Siren

And So It Begins

A searing pain burned behind my eyes just being in the vicinity of the club's strobe lights. Even behind the protection of my sunglasses, the bright, light glared painfully into my eyes. None the less, I had a job to complete, and complete it I would. I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd of drunk partiers until I came to the very back of the club. I shoved open a side door and slipped inside, before making my way up some stairs, and onto the little overhang where the wires for the lights were kept. From here I could see every single face in the crowd. The blaring music and strobe lights a thing of the past as I relaxed against a side wall and analyzed each face, looking for my client. Here the client wanted to meet, so here we will meet. I pulled a little silver lighter from my pocket and a pack of cigarettes. Now normally I don't smoke on the job, but places like this make me anxious. I pulled a cigarette from the pack, lit it, put my pack and lighter away and took a long drag of my cigarette. I pulled it away and sighed expelling a puffy greyish white cloud of smoke. I placed a hand on the railing of the catwalk and leaned over examining, watching, the people below. I took another drag of my cigarette and blew a smoke ring when a voice called out to me.

"Do you always smoke on the job?" I didn't turn around, I knew who he was, a regular client, by the name of Aaron Rodgers, he was haughty, arrogant, and vain, but he was rich, his wallet was practically lined in green. He was a good client, was straightforward, and to the point if not a bit flirty, tells us what he wants down and how he wants it done, but says if you can do it better than that and still get the reaction I want, do it. I've never dealt with him personally but I've heard stories from my higher-ups, done a few jobs that were assigned to me from my higher-ups by him. The only problem is, he wants to meet.

I smirk, but keep my back to him. My black hoodie obscuring my facial features, leaving just my blue eyes showing in the half-light. "Not always, but here you wanted to meet. So here I am." I saw him mimic my pose out of the corner of my eye, his elbows resting on the railing, half slouched, dressed in a nice crisp black suit with sunglasses, it was apparent he wasn't exactly here to lay low. His sharp features, handsome in the light, a medium stubble lined his face, giving him a rugged look, his hair was styled, nicely groomed and sleeked, I could smell his hair gel, cologne, and the half ate mint in his mouth. His hair gel was an expensive one, I recognized it to be Baume Bois De Rose, a French hair gel, his cologne was heavy, it brands one of my bosses wore once and immediately hated it, complaining of the smell all day, it was Cuir, another French product. His breath reeked of mint, it was an Altoid, cheap, but strong, he had used three of them in the last hour.

"I thank you for that. I understand you do not meet with clients very often." He turned towards me, took his sunglasses off and flashed me a gleaming award-winning a smile. I bared my teeth back at him, although he couldn't see, as the lower half of my face was basked in shadow. I hated playboys and flirts, but I was here to get an assignment. I lifted my cigarette to my lips to take a drag. "Yes. Well. My superior was previously engaged, and sent me to greet you." I blew a smoke ring into the open air.

"What do you need." "A man, his name is Clark Jones, make it look like an accident, but make it public. If you succeed your payment will be in a trash bag on the roof of this building." "How much?" I turned my head toward him "10,000" hmm. Not bad. "Do we have a deal?" He held his hand out. "Yes, sir we do." I grasped his hand and we shook.

Aaron Rodgers

The blaring music and strobe lights around me brought a sense of comfort. The dancers and the drunks swung and bounced to the timing of the music. I took a look around me, the dark corners held couples kissing, and the goths drinking in the shadows, above the lights there was the overhanging smell of smoke and alcohol. I was nervous, my palms were sweaty. The man I was supposed to meet had been busy and sent one of his workers, the one who did most of the bloodier jobs to meet me. I gathered myself up and made my way up the stairs and onto the catwalk. There a few feet in front of me was a woman. She was leaning on the railing and leisurely smoking a cigarette. I composed myself quickly. "Do you always smoke on the job?" The woman blew a smoke ring. "Not always, but here you wanted to meet. So here I am." She flicked some ash off her cigarette and continued to smoke, not once had she met my eyes, as her boss had always done. "I thank you for that. I understand you don't meet with clients very often." I flashed her a smile, she brought her cigarette to her lips and before taking a drag, spoke. "Yes. Well. My superior was previously engaged, and sent me to meet you." She took a long drag of it and blew a smoke ring absently. "What do you need?" She asked me casually. I hastily explained the situation and what I wanted to be done. The cigarette in her hand was lifted up towards her mouth. She stayed silent for a moment, absentmindedly puffing on the cigarette.

In a minute she had shaken my hand. I had signed another man's death warrant, but the woman before me chilled me more than if I was staring into the eyes of death himself.