Vengeance by the Numbers ((LitShark & GaelicLover))

[LitShark]

((This post is a collaboration by GaelicLover and LitShark))

It had been a few days since the funeral, but I still wasn't feeling any better. I know there was a period to grieve, I'd heard about the stages, but after the initial shock, all I felt was anger. Perhaps rage would be a more apt way to describe it. I sat down in my father’s office, sitting on the plush leather chair behind his desk and looking out at the room. It smelled of cigars and brandy, and the only mar on his leather desk was a ring from his brandy glass. He always had a small snifter of brandy every night, puffing away on his cigar as he discussed business with his partners. I never knew what my father did, but he was a rich man.

The clock on the wall whistled at me, its gears whirring comfortingly. It was already midnight. I stood from his chair, running my hand along the edge of the desk and made my way to my mother’s dressing room. Looking at the shelves of her clothing and beautiful shoes, I felt an ache in my heart. I missed her. I missed both of them.

I stood there in their room, uncertain of what to do with myself. I hadn’t eaten in a few days, not having much of an appetite…the echoes of assassination ringing in my ears had made it difficult to stomach food. I couldn’t believe that they had been assassinated.

Why?

Who would gain from their deaths? My mother was such a kind woman, she volunteered with the homeless. My father, he gave money where he needed to, but he had always been a kind businessman…unless there was a darker secret here I didn’t understand. I paced the dark hallway, the gas lamps turned down low at this time of the night. The house creaked downstairs and I ignored it; just the floorboards settling. I’d heard it a thousand times.

I walked back into my father’s office, turning up the lamps and sitting back down in his high backed chair. Taking a deep breath, I broke my father’s concrete rule and started rifling through his desk drawers. He was dead, it wasn’t like he was going to come back and yell at me. I stuffed down the ill-conceived giggle, feeling guilty, and tried to quickly read through the worn type. He’d always been neglectful of the typewriter. There were files on his business deals and on the personal purchases of the household…but nothing about anything worth being assassinated.

With a sigh I opened up the thin drawer at the top where he kept his pens and pocket watches. I slid my hands over my favorite one, an ornate little thing with silver gears and a gold face, all surrounded by glass like a marble. It magnified the decorative little hands and it made no sound, so surrounded by glass as it was. I dutifully wound the crown dial and set the time; it had been neglected so long. My father never carried it, it was clearly meant for a woman (the chain was a necklace) and my mother had never been concerned with the time to care.

I took the gold chain in my hands and placed it over my head. I’d take care of it; I’d hate to see the poor thing be neglected any longer. There was a pad of paper inside, and I pulled it out noticing my father’s ornate writing. I angled it towards the light and read it.

“I don’t know why I’m writing this, but I have the feeling that if I don’t, there will be things left forever unexplained. My name is Jonathan Dare II, and if I should die, I leave behind a wife, Martha Dare, and my darling daughter Catherine. I haven’t much time, the house is too quiet and I fear something lurks in the shadows. My recent partnership with the Besswicks has brought nothing but trouble. I can say nothing more, if my curious Cat should find this then forget you’ve ever read this darling, please, I can’t bear thinking of you getting mixed up in this. I pray it ends with me.”

My blood ran cold at the letter and I held it close to my heart. What had he been involved in?

I groaned and rested my head on the desk, inhaling the baked in scent of cigars and brandy. It was a soothing smell, wrapping me in a warm cocoon of hazy memories. Scooting the chair closer and placing my arms under my head, shutting my eyes. No one would care if I fell asleep here, there was no one left to care. A tear slipped down my face as I fell asleep, listening to the whirring of the clocks in my father’s office.

***

Salazar had been growing impatient for three days straight, keeping his head down, staying out of sight, going stir crazy. He had no desire to remain any longer than he had to, in this painfully affluent sub-district. He’d smoked their expensive imported cigars, drunk their barrel aged whiskey and did what they couldn’t do for themselves. Now it was time for him to collect and move on, far away from this place. Of course, the collecting was proving far more difficult than it should have.

