Making A Killing

Meet Vi

18964238653 spelling mistakes incoming!!! D:

 

 

There was a man outside my house.

I could see him shuffling around just a little way from my garden gate. 

I'd been peeking at him through the curtains for eight minutes now, couldn't make up my mind wether he was being shifty or not. I mean, I did live next to a rather busy road, cars flew past all the time people going places, there was probably a million good reasons why fate had brought him there. He could be waiting on a mate, or a taxi? Or...he could be waiting to steal all my valuables.

He didn't much look like a burglar, but then again I've learned its the ones that don't that you've got to suspect. The dark horses. I knew only too well what I was on about, I'd lived in this street for almost three years now and no one, not even the wannabe Mrs. Betty Crocket next door knew that I frequently snuck out in the dead of night to parttake in some espionage. Not that, that was a bad thing we're sort'a told to keep it on the down low.

The suits like to call me an 'intelligence officer', personally I'd like something more along the lines of 'Serial Badass' but they threw that one out at the staff meeting, muttered something about it being too unprofessional, I told them to leave it with me. 

Ten minutes now. 

Busy taxi company maybe? On a Wednesday morning? I think not. My paranoia was about to soar to new heights when a red Punto pulled up at the kerb and my would be burglar hurriedly climbed in. I watched it drive away and let out a breath I wasn't really aware I was holding, a fat raindrop splattered on the window infront of me as I pulled back from the curtains. From what I saw it was a grey day, the clouds hung low and I decided that it wouldn't make much difference wether I opened the curtains or not, so I saved myself the trouble and left them closed.

I tried to avoid looking at my bed because I knew I'd feel the overwhelming urge to jump back in. Unfortunately I also knew that the real world was already knocking on the door, so to speak, the flashing light on my phone told me that. The thought filled me with a sense of dread, how I longed to be in the Bahamas with a tequila in my hand, if I closed my eyes I could almost feel the suns rays beating down on me. There was nothing more I wanted in life, except maybe Eric from True Blood.

Yum.

I had no doubt that the person that had tried to contact me was my wonderfully annoying handler named Mrs. White, in other words, she was the person that told me, where to be, when to be there and what to do. Our relationship was almost perfect she had her bit down to a tee, all my job was to turn up and not die. The only problem was that I couldn't stand her, and I kinda got the feeling she felt the same way probably from all those times she told me she didn't give a rat's ass wether I lived or died. 

I'd been with Mrs. white since I was thirteen years old and by god, I swear the woman doesn't age I mean she was old when I met her but somehow the horrible witch didn't look like she'd aged a day. I've often wondered if her bed is really a cryogenic chamber and that, that's how she manages it. 

Just as i was thinking about her, the phone rang. I didn't much feel like talking yet, so I ignored it and continued getting dressed. The day was dreary so I could be too, jeans and a t-shirt were on the menu. Despite the dull colour it was quite humid out, the arrival of summer almost guarrenteed rain here in Scotland, heaven forbid there ever be any sun. I stopped to stare into my full length mirror, I couldn't even muster the strength to care about what I looked like, my skin was paler than it had been in a good while, blue eyes that i had always reckoned where far too big for my head stared back and my long blonde hair hung in a wavy mess down my back, i shurgged and hoped people would assume it was the look I was going for.