The Hit

Chapter Eight

 We drove to my storage unit in silence. Alissa looked nervous and sat right up against the door, almost molding her body into it. I couldn't blame her. She had no reason to trust me. As far as she knew I was a serial killer. I could be taking her to a torture chamber or to dump her in the woods somewhere. I felt bad. I knew she was sacred, probably confused and angry. I wanted to try to justify everything to her, to tell her everything, but I couldn't build the courage to start the conversation. I knew she likely had no interest in it anyway.

 "Lets go." I said as I turned the car off after parking outside the storage unit building. She glared at me but got out of the car. I showed her in holding onto her arm, making sure I was in control of where she was going. I had to unlock the padlock on the door with one hand which proved more difficult than it should have been. The tension in the air grew thicker every second I failed to accomplish the task. I finally got it, opened the door, ushered her in, and closed the door behind us. I let go of her arm, she moved to stand against the wall furthest from where I was attaching the padlock to lock the unit from inside.

 I went to the back of the unit where a safe was located. I pulled out a duffel bag with just over four hundred thousand dollars in cash and two additional hand guns. I placed them on the table and put the guns in the bag. I opened the locker next to it and pulled out some clothes, placing those on the table as well. I gathered up all of the files from my previous cases, forty eight including Alissa. I put those in the duffel as well. They should have been destroyed, but that was the least of my transgressions at this point.

 "I know they won't fit you well, but if you want to change." I said, pointing to the clothes. She looked at them then back to the floor, never looking at me. I pulled out a pair of jeans, a Slayer t shirt and a pair of tennis shoes. She remained with her eyes on the floor. I changed and opened the laptop on the table. I needed to know where Gerald lived.

 I worked for a few minutes before saying "we can't stay here long, there are security cameras, if they are connected to the web in any way they won't be far behind us".

 "Who?" she asked meekly.

 "The people I work" I paused, "The people I worked for".

 "Who are they?"

 "I honestly don't know. They have a company that works as a front that I am employed by, it's all compartmentalized."

 "Why would they want me dead?" She questioned confidently, as if trying to catch me in a lie.

 "I don't know for sure, but I imagine it has something to do with Thomas Cassil."

 She looked up, "What?"

 "You just met him last night" I said. "I was there, in the bar".

 "You were stalking me?"

 "Not stalking, that's how we gather information."

 "You really are a fucking creep. What kind of information could you need to kill me. I don't believe you. You're sick!"

 I couldn't disagree. "Everything. We need to know everything about our targets."

 The look of disgust on her face was hard to stomach. I understood. I wasn't sure how to convince her I wasn't really a creep. I didn't do it for thrills, it was just a job. That's all it had been for me, I hadn't questioned it until recently. Over the last few hours I had effectively quit because of her. There really wasn't any quitting though. That I knew.

 Alissa slowly approached the table and started going through the few articles of clothing. I only kept a few shirts and a couple different types of pants. She picked up a pair of black basketball shorts and Metallica t shirt. She looked at me with a look that told me she expected me to do something that I wasn't.

 "Sorry" I said, realizing she meant for me to turn around. I complied with the silent request. I would have preferred to keep an eye on her, but that would be a creep move and I owed her whatever she wanted. After a minute I glanced over my shoulder catching her fixing the bottom of the shirt. I turned back around and gave her a look. The shorts came to below her knees and were cinched tight. The shirt was oversized and all but made her sizable breasts disappear. It was a stark difference between the way she looked the last few nights. Even so she was beautiful.

 I handed her a pair of flip flops. They were oversized, but better than shoes that were far too large and much better than her high heels. I slammed the computer closed.

 "We will get you better clothes later. Lets go."