“Damnit, Keith. I’ve been patient for three days now, I need my payment.” Sal barked at the bespectacled bartender who had been trying hard to avoid notice. “Call up to his office again. I shouldn’t have to remind you that the services have already been rendered.”

“You shouldn’t and don’t, Mr. LeChance.” The weary bartender replied with practiced ease. “You shall surely receive all the recompense that you have been promised. Mr. Besswick’s word is good as gold.”

“I’d rather have the gold and sell the words for all they’re worth.” Sal muttered, leaning forward onto the bar, steel blue eyes darting up toward the staircase. “Pour me another shot Keith. I’ll hope for both of our sake that it’s my last.”

As instructed, Keith the bartender poured a small glass full of brown liquid and went back to his routine of polishing the same glass he’d been scrubbing for the full two hours that Sal had been waiting; trying to appear distracted to avoid more awkward conversation with his dissatisfied patron. Once Sal had poured the small glass of whiskey down his throat, he slapped down the glass and turned away from the bar.

“Mr. LeChance.” The soft, female voice came from behind, quickly directing Sal’s attention back to the staircase. “The Boss will see you now. Thank you so much for your patience.”

It wasn’t tough to tell why it was that Besswick had chosen the busty blond to be his personal assistant, but there was something about Bess’ favorite girl that bespoke a deeper and more insidious sort of cunning behind those shiny blue eyes. Her complete lack of fear demonstrated clearly to Sal that she not only knew more of his personal business than he would have liked, but also was well versed in the art of death herself.

A beautiful killer- there were few things so dangerous and enticing.

“About damn time.” Sal grumbled, taking a long look at his pocket watch from its pocket in his dusty, black waistcoat. “It better all be counted too.”

“But of course, Sir.” The Assistant answered with a sort of giggle, reasserting how unafraid she was of the impatient contract killer- as though he were nothing more than an idle amusement, among other and more serious endeavors.

Sal grabbed his respirator and goggles from their place on the bar, climbing up the stairs and into the second-story office of his latest difficult client. Besswick was turned around in his rolling leather armchair, looking out through the semicircular window which overlooked the multi-tier civic center below. Only the top of his uncomfortably tall, hat peeked over the edge of the chair. On his desk, two leather bound rectangular cases were waiting.

Salazar smiled as he walked into the office, making his way over to the smaller chair and scooting toward the desk, the chair making an awkward squeal over the hardwood floor. Greedily, Sal slid one of the cases into his lap, lifting up the overlapping flap and handle. His eyes grew wide as he found it to be only half full.

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I was forced to make some amendments to your completion fee. Some unfortunate suspicion of this deed has wafted my way, as I clearly had the most to gain from the untimely departure of Mr. Dare and his wife.” The overweight executive huffed, turning in his chair to face Salazar.

“You said that you wanted to send a message! For there to be no doubt that this was what happened to those who crossed you. That’s what I did.” Sal fumed, quickly opening the other bag to see that it was similarly light. “We had an arrangement!”

“As I’ve just explained, the terms of our arrangement have changed.” Bess grinned, turning to face Sal as the familiar click of his own pistol’s hammer locking into firing position.

The Assistant! She must have lifted his piece on the stairs. In this moment, he knew that he was cornered. He’d had too much to drink, gotten sloppy when it counted most. He’d left himself open to exactly this type of betrayal. Dangerous and enticing. He didn’t have any options left, as it often was. No one is ever conscious of their time until it runs out.

Take the money and run. It wouldn’t be the first time he'd taken that option.

“As I don’t have much of a choice, I accept. Let’s both hope our paths never cross again.” Sal breathed through clenched teeth, consolidating the stacks of bills into one of the cases.

“Let’s both be sure of it. Next time I might not be so generous.” Bess smiled through his greasy, curled mustache. “See him out Miss Steerforth.”

“Of course, Sir. Right this way LeChance.” Steerforth smiled, casually gesturing with the barrel of Sal’s pistol toward the door.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Sal said bitterly, strapping his respirator over his face on his way back to the stairs.

