Assassin (A Crobby Fanfic)

Chapter 2

The road became quiet after nine o'clock at night. Bobby was flying about his living room, scrambling to clean up the bottles and books. In a few minutes, Jody would be at the doorstep with homemade pie for dinner.

When the expected knock on the door came, Bobby shoved a casing of rifle bullets into his desk and went to greet Jody. What he didn't expect was to see a mafia leader at his doorsteps. The sniper's hand immediately latched onto his hidden pistol, bringing its barrel to aim straight at Crowley's head.

"Mister Singer. Pleasure, etcetera. I see you've spiffied up a bit. Expecting a date?"

Bobby glared at the British man. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm here on business."

"I'm busy," Bobby snapped. "Wait till tomorrow or something."

Crowley held the door before Bobby could slam it in his face. "This is important. At least hear me out."

"If you're going to ask me to join your little club of killers, you'd be wasting my time."

"I'm not asking you to join," Crowley said soberly. "As you know, I'm not the only mafia leader out there."

"How'd you figure that out?"

He ignored the sniper. "Heaven's Army. A misnomer, I'm sure, for what kind of heaven could they enter from all the killings they've done? But that's besides the point. That mafia group is challenging me. They're coming into my territory and destroying my men, demanding I surrender."

"Uh-huh. And what exactly are you asking of me?" Bobby said impatiently. "Snipe the leader?"

Crowley grinned. "Of course not. I want information. Their arsenals, their weak-points, their members."

"And why would I know those things?"

"Because you used to lead them."

Bobby's expression darkened.

"You were the leader of the Hunters, the name of Heaven's Army before it was changed. Obviously, you're not the leader now. A new lad stepped up and took your place when you abandoned the mafia and lived off the grid. But I'm sure there are still some people there that you know who could help."

"What do I get in return? You seem like a businessman, so I doubt you didn't come here to give me much of a choice."

Crowley's eyes seemed to gleam in delight, a malicious look on him. "Smart man. Well, as this is a special day, it would be a shame to ruin it. You're not the only sniper here, Robert. In fact, I'm quite the sharpshooter myself. Your new friend might find herself in a bloody predicament."

Bobby glared. "And what if I shoot you first?"

"You could, but then that's instant death to Miss Mills and her two daughters back at Sioux Falls. Oh, she didn't tell you? Doesn't matter, either way. You better plan your next moves carefully, Robert."

"Bobby!" came Jody's voice, making Bobby quickly hide his gun as she rushed to him with a pan of pie wrapped in her hands. "You brought a friend? Hello! I'm Jody Mills." She shifted the baked treat so she could extend a hand.

Crowley looked at her with a fake smile. "Crowley." He shook her hand stiffly.

"He was just leaving," Bobby grumbled, eyes not leaving the mafia leader.

"What? No way. Come on in, Crowley. We've got plenty of pie to go around!"

"He's very busy," Bobby replied.

"If the lady insists, how could I say no?" Crowley said.

Jody stepped inside. "Alrighty. It's settled then!"

Bobby shot a warning look at Crowley before following Jody inside.

Throughout the night, Bobby kept a close eye on Crowley, making sure he wasn't too close to Jody or vice versa. Jody bade them goodnight when she left, leaving the men to their alcohol. Crowley hadn't touched his bottle, but Bobby was already on his seventh.

"You seem fond of her," Crowley mused, absentmindedly swirling the beer in his bottle.

"Jody? Yeah, well, she's the only one that's been decent to me in this neighborhood." Bobby took a sip, putting his bottle back on the table heavily with a clank. "Actually, she's the only one who'd be close enough to call a friend. A friend who doesn't shoot people for a living, that is."

"She's a cop," Crowley stated, eyes flickering up to look at Bobby.

"A cop that hunts down criminals like us," Bobby added before finishing his beer.

"Criminals," Crowley murmured slowly, as if to test a new word on his tongue. "Criminals."

"What, never been called that before?"

"I've been called much worse, darling." The King of Hell sat back on his chair. "I merely find it odd that we're considered criminals, even though cops are no better than us. In the long run, they do shoot to kill at times and have committed crimes too, no matter how minor."

Bobby scoffed. "Alright, Plato. I don't need a lecture."

Silence. Both men sat in thought, not sure whether or what to speak. Bobby grabbed another beer bottle and snapped the cap off with his fingers. For a moment, only the sound of gurgling liquid could be heard. Then the bottle was empty.

"You like her?"

Bobby gave a disorientated grunt and reached to get yet another bottle. Crowley grabbed his wrist, handing him his own bottle before drawing back. The tips of his fingers seemed to linger for a second too long, but Bobby didn't notice, not with his nearly drunken stupor.

"Do you like Jody?" Crowley repeated. "Would you like a relationship with her?"

The sniper gave a sputter that must've been an attempt at a scoff or breathy chuckle. "Whass th' matter, Crowley? Ya jealous or somethin'?" he borderline slurred.

Crowley shook his head, cheeks flushing a bit of a pinky red that he brushed off to be caused by the warmth of the summer night. "Forget I asked. No point getting attached if you'll leave me— I mean by death, of course. You'll bite the dust sooner or later. They always do."

"You're a morbid son of a bitch," Bobby muttered, draining half the bottle Crowley handed to him. "I just don't get... why I'm so interested in you."

The mafia leader quirked a brow. "Well, I'm charming, powerful, intelligent, handsome. Take your pick, love."

"No, no, no." Bobby took a moment to finish the rest of his bottle, sighing when not a drop was left. "You keep... popping up in my mind. Maybe I just... wanna kill ya already. Maybe I'm... frustrated that I didn't shoot ya... when I got the chance."

Crowley eyed Bobby's hand as he reached to pat his gun. A dull look leaked through the sniper's sharp eyes, making him seem feeble. Crowley drank in his look, a vulnerable man who has seen too much, sitting tiredly with no will for tomorrow. It startled Crowley that underneath the snarky, paranoid killer was a broken man. Then he began to wonder when the last time he himself allowed who he truly was behind the King of Hell's facade to surface. Crowley pushed the thought away, determined never to show weakness.

"I think... I like you, though," Bobby continued, staring at the empty bottle in his hand with a faraway expression. "That'sss something I'd... won't admit usually."

"You're getting more and more senseless, love," Crowley said softly. "Had one too many to drink." He took the empty bottle away and tossed it with the rest of them. "Go to sleep, Robert. It's nearly twelve."

The assassin groaned, seeming comfortable with falling asleep on the table. Crowley sighed and grabbed him from under his arms, dragging him to the couch with minimal effort. The King of Hell let himself inspect Bobby's sleeping form to make sure he wasn't in a highly hazardous position to roll off the couch. Crowley's dark eyes softened for the quickest of seconds at the sight of the sniper's serene state.

Bobby suddenly grunted in discomfort. A bad dream, Crowley assumed as he turned to leave before anyone could catch him associating so peacefully with his assassin.