M.S.R.P. II

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PostPosted: Sat Apr 15, 2006 4:02 pm 
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Location: San Anselmo...
[Chapter One- A Class Of Her Own...]

Victor hadn't had a long term relationship in years, hadn't felt something even close to love since he was seventeen. But he felt it now. And it frustrated him, made him want to burn this woman's eyes out for doing this to him, for making him feel this way. Beside him, Albert felt the tension, and in his mind prayed that Victor wouldn't fuck this up.

The woman's name was Celia Lonfield. She was tall, a little shorter than Victor, with the most beautiful hair and eyes Victor had ever seen, both black and both lustrous. Her lips were painted in red, but they didn't need to be, and between them one of Victor's Dunhills was lit. She spoke in-between drags, and it wasn't long before she asked for another.

It was the first time Victor had ever been attracted to a woman's beauty, a real woman's beauty and not just to ass or breasts. Celia had fine breasts, not to large or too small, and Victor was sure she had perfectly fine buttocks, but even if she hadn't he wouldn't of cared. He felt happy, peaceful, just to be around her.

"I haven't ever hired a guy like you, Mr. Parry, I mean...it isn't as though you've got an ad in the paper." Victor nodded dumbly, lighting a Dunhill of his own with an imitation zippo. The diner was closed today specifically for this meeting, so no one but the three of them were inside. Each had a beer in front of them. "So who's the mark, Ms. Lonfield?" Victor said, sipping his Bud Light. Celia snuffed out her cigarette and leaned forward, speaking quietly, like a conspirator. "He's...well, he...he's my friend's boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, I guess, 'cause my friend is dead. Her name doesn't matter. But this guy, uh--his name is Leo Devaney--he beat my friend to death with his fucking bare hands. And since he's connected to some Irish crook guy, he got off. Can you believe that? Scott-free. So I want justice." Victor said nothing, recording the information in his mind.

Albert had gotten the call the week before. Work had been sparse, nothing much really happening, so when he got the call he phoned Victor right away. And here they were.

"I'll can pay you twenty-thousand, Mr. Parry, but no more...I mean, I don't have that much, and--" Victor raised a hand and cut her off, saying, "That's fine, Ms. Lonfield, all fine. Twenty-thou is actually fairly generous." Victor didn't add that he'd gotten three-hundred thousand for his last job, didn't figure it would be relevant. Don't want to hurt her feelings, do you? he thought savagely to himself, cursing this fucking broad for entering his life.

They went through the motions after that, and Victor was told that Devaney ran an underground gambling casino in Boston, and that she didn't care how he was hit, just as long as he was did. Leo was connected to an Irish crook named Jimmy "Nails" Cohen, a real savage by all accounts. Victor memorized the street address, Leo's home address, and then they all stood and shook hands while Victor said, "I'll need a number to contact you at, Ms. Lonfield..." She nodded enthusiastically and handed Victor a bit of paper with a business number written on it. Victor tucked it into his suit pocket, and then she left, turning right and catching getting into a Subaru parked at the curb. Once she had driven away, Victor exhaled and sat down, while Albert said, "Jesus...you're in fucking love." Victor stood and grabbed his brother by the shirt, bringing close, and said, "Don't you say that, you sonofabitch, don't you ever say that!" And then let him go and walked up to the office. He took a shower.

He cried like a child.

[Chapter Two- Midnight Confessions...]

Their relationship started almost by accident.

Three days after they had met and discussed the contract, Victor took a flight to Boston under the name Ronald Kasper, and at the airport was met by Al's contact, a skinny guy in a ratty suit. The guy in the ratty suit gave Victor the keys to a registered--and stolen--Acura, in the glovebox of which was a silence twenty-two. Victor frowned when he saw it. He'd have to talk to Al about this thing with the guns.

And, he thought, as he straightened up and began to drive, he'd have to talk with himself about Celia. He'd thought of the woman the entire way to Boston, on the drive to the airport, on the plane, in the airport where he landed, and even right now. She was on his mind, she wouldn't let go, and it made him angry.

When he got the hotel--A Ramada Suites--the first thing he did was get drunk at the hotel bar. They had a good selection down there, and Victor drank himself nearly to death on whiskey and bourbon. When he could barely walk, several burly bartenders carried him up to his room. The place was a good sized suite, with one king-sized bed and a small kitchen a fair-sized living room. Victor stumbled over to the bed, ripping his suit jacket in the process, and when he laid down he rummaged through his pockets, and eventually came up with Celia's number.

He called her around midnight.

Their conversation basically started with him saying, "I think I fell in love with you at the diner." And her saying, "What?" After that, things just sort of fell into place. Victor began to talk about his childhood in Bayonne, the way his father had sort of just laid around, only getting up to destroy one of his children's self-esteems or to beat his wife. Celia in turn began to tell stories of her childhood, growing up around the Irish mob, and Victor found these endlessly funny and interesting. Eventually, Celia said, "You know, I lied when I said I'd never met a hired killer before. What I meant to say was that I'd never met a hired killer quite like you." Victor had laughed and said, "Why? 'Cause of my eyeball?" And to his surprise, Celia had replied, "Yes, exactly. It's like...it's like that dead eye is really your living one, like it sees everything, and your living eye is...is like a broken window. Like a smudged mirror."

Victor hadn't replied for a long time, and when he finally did he said, "I really do think I love you." To which she had replied, "And it might be mutual."

She hung up, and Victor fell asleep ten minutes later, smiling.

[Chapter Three- A Pit of Sin...]

