Wouldn't Hurt A Fly

The rest of the party members lie in heaps on the floor around Flynn. Meanwhile he presses his nunchucks farther into the leader’s throat. The man is off-balance, sweating like a pig as he is being pushed back over his desk. He stutters with no hope for words. Flynn, seemingly unphased, pats the pockets on his outfit like he’s looking for his car keys. Suddenly he stops and glares with renewed fury into the eyes of the leader.

“I dropped my BlueCoast punch card. I was one taco away from free nachos.” A mobile phone buzzes on the desk. Flynn picks it up. “Yeah, what’s up?”

    “I’m sorry. Where’s Harold?” a woman says concerned. Harold squirms.

    “Oh he’s busy at the moment. Can I take a message?”

    “Well I actually was just going to remind him that Julia’s recital is at seven.”

    “Oh well I’m sure he’ll do his best to be there. Have a nice night miss.” He hangs up.

“Well looks like we better wrap this up. You’ve got somewhere to be, and I’ve got Mexican food to find.”

Flynn reaches into a pocket, pulls out a dagger and jabs it into Harold’s jugular. Blood spurts out at high speed and in high volume; in a few moments Harold’s body slumps onto his desk, and he joins his comrades in their silent heaps.

    Flynn turns and saunters out of the room, typing in a search for the nearest taco joint.

                         ••••••••••••

    Flynn walks into a stale warehouse, munching on his fourth Dorito taco. He passes many aisles before turning down one and approaching the oh-so-common-evil-mastermind-silhouette.

The silhouette says,“So I assume this means the job is done?”

“Cut the drama, Jerry. When have I ever not finished a job?”

Jogging into the light, Jerry responds, “Man you never let me have any fun. Next time I’m getting an interrogation lamp and a white cat.” He hands Flynn a wad of cash. “You’re next assignment is a doozy.”

Unamused, Flynn claims,“Wow, a ‘doozy’ sounds intriguing.” He folds the cash and throws it in a mint tin labeled TACO FUNDS.

“Yeah….um…. you'll be working with a team…” He looks down at his shoes expecting to be punched into the next dimension. A mouse squeaks in the silence.

Fiddling with a throwing star, Flynn replies, “Ha that's funny Jerry you should be a comedian. I mean honestly that was some of your best work because you know, like we've discussed, I work alone.” He glares at Jerry and flings the throwing star. Shortly, the last gasp of a mouse is heard and then a tumbling of its body from a shelf.

“Hey now, I promise the pay is worth it. You'll get your cut of what you all take. It's not just an assassination job. You'll barely see the other people. You each have very specific jobs.”, Jerry mumbles through this, never taking a breath.

“What’s our objective and where did you find these people then?”

                         ••••••••••••

The heist was panned to a T, with multiple scenarios and alternate routes. Flynn never really understood how Jerry could be both a strategic genius and a cowardly wimp. It seemed more believable that Jerry somehow obtained a modern day Einstein than the idea that this noodle of a man had a brain the size of a melon. Who knows, maybe he was Rembrandt of criminal planning, maybe he even knew what Flynn was going to do.

    The briefings offered an alias for every member of the team along with descriptions of what they’d be doing on this mission along with those scenario predictions. There was also a map of the estate and information on the vault and its contents.

First in the plot was Sally Ride who would hack into the estate’s defense systems. After she shut down the fence and turned off the cameras and silent alarm, Flynn comes up from behind her. He reaches around and plunges a KA-BAR between her ribs and into her heart. He leaves her lying there beside her equipment.

Next is Dwayne “the Rock” Johnson who would take out the guards at the entrances and exits. What he didn’t know is that Flynn had already assassinated all eight guards. So when he walks up to the front entrance the only person there is Flynn. He starts by throwing a gas canister. As the air around the brute fills with burning vapor, Flynn throws his knives into the target points on Dwayne’s back with each one Dwayne calls out until the coup de grat when he hits the ground and is silenced forever.

The last team member was titled Lalaloopsy. Her job was to distract the owner of the estate so X could kill him. X was Flynn’s alias and in his opinion he’d never needed help killing someone before so why would this time be any different. He spots her before she enters the building. She was smaller so Flynn quickly incapacitated her then snapped her neck.

Now all that was left was to complete the mission: assassinate the owner and crack the vault. The assassination was simple. When Flynn entered the building, the man was counting down loudly for some inconceivable purpose. He found him standing out in the open facing a column. Flynn busted the man’s head into the plastered column between 55 and 54. The counting stops. Now for the heist.

Flynn enters the room before the vault. There is one faithful light right in front of the gold plated door. As he takes a step forward a child appears centered in front of the door. He’s around seven or eight with honey colored hair. He’s wearing teenage mutant ninja turtle PJs and holding a blue plastic lightsaber in his right hand.

    Shifting the lightsaber into a defensive position the child proclaims, “D-daddy said the bad men were here. That we play hide-and-seek. But I wanna fight. I’m like a ninja turtle. Michelangelo is my favorite. Wha-which, do you like which turtle the most?” He pauses and waits briefly for an answer before continuing. “Daddy keeps his special stuff in here. Not sure why because I keep all my candy in my pillow. It’s much safer with —”

The child’s monologue is cut short by the katana that slits his throat. He sputters then his lightsaber clatters on the floor, soon followed by his adolescent body. The blood pools around this mere fifty pound juvenile, soaking into his green pajamas that had incited so much confidence and gusto.

Flynn steps over the boy’s warm yet lifeless body not with care but with caution so as to avoid getting his new combat boots stained with red. To Flynn the boy’s existence was nothing more than the blip of a notification that was quickly dismissed.

Reaching the door panel, Flynn enters the combination specified in Jerry’s ever altered plan. Pressing the fifth key awakens the mechanisms in the wall. On the other side of these shifts and clicks awaits enough money to pay for, well, at least a year of tacos or perhaps he would buy his own personal taco shop. He begins dreaming about it as the vault door opens, revealing the shiny boxes inside. There are over one hundred boxes, but Flynn only needs the one. Number 42. It contains the Empress’s Sapphire which is probably the equivalent or possibly more valuable than the famous Pink Panther.

This is it, he’ll find number 42, take the sapphire, get out of here, grab some tacos, rendezvous with Jerry, get paid, buy a taco place, and live the rest of his days in heaven. No one could stop him or so he thought. When he finds 42, there standing between him and his dreams is his worst enemy, the ultimate boss, the lightweight champion, Flynn’s lifelong torturer, the only thing that could stop this murderous wreck of a man. His red eyes stare and consume Flynn’s soul. He rubs his hands together in anticipation of his victory. His wings are prepared for battle, but it seems there won’t be one. At the sight of the fly, Flynn has crumpled weeping. He rocks himself on the floor. How could anyone harm a fly? They are innocent, lacking in thought, and only have days to live. Who would dare to shorten such a meaningless existence? Flynn could not and would not. Instead he would lie here on his final mission, meters away from the child he slew and seconds from his vanquisher, and he would bawl his eyes out.