Silence... I lived in it for over twelve years, I took it as a gift; nurtured the sweet feeling of lonesome, feed the still movements in the world all while sleeping with the void sound of nothing. Silence... I truly do miss it and sure as hell would invite it with open arms and a shotgun to the head rather than sit in a small car with a young woman that didn't know how to sit still.
The radio was blasting, playing a very annoying rock song that young people would listen to today; it only wanted me to drive hood first off a bridge. Blondie danced in her seat while munching on the large apple we picked up on the side of the road, her feet rested on the dashboard, and eyes looked out the window to discover all the nature and farmland. To keep my sanity, I turned down the radio to release my ears from the sound of screeching death.
"Hey, I was listening to that." She finally tore her eyes away from the greenery landscape, giving me a cold stare that only reflected back to her.
"The music is trash." I pressed a random button for a random station, one that would be better than the jaws of agony. The faint sound of some old song played in the background, most definitely not in my taste but I can take anything at that moment.
"It's not trash, it's art." Blondie finally took her feet off the dash, it was starting to bother me and I couldn't help but slip into my father's form of mind.
"Screaming about how your life sucks, with a horrible guitar slowly is not art, it's torture. If you want rock music, I'll give you a list of good bands that's good; yeah, a few bands screamed but at least they knew what they were doing." Now I sound like my father, I could hear him laughing at me from his grave. How long ago it was when I was in Blondie's position (only younger) getting a lecture about how music was good back in the old days.
"You're such a stick in the mud, I guess killing people has changed you.. for the better I assume."
If only she knew, killing did not change me, only the mere thought of dying myself. I see death every single day; take it upon myself to take over as if I were playing the reaper for quick cash and the nice thought of taking away one bad guy from this world. I was scared... obviously didn't want to face a barrel of a gun soon without a grand escape.
Blondie threw the apple out the open window of our temporary ride I stole from the neighboring supermarket just down the street from the motel. It was an old timer pick up truck, rust and all, with no form of heating nor a/c, and scratched up leather with buckets of fur lying around- indicating dogs. "When you killed the man who ruined your life, did you regret it?"
"Rule two."
She immediately clammed up and stared out the window, unfortunately her silence didn't last too long. "I know you have these rules, but how do you expect time to go fast if we don't talk to one another?"
"I'm not sharing my personal information with you."
"Because you don't trust me or anyone at that matter."
"Damn right."
The truck turned silent once again, this time holding a longer form before Blondie opens up her mouth. "If one would get in this business, how would they make a client? To remind you, it's not personal, it's business."
I huffed mainly to myself, knowing that I said no questions back at the motel. "First you gain connections, depending on the type and how much money they ask fo, you'll hit the big clients. Also, you have to have some form of training, either with martial arts, computer hacking, or even arts of seduction; you have to have something the people want."
"What do you have?"
"Certainly not hacking."
"Seduction?"
YOU ARE READING
Honey Trap
Action"Count backwards from ten." The words escaped my mouth, echoing off the walls until they hit the old man's ears. He flinched, I could smell the sweat pouring out his pores, along with the shit he just dumped in his slacks. "Ten," He finally spoke o...
