup and get out.”

 

Jasmine stood up and raised her hands in the universal sign of harmlessness. She made for the door, but her ear twitched and she switched her path to the window overlooking the alleyway below. Opening the window, she looked out.

 

“Shit.”

 

“What?”

 

I made my way to the window with her. In the alley, two sleek, black cars had driven up and were stopped there, suits piling out over each other. What were they, clowns in the tiny car? Reaching down, I picked up the bathroom gun and looked at her.

 

“You armed and dangerous?”

 

She reached in between her half-exposed buxom and pulled out her trademark gun, a mini revolver, specially made only by the best and most expensive dealers.

 

“Aren't I always?”

 

Needless to say, the suits stormed the building at a rapid pace, guns silencing anyone who got in their way. Opening my door, I sighed. Now I'd need to find a new place to crash. Anyway, Jasmine and I raced through the hallway and to the door leading to the stairwell between floors. Turns out, the suits were already on the third floor, and were shouting that they had just spotted us. Gun's cocked; Jas and I rushed down to meet them.

 

Halfway down the steps from the fifth to the fourth floor, we hit the first wave. Guns blazing, the first few were out, but not before they had theirs blazing away. Ten shots total, five from each side. Clean shots from our side, but they weren't so lucky, only grazing us or missing completely. Obviously not the same guys at the stakeout.

 

The second, third and fourth waves hit us without casualties. At least, on our side. The fifth wave, however, got a shot into Jasmine's left side. She went down beside me, and I went ahead and shot down the remainder of the suits before going back for her. As for the ones who got between me after she was shot…I spent several bullets too many. Warning to all: Never, I repeat, never, piss me off.

 

I gingerly picked her up, before doing a gentle running limp down the rest of the steps, which weren't many. We were on the second floor now, rushing down to the first. Once there, I raced out past the carnage of the landlady who apparently tried to stop the suits. Poor old woman. Another innocent cut down unnecessarily. That is probably the worst thing about this job. You see more than you want to, and involve those who shouldn't be, just by your presence.

 

Still carrying Jasmine, I took her and placed her in the backseat of my Lamborghini, blood soaking into the tan leather of the backseat. Nothing a quick patch up won't fix.

 

Halfway to the hospital, I realized I'd have been faster if I'd just carried her. Traffic in the afternoon in downtown Beijing, bleeding passenger in the backseat or not, was not pretty. Finding a small opening, I pushed through it and when that was cleared, shot through the way to the hospital. A cop car saw me speeding and put on his lights, following, but I didn't stop. He'd understand, right? Bleeding passenger, traffic opening and think I wouldn't take it? If he didn't buy it, he's insane and should be taken off the force.

 

Stopping at the front of the emergency room doors, I parked the car and got her out of it, rushed in, and found a nurse. A gurney was rushed in and she was taken from me, excited nurses carrying on as they disappeared behind double swinging doors. Feeling dejected, I put my hands in my pocket and headed out the door, making sure my gun was concealed. Sure enough, the officer was parked right behind my Lamborghini, examining it and writing down its license number. He looked at me when I walked up to him.

 

“This your car, sir?”

 

“Yes, and I can explain. My wife in there was shot, accident, and so I had to rush her here. I am aware I was speeding, but it was of the utmost urgency.”

 

The cop looked me up and down, and I'm guessing that my disheveled appearance did it for him. He took on this sympathetic look, and my stomach lurched. If it's one thing I can't stand, it's the sympathetic cop routine.

 

I stood back and examined this guy. Tall and thin, not like the short and chubby officers we're used to in the states. No mustache, although I think he would've looked out of place with it with his darker skin. He looked like he was going to let me off.

 

“Well sir, since you have a valid reason,” I could tell he was itching to use excuse on me, “I'm letting you off this time with a warning. Don't let it happen again.”

 

“Sir.”

 

He got back into his squad car and drove off, radioing this incident in. I shrugged it off and went back inside. If I cared, I wouldn't be leaving in a day or two after my business was conducted. Anyway, I wandered back into the hospital and sat in a waiting room chair, eager to hear about Jas.

 

I was sitting there waiting, more correctly had been for the past hour and a half. Whether I wanted it to or not, anxiety had slowly crept into my muscles, making them spasm somewhat. When a nurse finally came in and asked who was with her, I stood up and walked over.

 

Turns out the bullet hole wasn't too deep, but it managed to get caught in the tissues and blend with the muscles, making it hard to get out, hence the long wait. I nodded and let the nurses' words flow through my brain as she led me towards her bedroom, and I vaguely recall hearing her say that she was resting and not to disturb her.

 

Hah. The girl's already disturbed enough if you ask me.

 

Oh well. I quietly opened the door to her room. A doctor was lingering on, checking something on a clipboard at the base of the bed. I stood back until he left, and on the way out he gave me a reassuring smile. I tried to smile back. Not really, no, but it looked good on paper.

 

I sat in the visitors' chair, which creaked beneath me. She had an IV in her arm, her fancy dress torn open around her midsection, tossed aside as if it were a common rag. I'll have to buy her a new one.

 

Now normally I'm not a religious man, but then and there I said a small prayer to whatever gods there may be and asked for her to not hate me.

 

Kidding. But only slightly so.

 

I wrote a short note and left it on the side table, then turned and left. I had to finish the job, and it had to be soon.

