KILL

Chapter Six.

     The street was far too busy she thought as she manoeuvred her way through the human traffic. She had a car but she hardly used the thing.It was parked in the lot behind her apartment building, rotting and collecting dew and dust. A man elbowed her in the ribs. 

     "Sorry." He mouthed before walking off. Maybe she should track him down and put a hole in his heart. She rubbed the spot but kept walking. She really wasn't sure where she was headed but her feet kept moving, her combat boots feeling heavy on her feet. It was a bright sunny day. In March in Bromley everyday seemed to be bright and sunny, and the nights wet and rainy. She rounded a corner on the street. It was a boulevard filled with shops and life-forms of all sorts. At the end of the line leading into a curve was a church and that all along, a small voice said was where her feet had been leading her to.

     She made her way, grunting and panting a little to the open doors of the church. Her heart seemed to beat more rapidly against her chest. She was afraid. Would lightening strike her down for stepping into the holy place? She chuckled. Now when had she begun thinking that way? She walked into the church and slid unto a pew.

     The church was medium-sized with its wooden pews and beams and red carpeted aisle leading up to the altar where a big cross hung from the ceiling. She sighed and stared at the statue of the man nailed to the cross.  

     "Can you hear me?" She whispered her words. Could he? Would he listen to a sinner like herself?. She did believe in him. Someone had created the world, just like we in turn create things. Someone had made life just as she took life. She swallowed. What was she supposed to say? 

     "I just want you to know that I'm sorry for sending those people to hell...or heaven." She twisted her mouth then smacked them.

     "Er...I don't know what else to say only that I think another person is going to be joining satan soon." She smirked. "And he's a very bad person just like myself but much worse. So... I was wondering if you'd send him to the deepest part of hell?" She wanted to slap herself so hard. "Forgive me." She intertwined her fingers and rested them on her laps. When last had she entered a church? She couldn't remember and now it seemed she had also forgotten how to pray. Her foster parents had introduced her to God and also to the belt. It had been bitter-sweet but mostly bitter living with them. She'd never known her parents, she only knew that their names were Reagan and Lucy Bell. She exhaled slowly and stood up from the wooden bench. She gave the cross one more glance before exiting the church. Lord help her she was going to kill Xavier and send his brain to Hades.

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     Xavier munched slowly on the waffles Margo placed before him on the table and thought about what she would do if she ever found out he was an assassin—someone who killed people like her. He ate some of the eggs and shook his head to diminish the thoughts. He was a killer, yes but he still had a heart. No, he didn't like her as more than a friend but somehow he wanted to protect her from what he really was. 

     "Margo?" He dropped the unfinished waffle back unto his half empty plate. 

     "Yes?" He could hear her from behind him. 

     "What would you do if I died?" He looked down into the murky brown liquid, picked up a spoon and twirled it around.  

     A moment of silence. "Cry, hold a memorial then I guess...try to move on."  

     He smiled. It was a sad smile and it didn't quite reach his eyes. "That means you would miss me?" 

     "Of course! Who wouldn't?" She seemed genuinely puzzled by his questions.  

     A lot of people, were his thoughts. He turned his body around in the chair and stared at her. 

     "If you died, I'd miss you." He said and he knew he meant it.

     She shrugged. "What's all this nonsense about death anyway? What happened to my witty Xavier?" 

     "Oh he's still here." He paused. "Only sometimes I just have to ask odd questions to you know..." She didn't know and he didn't know either. So instead of finishing his sentence he indulged himself once more in his food. There was once a time in his life where he had everybody but also had nobody. He had known almost everybody, been invited to all the parties and not to forget the numerous girlfriends; but he had known deep down that none of those people would like him for who he really was. Sometimes, he didn't like himself either. So he'd cut down on his 'friends' until he was left with only Margo and a small un-known agency that dealed in assassination.  

     His life had turned out to be one big shit hole but he wasn't complaining. Life was unfair and no amount of bleach would change that.

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     That night Francesca visited the pub again; it was tuesday and not so packed. She still got the stares but walked straight to the bar. She smiled when she saw the same bartender that had been there the saturday before. 

     "Hello." She waved at him. "Remember me?"  

     He moved over to her. His dark hair caught into a mohawk and his mouth smiling. "Of course. Not a lot of women come in here."  

     "I can see why." She said. "Well can I ask you a question?"  

     "Hmm...hmm." He nodded.  

     "That man." She nodded towards the room at the back. "Does he come here every Saturday?...or on other days too?" 

     The bartender seemed to think about his answer. 

     "No." He shook his head. "Only on saturdays and you can never be sure which saturday he'll pop in here." 

     "Hmm..." She exhaled. "He pays for the room?"  

     The bartender grinned. "Of course! Big bucks. He gives me a hundred on top of that everytime he's around. Nice man." 

     "Oh really?" She mentally snorted. Nice man? Then heck, she was the greatest person in the world.  

     "Yes. Is there a problem?" He cocked a pierced brow. 

     "No, not at all. He was just so nice to me the other day I wanted to really thank him. Of course I have no way of contacting him..." She looked towards the door.  

     "I think he'll be in this saturday."  

     She flashed him a grin. "What time does he usually come in?" 

     "Around six...stays until eleven or so." 

     She rummaged about in her bag, found a folded twenty and passed it to him. 

     "Thank you."  

     He took it and pushed it into his pocket. "Anything for a pretty lady with a generous hand. Name's Bill by the way." 

     "Thank you Bill." She said again, slung her bag over a shoulder and slid down off the bar stool. 

      "You're welcome." He gave her a wide grin. 

     She simpered then almost pushed her way out of the bar. 

     Outside was cold and a slight drizzle had begun to fall. What a crappy day she had had. Hugging her coat closer she cut the corner of the street. The pub had to have a back door. The rain came in heavy torrents, blurring her vision and pelting her face. Using her soaked sleeve to wipe her face she rounded another corner and walked up the block. The back entrance to the pub should be around...here. She knew it was the back entrance because of all the empty crates of bottles stacked against the wall and a broken sign that dimly read: pub. Looking to her left, right and over her shoulder she tried the door. It was shut tight. She swore under her breath.  

     Saturdays from six...she could handle that. She had better go get her car fixed.