Retrospections of a Poetic Cutthroat (H. S. AU)

Prologue

Hi there! Thanks for stopping by! Here is the prologue of a story that's been nagging me for quite a while. If you like this I might post the rest of it soon! Feedback makes me happy!

ONWARD!!!

*****

Another ordinary day.

The man only known as Mr. J looks on ahead with a dead gaze as he fiddles absentmindedly with the buttons of his expensive looking shirt. There's something between exhaustion and boredom written all over his face if the deep bags or wrinkled forehead are any indication of it. Almost uninterested he waits and waits and waits. 5, 10, 30 minutes.

He scowls suddenly, calm demeanor thrown out the window as he glances at his watch with narrowed eyes and a grimace twisting his pudgy lips. The man is not used to having to wait for anyone. He's constructed all his life so that it's always him dishing out orders, him ruling with an iron fist, him being praised and respected and waited for and never the other way round. Maybe it came to be like that because he's done all in his power to climb up to the top, to forget where he came from, to leave behind his life as a simple farmer's son and build an empire around himself. Now here he was, at the top of his game and at the helm of arguably the best law firm that London has seen in the last 60 years.

So naturally a man of his caliber would grow impatient after having already arrived at the agreed upon meeting place almost an hour beforehand with the person he was to meet still nowhere in sight.

He spins around slowly and can only wish to get it over with if only because the place was bizarre at best and downright frightening at worst. The street is deserted, the buildings all look abandoned with not even a flick of a light bulb at any of the windows, the wind is blowing in his face and he is freezing, cursing himself for not taking a thicker coat or some gloves.

The outskirts of the city. Definitely the last place where he thought he'd find himself on a Tuesday night.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives an almost unnoticeable shiver when a gust of wind hits his bald head full force. Hurry it up already.

And then he isn't alone anymore. Someone is awkwardly clearing their throat behind him and he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees a pair of striking forest green eyes peering at him.

"About damn time!" Mr. J snarls, his whole face twisting into a hideous frown. "You have what I asked for, I hope?"

The green eyed stranger nods once, revealing a cheery smile. "Sure I do. It's going to cost you 300 quid though."

Mr. J fixes the young man with an incredulous stare. "It's not what we agreed on, you bastard. 3 grams for 200 is what you offered so that's what you get. Not a penny more."

The stranger pulls a small package from his jacket pocket and dangles it in front of the weary lawyer with ease. "Times are hard when you try to make a living in this industry, unfortunately. The price is up. No money, no sugar. Besides, you wouldn't want the whole city to know of your little problem now, would you?

The lawyer makes a grab for the small bag, in a desperate attempt to get it and get the hell out of there before something entirely unpleasant happened. Others could jump out and maul him in a split second. Damn dealers are so paranoid nowadays, they never move alone anymore. "It's me against a nobody like you!" he squeaks, his breath coming out in short puffs. "Who'd believe you anyway, huh?! Do you know who I am?!"

For a moment he pulls his eyes away from the man and the next he's pushed backwards into an even darker alley, away from the main road. Losing his balance, Mr. J falls against the brick wall with a groan. When he tries to sit up the stranger is in his face again with a steady gloved hand coiled around his neck in a tight grip and his earlier smile nowhere to be seen.

"Look at you." The young man all but spits disdainfully, his wild eyes trained on him the entire time. "You call yourself an upstanding citizen, a defender of those in dire need; you call yourself an honest man, a good husband, a father. And all it takes is a little bag of powder to reduce you to a squabbling mess. You know what you are?" He squeezes Mr. J's neck slowly until the older man is struggling to breathe. "You're pathetic and you disgust me."

Mr. J tries in a last attempt to throw the man off of himself, to scratch and kick and thrash in hopes of loosening the hand around his neck and get some oxygen into his starved off lungs. The grip only becomes tighter, the longer he struggles. His arms go limp at his sides, his eyes roll to the back of his head and the last thing he hears before he loses himself in permanent unconsciousness is something he'll remember even in the afterlife if such a thing ever existed.

"By the hands of Death itself, your life is forfeit."

*****

It starts raining sometime afterwards. The clouds burst alive with the roar of thunder and tiny droplets come crashing down to wash away the bitter aftertaste of a clean murder. Under the cover of darkness and with a lonesome witness in the form of the partially covered moon he waits around a bit, gets drenched to the skin as he takes in the last horrid expression on the face of one Mr. J. The baggy is deposited into said Mr. J's hand and he stares at it in disgust. 'Substance abuse was your downfall, my friend.'

On the muddy ground with his knees pulled up to his chest and staring ahead pensively he almost misses the gentle pat on his shoulder. He makes no move to look up, the reassuring gesture is enough for him to know that he's safe, he hasn't been caught.

"A bit anticlimactic isn't it?" the newcomer echoes with amusement. "For all the trouble I am positive you went through just to get him out of his inner sanctum he sure looks like a horrendous primate, even in death. Not worth the effort, if you ask me."

"I want more. "

The newcomer produces a small, blood red flower from within the folds of his raincoat and throws it haphazardly onto the lifeless body without sparing it more than a glance. "I know you do." He sighs. "I know you."

He sits up, runs a hand through his damp, curly hair and watches as the newcomer exits the alley unhurriedly. Time to go then.

Sparing the poor, hunched figure one last disheartened look he follows his accomplice into the night.

"Such a pretty flower for such an ugly corpse."

*****

That's it for now! Liked it? Hated it? Let me know in the comments!

Bye! ^_^