Death on Two Legs // Shyan

1. B.M

"Death on two legs
You're tearing me apart
Death on two legs
You never had a heart of your own"
- Queen

Shane Madej was an intelligent man. One of the most intelligent in the country, one could argue.
Well, he would at least.
He flashed a charming smile to the receptionist on his way upstairs in the tall office building. The black suitcase he carried gave her the impression that he was just one of the hundreds of office workers, so she didn't really pay attention. It always worked. A gold plate in the side of that suitcase had initals carved on it, a detail nobody ever seemed to notice; B.M.
That was his name- Benjamin "Banjo" McClintock, not Shane. He almost forgot again.
His job was never easy. The lies were the easiest part, actually. He mixed up his own aliases sometimes- a minor problem. Pulling the trigger wasn't that hard either. Usually. The hardest part was something that he didn't admit to anyone- not even himself at first; the hardest part was relationships. The lack of them, in fact.
He didn't need them, that was his excuse. He was Shane fucking Madej, the most booked hitman in the country, and who would need relationships when everything else was so damn great in his life?
He had money and scary big mobster friends, a huge front operation, employees even, a huge apartment...
But the truth was, he was lonely.
A little bit.
Actually no, he was REALLY lonely.
So lonely that at night he would hug a pillow like it was a person. Of course nobody could ever know that, hell, he'd lose half his clients if a word about him clinging to his sheets like a teenager after a breakup would spread around the dark web. And he couldn't exactly go on tinder. Why wasn't there a dating app for criminals, he sometimes wondered.

It was Friday in mid November. The sky outside was pale gray like cigarette smoke, dim sunlight barely getting trough the mass of clouds and illuminating the stairway. His long coat flapped around him mysteriously as his long legs sprinted up two stairs at a time.
He was late. Two minutes late.
It wasn't much, yet it could ruin his entire operation.
He had been paid to assassinate a detective, some guy called Tinsley, and the window was narrow; the man would be meeting the chief of police in the building across the street. The windows were perfectly aligned. He had one shot, and it could have been late already.
The eighth floor was deserted, and there was one lone office that he knew had an open door. The elevator had cameras, he couldn't risk it, but the ones in the stairway always staid behind him, making it easy for him to hide his face.

Eight floor. A clock was ticking heavily in the hallway, no lights were on. Most of the offices were under construction there, moldy pipes or something.
His outline must have looked straight from a spy movie then, white light flooding from behind him, neat leather shoes snapping against the floor as he walked swiftly in his classy buisness man attire, soon turning into the last room in the hall.
His eyes took a moment to adjust, and to his surprise there was an outline by the window already. A little paniced he strided forward, silently as the man didn't seem to hear him at the doorway. Then it clicked to him; Shane knew the man in front of him, and he knew him well.
"Are you lost, little guy?"
It was dark apart from the open window, plastic tarps fluttered in the wind. LA was at it's busyest then, noises of traffic and muffled ambulance sirens rose from down below.
Shane flashed a smug smile as the other man tensed up, not moving an inch from his position by the gun, scope out of the open window. He was laying on his stomach on the floor, seemingly not minding that his suit was getting dirty.
"Madej." He announced bitterly.
"Long time no see, Goldsworth. Or should I say Bergara, now that nobody's around?"
Annoyed silence, followed by bitter words;
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Ryan finally turned around as he realized how unprobable it was that he'd get shot in the head by the intrudor. Shane was still grinning.
"I was just about to ask you that! What a small world it is."
Shane was oddly enough not that angry at this surprise obsicle- seeing Ryan after all those years was actually quite fun. His smile had began to look more genuine than smug. The way the shorter man's face was full on furious flooded his mind with memories. It had been two years now since they last met, and that time hadn't been fun on either of them.
"You robbed me blind, you fucking bloodsucking leech of a dickhead!"
Ryan almost knocked his sniper down trough the window as he shifted off his position to face Shane, glasses hanging low on the tall man's nose, lazy smile on his face. He had a beard now- something Ryan hadn't seen on him before.
It suited him.
"Aw boo hoo, Grow up Bergara! That was ages ago, you must have built an entirely new empire by now!"
Shane had forgotten all about Tinsley at that point, keenly staring down into Ryan's huge, almost black looking eyes and the almost smile recembling expression of flaming rage. It was amusing as hell. Ryan was like a little baby hamster with a gun, not intimidating at all with his babyface.
"I can't believe you right now..!"
His voice muffled in amazement and despair.
"You have no idea- no fucking idea what you did to me! I was basically on the streets Shane! I had nothing, it all burnt down to ash!"
"You seem to be doing fine now, I mean hell, that suit looks more expensive than my education and you're just laying in the dirt like that?" Shane laughed, the flames of irritation grew bigger, brighter, hotter in Ryan's eyes like a rapidly spreading wildfire, and Shane was soaking himself with gasoline.
A beep of Ryan's phone interrupted them, and the irritation in his eyes was replaced with panic as soon as his eyes scanned over the screen.
"Is it done?"
"Oh shit, Shane you've fucking done it again!" He groaned, turning back to face the window with a face suddenly flushed of all color. He peered into the scope, scanning the room across the street from them for Tinsley, but he was already gone.
Shane had remembered the job he went there to do in the first place as he collected himself from the nostalgic haze of the good old days, feeling the panic eat at him internally but working hard not to show it.
He was good at that, hiding emotions.
"Shit! Shit!!!" Ryan was groaning on the floor.
"Seems like we've both got a detective to catch. Oh, this is gonna be fun, Ryan! A little game of capiture the flag! Last one to Tinsley is a sissy!"
And with that he bolted out of the room with three quick steps, leaving Ryan to pack up his gun and text his client to tell him that no, there were... complications, Tinsley is still breathing. He might have as well been the literal worst hitman in the world, that's what he felt like at least. Getting distracted by the stupid face of Shane Madej- that wasn't like him at all!
Actually, it was very like him.
But Ryan didn't want to think of all those other times. They were ridiculous and happened years ago, and he sure as hell wouldn't repeat those mistakes again!
It was a bit of a blur, but within four minutes he too was running down the stairs to the first floor, out on the street and towards that black car that waited for him, the one that was supposed to grab him and flee before the cops showed up for the gunshot.
But there had been no gunshot, and Ryan hated himself, and he hated Shane ten times more.