Cyanide [4]

Were Those The Poisoned Ones?

The mob boss dropped a duffel onto the table in front of me. I scooped it up and slung it over my shoulder. "You're not going to check if I gave you the right amount?" He asked as I moved towards the door. A Cheshire grin spread across my face as I turned back around. "If you didn't, it would be the last thing on your mind," I said, noticing some of his lackeys' shiver at the glint in my eye.

"You don't scare me, Cyanide," The man spat. "Yes, because it would be disgraceful to have such a simple emotion like fear. Fear is too easy. I want to terrify. Besides, if you didn't, I just might have to pay a little visit to your daughter's house. What was her name...Maggie, right? She leaves for work at Panera at exactly 7:43 every day, stays at work until 1:13, and walks down to the sandwich shop at the end of the street, and arrives back at work at exactly 1:28, with 2 sliders, par the pickles, and extra mustard. Then she--" He started shaking in his boots. "Alright, stop! Here, this is the rest. Just forget everything about Maggie," He said, passing over a few more wads of cash. "That's a good boy, wouldn't want to be withholding some of the payment. That would just be rude, wouldn't it?" I smirked, taking the money and adding it to the bag. I fished out a few salt-water taffies from my pocket and tossed them on the table.

"A little something for your help," I said as they eyed them suspiciously. "They're not poisoned. Why would I kill off perfectly good customers?" I said, pulling out one of them and popping it into my mouth. I strolled out of the rickety shack, pausing right outside the door. "Were those the poisoned ones? Eh, I can't be bothered to check," I said, shrugging and hearing the distinct sound of taffies connecting with wood again. As I walked back to my house, I popped another taffy into my mouth and started sucking on it.

I tossed the duffel onto my bed, flopping onto my bed beside it. "Maximum effort," I said, stretching and tossing the duffel off. After my pistol started digging into my side, I got back up. I pulled off all my gear, which was pretty basic, and tossed it into my closet. I pulled on an oversized shirt and flopped back down onto my bed.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarm clock going off a few feet from my head. Groaning, I slammed my hand onto the snooze button, effectively silencing it. I'm gonna shoot that thing one of these days. I packed myself a sandwich and an apple for lunch in my old tin lunchbox and set off to work. Yes, I still work.

When I was headed back home, it was time for my weekly mugging! Man, I always look forward to this special day, when some bozo would try to intimidate me. "What's in the box?" He asked, nodding at the lunchbox in my hand. So, being the kind person I am, I showed him. Some wads of ones and a loaded .22 Magnum.

His eyes bulged out of his head, and he scampered off. Too bad, I was hoping to shoot someone tonight. Eh, there's always next week for someone to try and grab my ones. I walked back home, plopping myself on the couch and pulling out my phone. No calls tonight.

 I wonder if they've found the body yet. I turned on the news channel, and sure enough, they'd found the body. "Early this morning, Noah Porter was found dead in his home. The killer is believed to be Cyanide, whose identity remains unknown. Cyanide is currently credited with 134 assassinations. If you have any information regarding the killer, please call your local police officers," The news reported. I smirked when I heard they had no idea who I was. Well, they don't know the person behind the mask.

I've always been quick, cold, and calculated during my jobs. I would say undetected, but considering I'm an infamous assassin feared across the globe, I'd say that they've detected me.

a/n Ah...sarcasm and sadism...two of my favorite things.