The dirty brown lake had bits of algae and dirt matter coexisting, happily floating on it. In the stillness, the rhythmic lap of the water could be heard. The girly scream sliced through again like the wail of a banshee, making Kaito search the lakeside in haste.
A look of horror briefly crossed his face when he spotted the source of such bad vibes. The man was bent at an unnatural angle. Veins threatening to burst out of his pallid face. He was missing a hand but the other was used to grab his veiny forehead in a crushing grip. He screamed so intensely that spittle dripped down his mouth like a rabid bulldog nearing its end. His vocal chords surpassed every limit but that has also lost its manly vigor, it now sounded like a twelve-year-old girl whining. Directly in front of him was a young woman, in a strapless dress with summer sandals. Motionless, not exactly helping.
Kaito, always quick on his feet, decided to go over and find out a cause. On pure instinct, he withdrew back. Now he noticed a huge detail he had missed. The atmosphere smelled of salt, dirt, and a more sinister odor. Rottenness clouded with a creepy ominous feeling that he couldn't place a finger on… And the young woman was not just a helpless damsel. She kept glaring daggers at the bent heap of a human in front of her. Her eyeballs reflected back in the water, an unnatural shade of purple. Kaito retreated some more. He felt a surge, like the feeling that had washed over him before…before…
He was never one to run screaming wolf, but he did just that.
For he remembers. Kaito knows her kind of evil. Has experienced horror and torture by the likes of her. She was a witch and judging by her glaring purple eyeballs, a powerful one.
There was this itch. An itch that was bent on being scratched. He had tried to toss it to the back of his mind. To lock it with the mightiest padlock, forgetting it ever happened. Bad memories are the ones we remember most. Stuck to our brain like a piece of gum on one's shoe. He had a brush with death and by sheer luck, he lived. He knows that the experience will always be a part of him, the part that made his innards twist. It changed him in a way, afraid of the unknown, makes the hunting of his prey a skeptical issue. He draws strength from the knowledge that he'd implanted a swirling hot bullet, deep in her egg-shaped head. But the encounter still sticks...two years ago, he remembers all of it....
*****
Two years ago, in the month before his Ramadan celebration, Kaito walked towards a public abandoned park. His Glock-22 pistol was in his holster, which was wrapped around his waist. His short sword concealed by his large industrial jacket. He will find the man here, the man they have instructed him to end.
A client, a baldy middle-aged man had contacted him via electronic mail, specifying certain detailed information about the man, Lewis MacT. To avoid getting into the specifics, all in all, It was just murder. Scheduling a meeting two days ago by the warehouse house on Cain Street behind the agricultural plant. Baldy had a gruff red beard and was wearing an old suit. Tucked white shirt into black trousers, which were flapping in the wind. He epitomized a mafia boss who never quite made it.
Kaito, though, never judges one on appearance and he had been right on his money by not judging this particular book by its cover. Inside the briefcase which accompanied Baldy was a picture of the accused and money, thousands of it.
Kaito's tongue darted out and gave his chapped lips a good lick, his eyes dancing around the bulk of cash. All other details barely made it past his eardrums.
Greasy hands confidently held the briefcase wide open, while a wily smile took over as he gazed at Kaito
''Here," he said, handing over the briefcase to Kaito. ''Remember, two days from now, Terrell will be at that location. End him and...I want evidence of the job well done"
''Done."
Those factors, the biggest of them, his love for the finest things in life, brought Kaito here. Walking among the nightlife of Edo City to this unprecedented location. His dark boots sounded unnaturally loud as he walked through the gates of the park. They did not abandon it anymore as it has naturally become a breeding ground for the lowlifes and scums of the society. Scums of different gender. Some huddled together near the merry-go-round, passing around a jumbo-sized blunt. Shady activity happened near the big horse statue, while the loners caved themselves in secluded corners by the park, a blanket over their shriveled bodies.
Kaito observed, eyes wide open to all. He was being cautious. The amount paid for this lump of human head was not normal. Baldy certainly, intentionally, hid certain details from him. So Kaito had to be extra careful. He walked past the giant horse statue, heading towards the fun house which glowed in a different light color. Turning the doorknob, he entered as silently as a ghost.
The long hall was dimly lit by a single yellow bulb. Footsteps loudly echoed in different directions, bouncing off the wall in a fast rhythm. With his body practically stuck to the wall, Kaito shuffled forward, eyes alert. Slowly, he whipped out his short katana. It glittered wickedly under the dim lightning of the hall. To move stealthily without alerting Lewis, he will have to kill any rat he encounters, silently brutal. A grated steel stairwell at the right corner of the hallway ahead of him came into focus. High grounds will be most ideal for this mission. So he began to jog up, two stairs at a time.
Meanwhile, Lewis starred on ahead. The two guys that surrounded him, bored him to no end. Slitting his throat with a blunt knife will be agonizing better than having to spend another minute listening to them talk about their conquest. They were like two kids who measured their strength by the size of their dicks. He looks lazily at his fingernails. Extremely short and ugly from his bad habit of constantly biting off pieces. A habit that never seems to leave.
He studied his left-hand fingernails, his mouth slowly descending to his thumb, raking, then finally biting off a chunk of nail which left it wet and slightly bleeding. These guys were exhausting. He was here to talk business, but they discussed other important issues. He crossed one leg over another, the iron chair which he sat on painfully digging into his butt. The things he had to endure for the sake of his business, if it weren't a little illegal, he would be showing these two idiots who sat directly across from him, facing each other–what strength really means.
With a sudden whoosh, hot air passed by his ear, leaving a shallow cut, no deeper than a knife cut. One of his Hispanic associates sported a bullet-sized hole in his forehead, red liquid blood gushing out like a broken tap. Lewis whipped his head back instantly, his neck cracking a little from the force. His eyes first spotted the blood which pooled at the top of the second floor before he took notice of the lithe man who stood beside the pool of red liquid. Even without the sword he groped, his stare came with all its intent.
In an instance, before he could form a word, they hurled the sword at him. Sharply, purely on instinct, he flunked himself off his chair to the ground. His chair made a heavy clunking sound as it followed his descent. Getting into a crouching position, he looked back to check where the sword trajectory had gone. His second associate of the night was on his knees; he had only turned to run. His face concocted in anguish, jaw hanging agape, eyes bulging in tears, the sword sticking deeply inside his spinal back. Slumping forward, he dropped to the floor.
Lewis gnashed his teeth. Death always seems to come knocking at his door ever since he betrayed Krum. None of the previous men sent through had succeeded. He ought to licking the dust, worms and bugs crawling all over him with the insane attempts his enemies had made. He wasn't. His body already turned to manure for the trees yet to grow. He wasn't. For he's got a friend.
He stared back at the man who stood by the upstairs balcony. Those fireballs glared back with a great and cold hunger.
Another death this night, it surely won't be his. Retrieving a whistle from inside the pocket of his green jeans, he did the tradition. He placed it on the tips of his lips and blew hard.
Another death this night, it surely won't be his.