Victor sat in the Acura, smoking, and listening to his new 'Best Of' jazz CD. He had never liked any other kind of music, as far as he can remember. Jazz was what kept his father sane, and he'd passed the love of it down to his children.

The car was parked across the street from Leo Devaney's casino, located in the upstairs of a "Marlene's Hardware" in downtown Boston. Victor had seen thuggish looking guys come in and out of the place all day, had seen Devaney twice, once through a window and once going in. The hardware store was dilapdated, bits of concrete and brick showed through it's paint, the paneling of the door frame was falling off, and two or three windows were boarded up. Not a really class joint, Victor thought, grinning.

He was elated today. He had gotten a call from Celia the morning after his drunken foolishness, and the two had made plans to meet after Victor came home from Boston. He could hardly believe it, that a woman would be interested in him for the right reasons, but apparently it had happened.

And there he was. Leo Devaney, a tall guy, with thin light brown hair that hung on his skull like a toupee and an expensive brown suit walked out of the hardware store and slid into a blue Honda, then started it and began to drive. Victor pitched his cigarette out of the window and began to follow him, tailing behind about three cars.

Devaney drove out into the suburbs, and turned into the driveway of a modest house, a two story, painted white with blue shutters. A labrador greeted him outside. He went in.

Victor stopped the car, pulled the pistol out of the glovebox, and started up the street. He looked inconspicuous in his dark windbreaker and chinos, like a guy taking a walk, the gun hidden in his waistband. He crouched low when he reached the front of the house and walked slowly around it, looking for an edge, a way to do this easy. He found a pool, and grinned.

The pool was large, above ground, and surrounded by a professionally made deck. Victor lit a cigarette as he inspected it, then nodded to himself and waited beside the back door, thinking about Celia, wondering what she'd wear to their date back in Jersey City. Probably something conservative, he thought, dark blue pant-suit, maybe.

He sat outside thinking for about two hours before Leo walked out, dressed in nothing but a towel. Victor moved quickly, standing, then kicked out Leo's feet from under him so that he tumbled to the ground, and while there he knelt and punched him in the throat twice, quick rabbit punches. Then he picked him and dragged him to the edge of the deck, where it met the pool, and slammed his throat against the side of the it. That done, Victor kicked his lifeless body into the water.

It looked okay. Leo decides to take a late swim, slips on the deck, crushes his throat, falls in the water and drowns. If a particularly lazy cop decided not to dig, it would be fine. Victor waited a full minute, to see if Leo was alive at all, and when he was satisfied he walked off the deck, through the front, and back to his car. He started it, and drove back to his hotel, putting the gun back into the glovebox. Al's guy would pick it up. The entire way, he thought about Celia, wondering what she'd wear and what they'd talk about.

In the night, he dreamed about how Leo's body hair had turned black in the water. He woke up screaming.

[Chapter Four- Date Night...]

"You aren't bothered by what I do? By who I am?" Celia shook her head, smiling, and replied, "No, Victor. That's a different person. This, right now, this is you."

They sat at a round table at the Leland Restaurant, in the smoking section, both eating steak paid for by Celia's contract money. Celia wore a low cut black dress that accented her eyes and hair, which Victor loved, and she smoked a pack of her own Dunhills, which was apparently her brand. Victor, in his dark suit, eye-patch, and red tie, looked like a businessman in a tough business.

"So who is me? If I'm not a hired killer right now, then what am I?" Celia smiled, dragging off of her cigarette and tipping some ash into the ashtray by her wine glass. Around them, everyone else was speaking just as quietly in the low-lit restaurant, everyone else was smoking, as well. Celia said, "You're you. A fairly handsome fellow named Victor Parry. Just another man. On that...on that other side, you're still Victor Parry, but sort of a bizarro Victor Parry. You do other people's dirty laundry. That's about it." Victor said nothing, taking a bite of his steak.

They had meant an hour earlier, the day after Victor had gotten back from his flight. Albert had handed in Celia's payment, and had told him where the restaurant reservation was at. He also added, "Don't get married, Vic, ain't worth it..." And then had chuckled. Victor punched him the kidney and told him to shut the fuck up, which just made Albert laugh even harder.

"I do dirty laundry, huh? You're okay with that? Really?" Celia nodded, and then their faces met in the center of the table for a quick kiss. Victor said, when that was done, "I've kissed a lot of girls for a lot of reasons...but that felt right." Celia nodded.

They left ten minutes later, and twenty minutes after that they were in bed, making love like electricity. Victor had had sex with a lot of women, a lot of weird sex, but this was perfect.

Perfect.

[Chapter Five- The Morning After...]

They moved in together a month after their 'first date'.

Victor had never moved in with a woman, had never felt this kind of thing for one, and it was new and lovely experience for him. She went to work three days a week, eight hour shifts--she was a financial consultant for small business owners, and her hours were flexible--and Victor did his thing at the diner. Other than that, they spent every hour together, watching movies and TV, eating, reading, fucking, and even jogging. Victor had never jogged for pleasure in his entire life, and he loved the feeling.

You could say he was a lot happier than he'd been. Probably than he'd ever be.

[End]

Requesting:
-20,000$
-Your enjoyment...I know this was kind of short, but it's leading up to a bigger one.

_________________
[Closed for contracts.]
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PostPosted: Sat Apr 15, 2006 6:32 pm 
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A day in the life of a hit man...You took my advice! I love it! That makes me happy that you actually took my idea and put it into a roleplay. It was enjoyable, like I said it would be, so for that, I clap for you. If you want training, post in the training forum and one of us will catch it and point out all the nitty gritty stuff. :D...All awarded.


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