Darke Beginnings

Chapter #4

Lucien remained silent as the man drove, letting the drunk haze settle, recounting what he could remember of the evening's events. For the first time in his life, he was genuinely scared. He nervously tapped his fingers on the center console, beats to the song he had last heard on the PA system in the pub. “Oy, would you quit?”

The driver's annoyed voice snapped Lucien out of his daze. “Sorry,” he smiled, “Just a nervous habit.”

The man nodded. “You'd best rid yourself of that habit,” he said gruffly, “Not many people in this business are as nice as I am. They'd just as soon chop off those fingers. M'name's Andre, otherwise known as 'The Cleaner.'”

“Lucien Darke.” He peered more closely at Andre, taking stock of the man. He was sharp-looking, with a piercing gaze. He was older, enough to have lost his hair and resorting to shave it, but his face was smooth, save for the slight laugh lines around his eyes.

“I know who you are,” Andre responded, “Martin filled me in on the way here. He says you are a bright man with a great future.”

Lucien sighed, “I did a stupid thing tonight.”

“Don't sweat it, we all have done something dumb in our lifetimes. Everyone makes mistakes. It's my job to help clean them up.” He turned his attention from the road and winked at Lucien for a moment.

Lucien relaxed and let out a deep breath, unaware until that moment how much he had been holding it in. His gaze turned to the passing scenery, the city lights as they passed over the bridge, the buildings as they faded into the countryside. The car raced along, putting more and more distance between them and the scene of the crime until they reached a heavily wooded area. Andre turned right onto a long-unused dirt road, plunging the car into the murky darkness. After a few twists and turns, he parked the car and turned off the headlights. “Let's do this,” he said darkly.

“What are we going to do, chop him into little pieces and feed him to the wolves?” Lucien joked.

Andre shot him a reproving glance. “There's a peat bog here,” he answered, “It's not as messy, less for the authorities to discover.”

They got out of the car and made their way to the trunk. Andre popped it open, reached in and grabbed one end of the bundle. Lucien grabbed the other and as he pulled it out of the car, flinched. The body had long since grown cold and he could feel the squish of where he had beat the man. It was unlike anything he had ever felt and it gave him a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He retched, the sting of bile filling his throat. Choking it down, he coughed back tears and cleared what remained from his mouth by spitting to the side of the car.

“Is this your first?” asked Andre.

“First what?” Lucien managed to whisper.

“Dead body.”

Lucien nodded. “It's a bit different than I would have imagined.”

Andre laughed quietly. “You'll get used to it. You at least had the advantage of kicking the shit out of this man when he was alive for being a bastard. I've seen worse.” He didn't elaborate, but lifted his end of the body from the trunk and pulled Lucien along a short path. When they reached the bog, Andre nodded and they swung the body, it hitting the water with a splash, and then slowly sinking below with a thick bubbly sound. They wiped their sweaty hands off on large fern fronds as they retreated to the car.

Once back in the vehicle, Lucien's curiosity got the best of him. “What did you mean you'd seen worse?” he asked.

Andre turned the car on, began backing it up and turning it around, expertly avoiding any of the trees that were around them. “There's more bodies I've dumped in that swamp than I can count on both my hands,” he explained. “You've not seen carnage until you've had to clean up a room full of drug dealers that have had a disagreement with someone more powerful than themselves. There's also the matter of people who have stumbled into the wrong places at the wrong time. There are no witnesses. But that doesn't hold a candle to the people who have turned informant and found out. They get it the worst. I've seen a man's tongue cut out, his belly sliced and seen him hung from his shower by his own guts.”

The description made Lucien squirm visibly in his seat. “That is awful,” he answered. “Remind me to stay on Martin's good side.”

Andre laughed. “From what I hear, you're quite the Golden Child. Martin only says wonderful things about you and I have no doubt that he is underplaying it. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. Most people in your situation would have panicked and called the police. You called Martin and that is a huge testament to your character.”

Lucien smiled, “I would hope so.” He leaned his head back against the set and closed his eyes, listening to the rumble of the tires on the road as they returned to the city.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence and it seemed almost no time until they pulled into the drive at Martin's estate. As Andre shut the car off, Martin emerged, still in the gray three-piece suit he was wearing when they had left him in the alley. He approached Andre first, holding the door open as the older man got out, and embracing him with a manly slap on the back. Then Martin made his way to Lucien, same hug, same slap on the back. “Gentlemen,” he greeted, smiling broadly, “We have business to discuss.”

Lucien and Andre followed him into the house, through the palatial foyer and towards the left into a huge dining room. The table was set for dinner, even though it was now late at night. There was a woman in a maid's uniform standing in the corner, waiting for instructions, Lucien guessed. Martin motioned for them to sit down as he sat. Lucien chose the seat to the right of Martin, Andre to the left. They both leaned towards Martin and folded their hands on the table.

Martin summoned the servant to him, whispered something in her ear and she left the room, only to return a few seconds later bearing a large tray, which she set down in front of him. Upon removing the cover, the tray was revealed to have an assortment of meats, cheeses, crackers and small pieces of bread. “I know it's late, but I thought you might be famished. This was the best that could be mustered up at this hour,” Martin explained. He gestured towards the food with his hand, inviting Lucien and Andre to take some of the food. They obliged, each taking the plate in front of himself and stacking an assortment from the tray on it. When their plates were filled, they sat back and began feasting. The maid had re-emerged from the kitchen carrying a bottle of whiskey and she filled all of the glasses in front of them to the brim.

Smiling, Martin enjoyed the scene in front of him. His hungry minions, eating up whatever sustenance he provided. “I'm sure you are wondering what business I was talking about,” he observed.

Both Lucien and Andre stopped mid-chew and turned their attention to Martin. “Tonight's little folly is not something I expected from you,” Martin continued, pointing an accusatory finger at Lucien. “I had never pegged you for violence, least of all the ability to kill a man in cold blood.”

Lucien swallowed his food. “I'm sorry,” was all he could cough out.

“By all means, I am not disappointed. I had thought you would work for me on the business side of things, helping me with the books, legitimizing my dealings, but I see that you will be far more useful than I had anticipated.” He smiled again, focusing his attention on Andre. “I would like you to take our young friend under your wing. He has a lot of untapped anger. I would like to tap it. I believe that, under the correct tutelage, Mr. Darke will make one hell of an assassin.”

Lucien's eyes widened. “I can't do that!” he protested. “I don't know if I could stomach it.”

“Tsk,” Martin clicked his tongue, “My dear boy, the fact that you single-handedly put the kibosh on that man's life tonight and still kept enough of a level head about it tells me that you can. You were face to face with him. He was the bad guy. Your targets will be as well. Mostly, people who are threats to our organization and our ways of life, and you won't even have to face them. Andre is a talented sharpshooter and he will train you to be as well.”

“If you think so,” he sighed, leaning back, pushing his plate away, no longer hungry. “When do we begin?”

Andre finished drinking his whiskey, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and responded, “At first light.”