 

(Present)

 

Now, I figure you're wondering as to what happens next, or more so importantly, what happened to Jasmine. Well, she's fine now. I mean, come on guys, a minor bullet wound in the side, no major blood loss. You expecting a teary death scene?

 

(Flashback)

 

It was midnight the next night. I was wearing all black. Nothing too tight, mind you, otherwise I couldn't run as well as I could otherwise. All the necessary gear was in place around the mansion, where Chu was currently dining on roasted pig. I had previously taken out all the guards along the outer walls, making quick work of them in the darkness.

 

The inner guards were trickier, but I managed. I had infiltrated so far into the mansion itself without tripping any alarms. Not for long, anyway. Walking down a hallway, I got careless and turned into a hallway, gun out, straight into the head of security. Bad move.

 

By the time I had him pumped full of hot lead after the initial shock, he had tripped a security alarm. The bright red lights flashing around the corridors signaled my presence, and I had to move fast. Luckily for me, the next door I took wasn't barred shut yet. And also, it was the dining room.

 

A fat Chinese man sat at the head of a table, a young woman around my age with long, dark hair standing behind him. Chu and his daughter. Guards all around the room pulled out their guns, revolver, the whole lot of them (can't anyone in this town be original?). I strafed to the left as shots erupted and shattered into the walls, splintering the wood of the door where I just was standing. Shots erupted from my own gun, freshly loaded and emptying out quickly as more guards came rushing to the aid of their employer. I dropped my first gun and reached quickly for my next one, a .99 revolver, ready to go.

 

When my Hit Report said 4500 men at his disposal, it wasn't kidding. But I somehow managed to trail Ng Pak and his daughter as they fled, shutting and effectively locking out his goons. I raced after them, gunning down each guard that got in my way. Soon my pursuit led me to a garage full of expensive and fancy cars, and one zooming away as guards poured from every available opening. I had to love my revolver sooner than expected and grabbed for my Berettas, doing the whole dual-wielding thing you see in some of the new shooting video games. It's not that hard, really.

 

Jumping on the first available vehicle I could, which happened to be a Suzuki motorcycle, I shot the ignition and that got it started. Kids, don't try that at home, leave it to the trained professionals. As the headlights from Ng Pak's car turned a corner, I zoomed off after them, quickly picking up speed by the second. Rounding the corner, I made a mental flashing light on their car as I leaned into the twists and turns of the late night traffic. Taking one hand off the handles, I shot a wheel out of the back. The shot was soon returned with about ten more in my direction. I avoided them all somehow, although one nicked my shoulder and it sizzled. Badly. Was I shot? If I was, too bad, can't check things like that now.

 

Their car swerved, and almost hit a light pole on the way out. It moved at the last minute, taking out instead a café chair, making it a totally useless, broken chair, much to my disappointment. I shot out the other back tire, and the metal wheels inside both were screeching along the tar of the road, sending sparks up behind it. I sped up and shot into each of the windows about ten rounds each, effectively halting the cars movements.

 

Somehow during our little chase scene the cops had been called and were hot on our tail the entire time. I couldn't stop to make sure the deed was done, but when no shots came out as I sped away, I figured it was over for them. I paused only to survey the scene, and then put my foot back on the rest, twisted my wrist, and sped off again.

 

(Present)

 

I know what you're thinking. You want to know what happened to me that I got my scar on my side and the eye patch. Of course, I bet you're thinking that that's the end of my tale. “ Chu's dead, you bloody shot him, story's over.” Ah, how wrong you are my friend.

 

(Flashback)

 

Ten days after the job was done, I was contacted by my employer. We were to meet the next day at Sal's Diner, 401 Park Plaza in the middle of Miami, Florida, at 12 noon to discuss the job.

 

I was there two minutes before noon, and as I gazed about I saw a familiar, if not somewhat startling, sight.

 

Before me, in the back of the room, sat a Chinese woman around my age, long dark hair exactly as I remember it. She was alone, and watching me. I approached her cautiously.

 

“Demos Lykken, I presume?” For a Chinese woman, it sounded like she spoke like a regular American.

 

I nodded and sat down. She opened her purse and I tensed, not knowing what to expect. She pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills and shoved them across the table to me. I looked at them, then her, then grabbed the money. I nodded at her, and she nodded back. I stood and left.

 

When I entered the parking lot and headed to my car, suits jumped out at me from behind other cars and came at me with guns and knives. I pulled out my reloaded .99 revolver, newly cleaned, and began shooting away. One with a knife got to me before I got the chance to kill him as well. I watched as Chu's daughter walked past in the window with a disappointed look on her face. Hand clutching my side, I walked quickly to my Lamborghini, still not cleaned from the incident with Jasmine, and drove off back to my newer, better apartment on the outskirts of Miami.

 

There I cleaned up the gash, but I knew it would scar. Next thing I knew, and these moments were a blur; Chu's daughter was pulling up outside my window. I gazed down at her, she was alone again. I pointed a gun at her, and she rose up her hands.

 

“Just wanted to thank you for getting rid of daddy. And for that, here's something extra.”

 

From her car window, she blew a kiss up at me. I narrowed my eyes and she drove away.

 

(Present)

 

So, now you know why I have a scar along my side. And as to Jasmine? She's in the kitchen, getting dinner started. Have I tied up all loose ends? No?

 

Oh, the eye patch. What happened? Well…(Here I lift it up) I just like them. (And I wink at you with a perfectly good eye.

 

And all this happened on the way to the market of retirement.