ERROR // CALM AU

2

Warning: alcohol and mentions of violence.

❦❦❦

Two glasses sat on the cherry wood table of Christian's living room; one of whiskey and one of yorsh. The hitman's ring-clad fingers were wrapped tightly around his Jack Daniel's, periodically lifting it to his plump lips. The two men held intense, wordless eye contact as they sipped their drinks, until Christian broke the silence as he slid a wad of cash across the table toward Calum.

"That's a hundred; fifty for Abrams and another fifty for the whore," he spoke smoothly, watching intently as his employee counted the money. "I've got a new assignment as well, if you're up for it."

Calum slipped the hundred thousand dollars in his pocket before speaking. "That's three this week."

"I can hire someone else if you don't think you can–"

"No," the Kiwi man interrupted. "I can."

A creepy smile wormed its way onto the older man's grotesque face. "Excellent," he purred, handing a photo of a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. "This son of a bitch is trying to move in on my territory. I've sent him three warnings, but he's still in town. I need you to change that by Monday. His name is Joshua Shapiro. Got it?"

Calum nodded and poured more whiskey into his mouth. The target, though toned, looked relatively thin, which would make him easy to overpower. Maybe this one could be killed with a knife. The thought filled the hitman with indescribable joy. He normally reserved his knives for personal pleasure and used guns for business, but it had been so long that he was simply itching to slice someone to pieces.

"You're a good man, Hood," Christian said.

"No. I'm not," the brown-eyed man gainsaid. Good men killed bad people, sometimes, but not the same way that Calum did. Good men didn't get off on it. Good men only killed when they had to. Calum killed because he liked it.

Nothing else was said. Nothing else needed to be said. They finished their drinks in silence before Calum showed himself out, the photograph held firmly in his grip. It was unusual for him to be assigned three hits within only five days, but he wasn't going to complain. Fifty thousand dollars per kill was enough incentive, even without his passion for murder.

Needless to say, Calum was an incredibly wealthy man. He laundered his money through a casino which was run by Christian and his cronies, passing it off as winnings. It wasn't like anyone was going to look into it, as he kept a remarkably low profile, but it was best not to take any unnecessary risks.

Calum's house was a perfect reflection of his disposition. It was large, with several bedrooms a pool in the backyard, but nearly empty. There were pieces furniture in most of the rooms, as well as all the appliances Calum had deemed necessary, but the majority of the house remained entirely undecorated.

Calum didn't need anything fancy– it wasn't like he was going to have guests over anytime soon, and the man felt no need for such superfluity.

He pulled his black car into the driveway, stepping out and locking it before entering his home. His boots thumped loudly against the polished marble floor of his foyer, sending echoes throughout the house as he made his way to the large white sofa that sat in the middle of his living room.

Flopping himself down on the couch, Calum grabbed his laptop off the coffee table and got to work gathering all the information he could about Joshua Shapiro. From what he could find, the guy was a one-man drug operation, mainly pushing stimulants and hallucinogens. Nothing too interesting– just a boring, easy kill. 

Damn, he'd been hoping for something a little more challenging. He was sick to death of these low-risk jobs. He wanted some god damn action.

No matter, he knew what he needed to do. Using a burner phone, he texted the target's number, claiming to have been referenced to his services by a friend. The guy was almost too enthusiastic, and agreed to meet up that night for a deal. 

The poor, clueless idiot had no idea the mess he was getting himself into. One should really be more cautious when engaging in criminal activity.

It took less than five minutes of messaging back and forth before the two men came to the agreement that they would meet up for a tradeoff at 1:20 in the morning, in the alley between a strip club and a pawn shop, in a seedy area of town. Calum couldn't help but to roll his eyes at the classless cliché, but he had to get this done.

The part of town they would be meeting in was usually fairly crowded, which meant that to avoid drawing attention, he wouldn't be able to use a gun. At least there was some good news– he'd finally have an opportunity to use one of his new knives. 

Calum nearly smiled at the idea. Maybe this wouldn't be so boring after all.