Once outside, Sal reclaimed his pistol and turned toward the rail trolley station, eager to be long rid of this place and all of Besswick’s lackeys. Just as he was poised to put that miserable little hotel and its watered down liquor forever in his rear-view, a petite redheaded girl walked toward him, coming off a trolley. She wore a look that Sal knew too well, a look of bloody intention hovering just behind her expressive green eyes.

It ought to have been none of his business, he ought not to have cared, but as he saw her gather her nerve to cross the street into the Blissful Respite, Sal caught hold of her arm.

“What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Sal thought the girl looked familiar somehow, but couldn’t quite place her. “Because if you go in there looking for trouble, you’re going to find the bottom of a shallow hole.”

 

[GaelicLover]

I couldn’t believe I was doing this…

I sat in the rail trolley, looking at the scrap of paper I clutched fiercely in my grasp. It was my father’s note, and on the back I had scrawled the address of one of Besswick’s many hotels I had found in my father’s files. The rail shuddered to a stop and I moved slowly out; I was the only one getting off at this stop. Nervously, I stared at the hotel, a quaint looking building with some darker looking clientele. Anger clawed through my belly and I set my jaw, clutching the pocket watch around my neck. Besswick was a dirty character; he was rich, he was ruthless, and he didn’t care who he hurt. I was convinced he had killed my parents and I was going to walk in there and demand answers.

I stepped off the curb and started to cross the street quickly before I lost my nerve but I didn’t get far. I was swung around by my own momentum as my arm was grabbed. Eyes flaming, I looked at the man who had grabbed me. Most of his face was covered by the respirator he wore but his eyes made me freeze; they were a shocking steel blue and cold as ice.

“What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He hissed, his voice low as he looked about to see if anyone was watching, “Because if you go in there looking for trouble, you’re going to find the bottom of a shallow hole.”

I recoiled from his harsh and surprisingly accurate words, “How do you know I’m looking for trouble?” I yanked my arm out of his grasp, my arm hurting with the force necessary to separate myself. He glared at me, his eyes narrowing. It was hard to tell much of his emotions with half of his face covered, but I had a feeling his mouth was a thin set line. I gave him back such a glare, “Why the hell do you care? Who are you?”

“I don’t care.” The man scoffed and looked away with a furrow to his brows. “If you want to go in there, it’s your own funeral.”

My stomach twisted as I looked back at the Blissful Respite and the man walked off, shaking his head angrily. I took a hesitant step towards the building, my limbs cold and starting to shake. A shallow grave? I shuddered uneasily and looked back to the man as he turned a corner under a bridge and vanished from sight. I looked once more to the hotel and knew that my nerve was gone. But that man…how had he known what my plans were? Did I truly look that determined?

I took off running after where I had last seen him, pulling my goggles down over my eyes as I followed him down to a lower sub-district where the characters were all hiding their identities. I lowered my chin and kept an eye on the stranger’s back and almost lost him as he darted into an alley but with a quick glance behind me, I followed and was immediately grabbed.

“Is there a reason you’re following me?” He snarled, pulling my goggles off my head. He glanced quickly to the street and shook his head. “You don’t want to follow me.”

“I don’t want to follow you…I don’t want to go in the hotel…” I narrowed my eyes, gritting my teeth, “Tell me, is there anything I want to do?”

“Who are you?” He asked, searching my eyes for the answer.

“I’m not telling you!” I recoiled, almost smacking my head on the brick wall behind me. I tried my best to look intimidating, but he simply raised an eyebrow.

“I can just as easily find out myself.” He threatened. I had no doubt that he would, there was just something about him that screamed honesty…the kind of honesty that got people killed. That was exactly what I needed - he could help me. I knew he could.

“My name is Catherine Dare, and I need your help.” I pleaded, my green eyes wide with uncertainty.

