didn’t you? I saw the after pictures; I hope you enjoyed the before.” He winks. When Malcolm’s not riding my ass for hits, someone is riding his. Sex, sex, sex.
“That’s still just one guy. I can’t do two at once. That’s the whole point. Every…” I struggle to find the word and instead just wave at my body like it’s a workshop tool I use. “Every …
thing
, gets focused on one person. Lures them in. Everyone else doesn’t even notice me.”
“Come now, can’t you just jack it up a little? Share the wealth with the rest of the room?”
I nod as if I’m agreeing. “Yeah, good idea! I mean, if I want to have the entire room rush me or start killing each other to stake their claim.”
“Plant their flag? Drill their well? Plug your dike?” Malcolm keeps going as the waitress comes by and sets a coffee mug in front of me. She starts to pour me some while asking what I’d like when she catches scent of me and gags a little. She stops just short of running away from the table as Malcolm finishes with, “Drop their deposit in your bank?” and snickers.
“I don’t do two at a time. Can’t be done. They’ll have to find another hitter. Are they Inhumans? See if Tim wants it. I hear he’s willing to make a few bucks while working his night gig.”
One of the few humans I would not want to cross paths with, Tim is a vigilante with a strong dislike for Inhumans. Inhumans like me. I’ve managed to run across a few of his “after” pictures. There are some things you can’t unsee.
Malcolm shakes his head. “No. I will not talk to Tim until he apologizes for decapitating that new swimsuit model who moved into town.”
I scoff as I drink my coffee, aware that it’s hot enough to scald, but not caring. “The guy was dealing coke to middle-schoolers on the side. Tim had every right.”
“Well, whatever. They want you on it. It needs to look like an accident, and that’s pretty much what you’re best at, right? They’ve never cried murder at any of your hits or even your mother’s―”
He stops himself and looks away as though someone else brought up my mom. He spies around the restaurant for the perpetrator until he decides to turn back and meet my eye. I’m wearing glasses, though. He can’t see the blood-red color my irises take on.
“You should try the pancakes here,” he says sunnily. “Out of this world. I swear, they’ll change your life. Here, I’ll order you some.” He waves to the waitress, who, glancing at me, pretends not to see him.
I shove the envelope back over to him. “Find. Another. Hitter.”
I slide out of the booth and head for the door when Malcolm says sharply, with just a hint of anger at me, “They’re offering eight hundred!”
I’m a pace away from the door. I’m not a tactician. I have one target, I go with the flow, and just let the person die. It’s not that hard. Like nudging a domino to set off the rest. I desperately want to reach out and grab the door handle and give the whole damn thing not a single extra moment of thought.
But I don’t. I turn back to Malcolm.
“Eight?”
“Well… a mil. But I have to take my twenty percent.”
I walk back to the table and lean over, glowering. “And when this goes sideways, are you going to take twenty percent of the bullet they try to put in my head?”
“It won’t go sideways. It’s easy. They’ve even picked out a time and place for it, this weekend. Just… do one at a time or something?” Malcolm suggests, weakly. Like I’m playing a game of checkers, not arranging accidental deaths.
Yeah, it’s easy as pie. Jump, jump, jump. King me, bitch.
He slides the envelope toward me and talks slow. He’s my handler; I’m the tiger. Tigers have been known to disembowel their handlers, and I can see the appeal.
“It’s a pair of brothers. Humans. About your age. It really couldn’t be easier.”
I snatch the envelope from him, never breaking eye contact. I pull off my glasses so he
“That’s still just one guy. I can’t do two at once. That’s the whole point. Every…” I struggle to find the word and instead just wave at my body like it’s a workshop tool I use. “Every …
thing
, gets focused on one person. Lures them in. Everyone else doesn’t even notice me.”
“Come now, can’t you just jack it up a little? Share the wealth with the rest of the room?”
I nod as if I’m agreeing. “Yeah, good idea! I mean, if I want to have the entire room rush me or start killing each other to stake their claim.”
“Plant their flag? Drill their well? Plug your dike?” Malcolm keeps going as the waitress comes by and sets a coffee mug in front of me. She starts to pour me some while asking what I’d like when she catches scent of me and gags a little. She stops just short of running away from the table as Malcolm finishes with, “Drop their deposit in your bank?” and snickers.
“I don’t do two at a time. Can’t be done. They’ll have to find another hitter. Are they Inhumans? See if Tim wants it. I hear he’s willing to make a few bucks while working his night gig.”
One of the few humans I would not want to cross paths with, Tim is a vigilante with a strong dislike for Inhumans. Inhumans like me. I’ve managed to run across a few of his “after” pictures. There are some things you can’t unsee.
Malcolm shakes his head. “No. I will not talk to Tim until he apologizes for decapitating that new swimsuit model who moved into town.”
I scoff as I drink my coffee, aware that it’s hot enough to scald, but not caring. “The guy was dealing coke to middle-schoolers on the side. Tim had every right.”
“Well, whatever. They want you on it. It needs to look like an accident, and that’s pretty much what you’re best at, right? They’ve never cried murder at any of your hits or even your mother’s―”
He stops himself and looks away as though someone else brought up my mom. He spies around the restaurant for the perpetrator until he decides to turn back and meet my eye. I’m wearing glasses, though. He can’t see the blood-red color my irises take on.
“You should try the pancakes here,” he says sunnily. “Out of this world. I swear, they’ll change your life. Here, I’ll order you some.” He waves to the waitress, who, glancing at me, pretends not to see him.
I shove the envelope back over to him. “Find. Another. Hitter.”
I slide out of the booth and head for the door when Malcolm says sharply, with just a hint of anger at me, “They’re offering eight hundred!”
I’m a pace away from the door. I’m not a tactician. I have one target, I go with the flow, and just let the person die. It’s not that hard. Like nudging a domino to set off the rest. I desperately want to reach out and grab the door handle and give the whole damn thing not a single extra moment of thought.
But I don’t. I turn back to Malcolm.
“Eight?”
“Well… a mil. But I have to take my twenty percent.”
I walk back to the table and lean over, glowering. “And when this goes sideways, are you going to take twenty percent of the bullet they try to put in my head?”
“It won’t go sideways. It’s easy. They’ve even picked out a time and place for it, this weekend. Just… do one at a time or something?” Malcolm suggests, weakly. Like I’m playing a game of checkers, not arranging accidental deaths.
Yeah, it’s easy as pie. Jump, jump, jump. King me, bitch.
He slides the envelope toward me and talks slow. He’s my handler; I’m the tiger. Tigers have been known to disembowel their handlers, and I can see the appeal.
“It’s a pair of brothers. Humans. About your age. It really couldn’t be easier.”
I snatch the envelope from him, never breaking eye contact. I pull off my glasses so he
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