 

[LitShark]

Sal could see the vengeful fire burning behind the young girl’s fierce green eyes as she wrenched her arm free of his grasp emphatically. She reacted abruptly, obviously unnerved at having her intentions read and flustered with adrenaline she’d built up gathering her nerve. She asked why he cared, and Sal was speechless, stunned into momentary silence by her question. Why did he care? What was it to him if this wealthy 1% brat got her face stomped in, her guts raped out or whatever else Besswick’s mind could devise for her? Worse yet, Steerforth might have a few devious ideas for vengeance seekers. Her actions had shown her to be capable of quite low and despicable deeds.

“I don’t care.” Sal spat, as much to remind himself as in answer to her quandary. “If you want to go in there, it’s your funeral.”

It was a shame though, the timepiece dangling around her neck would be wasted on the likes of Besswick and his lackeys. A true marvel of precise engineering, symmetry of moving parts and undeniable monetary value. It would probably be broken in the struggle, lost forever, increasing the value of the few others like it which would survive. Sal shook his head as he turned away from the impetuous teen, thinking about the horrible fate that awaited that lovely clock-face.

Looking toward the rail platform, Salazar realized that he’d missed his trolley. He stomped his foot and swore under his breath. It seemed he’d need to make his escape from this district on foot. An endeavor which would involve sidetracking through the labor housing, with its coal smoke vents and armed gang presence.

Walking into the slum, Sal heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from behind. The girl! As if it weren’t enough for her to make him miss his train, now she was following him. Once again plunging outside of her depth without concern or forethought- she was a constant liability! After turning a blind corner, Sal ducked into a narrow alley between buildings, laying his back against the brick wall. When the girl rounded the corner, he snared her again, spinning her against the wall he’d been leaning against.

“Is there a reason you’re following me?” Sal asked impatiently, pulling the round goggles away from the girl’s eyes, wanting to search them for her intention once again. “You don’t want to follow me.”

She reacted angrily, feigning toughness, but the anger seemed authentic.

“Who are you?” Sal asked warily, loosening his grip on her shoulders. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen her somewhere before. She tried to resist, saying that she wouldn’t tell. “I can just as easily find out myself.”

That was when she introduced herself: Catherine Dare- that was how he knew her. The recently orphaned daughter of the Dares. She wanted him to help her, suddenly he understood why she had come to the Respite, why she looked so full of malice, why she followed. She was looking for vengeance, but hadn’t prepared, hadn’t put in the time and preparation that vengeance required. Sal would have called it suicide.

“Help? What kind of help does a little girl like you need from me anyway Catherine?” Sal asked derisively, catching hold of the timepiece around the girl’s neck and holding it up for inspection. “I don’t help anyone, not for free. Besides, the kind of help I give, you can’t afford.”

 

[GaelicLover]

Perhaps it was having him react to me with the same venom I'd shown him that warned a small part of me I should turn around and walk away. The intelligence glittering behind his eyes intrigued me, but there was a cold there as well that chilled me to the bone. My right hand pulled at the cuff of my jacket nervously and I tried to still myself but I already knew I was loosing my battle with him. He probably already knew how little I knew. I had never even step foot into the slums before today. Sure, I could certainly find my way back; I was clever and what I did know, I hardly ever forgot.

He reached to the bronze chain and pulled the precious timepiece from under my jacket, smiling as he told me I couldn't afford his help. Aha! He'd answered my unasked question. He was either a mercenary or assassin! I knew Besswick was crooked! He probably hired many assassins...if my father thought he was in trouble, it must have been Besswick!

I took the timepiece back with genuine anger, narrowing my eyes and baring my teeth almost in a snarl, tucking the necklace protectively back under my jacket.

"You don't know anything about me!" I snapped, "Besides, I can afford you. Trust me. I live north of here in the manors. And you don't even know what I want. Why turn me down without even hearing what I have to say?"

I switched from my bluster to what I was more comfortable with, eloquence and subtle manipulation. I'd been training to be a lawyer, something my father was proud of, but I'd never finished before his death. I raised an eyebrow as I saw a flash of curiosity in his eyes.

"If you'd like I can explain now." I explained calmly and clearly, needing him to understand, "I need to learn how to get close to Besswick. I want him dead and I want to be the one who puts the dagger into his heart for having my parents killed."

I waited patiently, my heart racing as I tried to feign calm confidence. It wasn't too difficult - I was burning with the desire to see the light leave the eyes of whoever killed my mother and father. I don't think I had really dealt with the realization that they were truly gone. Part of me thought I would wake up and they would be there, this last week a horrid, horrid dream. But I couldn't lose myself in that fantasy; they were gone and I was the only one who knew the truth behind it. My father's records had told me enough, I was certain it was Besswick.

"Are you going to make me beg?" I asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

 

[LitShark]

Hesitation

Salazaar’s thin eyebrows tilted backward as the young cat showed her claws, puny though they were, attitude could count for a lot—as long as one intended to back it up if necessary. She was fiery and fierce, Sal could appreciate that, but truthfully he doubted if she had it in her—to take a life without hesitation. There was no other way to take a life, trying to take a life and hesitating was known as dying.

“I’m a fixer, not an instructor.” Sal answered, his resolve already softening. It was a no risk proposition, worst case scenario, he could take Kat down and loot her abandoned house. “But begging sure wouldn’t hurt.”

Sal chuckled over the last bit faintly, curious and excited to see if she really would. It was clear to see that she was desperate. Desperation can make people vulnerable. It wasn’t until the light filtering into the alley became suddenly obscured that Sal realized his little dalliance with the redheaded orphan had left him vulnerable as well.

“Woll, if it inn’t Salazaar LeChance.” The nasal, urchin slang rang out from the opening of the alley to the street. “As aye liv’n breve. Ain’t it you who off’d va ol’ boss? Took th’ money an’ ran off’a to ve otta side to take a higher bid! Woll vat were you, double dealin’ twat ye.”

Kinney McGloin of the Tie-Pins, the once formidable crew that used to own this part of the slums—but no longer posed a real threat. Following Sal’s hit on their former leader, the Tie-Pins had broken off into smaller and reliably contentious factions of the original gang. Kinney probably held the least clout, the fewest loyal soldiers—if it had been a tougher gang, Sal might really have had to pay for his brief interlude with Kat Dare.

“You ready for a lesson, Kitty Cat? Want to get your hands dirty, open your eyes and watch. Kills leave enemies, remember that before you get carried away with what you want to do yourself.” Sal hissed quickly, in the close space between him and the girl. He picked up his case quickly and turned to Kinney, who flinched hard, the two cronies at his sides did too. “I just cashed in, fellahs. I can buy my way out. Look, stacks—all you could want.”

Just as Kinney leaned forward, peeking into the bag, hesitating—Sal swung the heavy leather satchel upward, catching him under the chin, staggering him. In the confusion, Sal dropped the bag, reaching out with both arms and pushing the heads of the men on either side of the alleyway into their respective brick corners. Their head left ruddy smears behind.

“First rule of killing: Always kill the one who comes to kill you.” Sal muttered over his shoulder, bracing for Kinney’s charge after regaining his senses. Sal dodged to one side, and grasped the well-dressed man by the collar of his shirt, spinning him into the alley, at Kat and angling himself to swing his face into the wall.

Kinney’s face landed with a splat. He came away delirious, pathetically sputtering bloody teeth past his split lips. Sal kneed him hard in the stomach, hooking his arm under Kinney’s arm and arching his body over his outstretched knee. A hail of buttons went flying from the attacker’s shirtfront and suspenders as Sal yanked his meticulous garments up around his neck, exposing his bare stomach, chest and ribcage.

“You want to be a killer, start now. This asshole wants to kill me, now that you’ve been seen with me, you’re a known associate. Kill him now, or he’ll bring more back for both of us. In my shoe, there’s a blade, stick it there, in between his second and third rib and wiggle it around. You want to kill Besswick, you need to be able to kill without hesitating.”