To Catch an Assassin- Part One

I'm not sure where this would take place in the story line... alright... it doesn't fit in at all. I started writing this before Cassy died, and by the time I finish it, Vido will probably be dead, if he's going to die. So please take the following things at base: Vido's alive, Cassy's dead, Luse is wandering the city depressed, but not killing anybody at the moment, and there's this funny and not-too-mentally-stable chick right in the thick of it. The story starts, by the by, with the chick...

The night was dark, and clouds loomed over head, but it wasn't exactly a dark and stormy night. But it was in Mandratha, so that made it a little more stormy, at least in political, personal, and emotional ways. In the middle of a crowded street, a slender, short girl blew air slowly out between her lips, and flipped the card over again, re-reading the adress she was looking for.

I must be out of my mind, she thought. Her hood slipped as the graceful, long elven ears that had been holding it forward lay back into her hair. Her ears were pierced, but the holes held no earings, and said ears added almost another half-foot to her diminutive five foot three. Hair of a dull strawberry blonde trailed over her head, and three wrapped strands dangled in front of each ear. She stood like a stone in the crowd, reading the street signs.

"Alright," she said to herself. "I'm lost." She spotted a tavern, and reached into her pouch. Maybe she had enough money left in her store to get a drink? She pulled a mere handful of coins out. Only if they have low prices, she thought to herself sadly, and was then bowled over by a passing pedestrian.

"AW shit!" she said, as she was sent sprawling into the mud. "You asshole, you stinking butt-munch! Why don't you watch where you're going? There was plenty of room to pass me!" The man didn't even turn around. Standing up and atempteing to brush the mud off, she realized she'd lost her last coins when the man had crashed into her. She then let loose a string of expletives that could have gotten her arrested if she'd said them in certain places. And at that point, it started to rain. Everyone scattered, disapearing into shops, taverns, or rushing for home before they got too soaked. Having nowehre to go, she continued to stand in the street, letting the rain slowly soak through her cloak and clothing, to her skin. Damn, she thought. Now what? She pulled her hood back up to try and keep a semblance of warmth and dryness. Then, depressed, she sat, less than gracefully on the bottom step of the same tavern she'd been srutinizing earlier.

"I could go home," she thought, resting her chin in her hands. And abandon the best job offer I1ve gotten in months. She groaned and screwed her eyes shut. Let1s face it girl, years. And it1s not as if you have alot to go back to. Brief images of whips and hands glowing with magic burned into the inside of her eyelids. She opened her blue-green eyes. Well, that's out. She looked around the now almost empty street. So here goes my last option. She stood and disappeared into an alley.

A window creakd open and a dark figure slipped in, then shut the window behind itself before too much rain could follow her in. I've still got it, she thought to herself. After a quick glance around the empty room, the figure settled itself onto the floor, removing and spreading out its sopping wet cape. The girl brushed scraggly bangs out of her eyes and looked down at herself in disgust. The deep green shirt she wore was so wet it looked almost black, and she knew that when her pants, which were supposed to be black, but looked more brown from mud, were going to be stiff as hell when they dried. Leather was like that. Her boots and belt were a soft velvety suede under all that mud and had, like her pants, originally been black. A medium-length sword hung off her belt, and a dagger hung mirroring it on the other side. Across her chest was an oiled leather haversack, or thieves bag, the strap of which concealed a half dozen throwing darts, bandaler style. The girl wrung out her slightly longer than shoulder length hair over the wash basin that sat on the dresser. No reason to get the room any more filthy than necessary. She smiled to herself in the dark and opened a box on the dresser. The smile broadened and she lifted out a beautiful golden choker set with what appeared to be sapphires. Boy girl, you can pick 'em, she chuckled to herself quietly. She tucked the clangly golden necklace into her shirt and rooted softly through the box. After a moment, she pulled out a emerald pendant suspended on a thin chain. She held it in front of her eyes and let it catch the light. Who ever had cut this emerald had a fine hand and a sick mind. When the light hit it just right- which it never would if it was hanging around someone's neck- a skull with an Ankh carved between the eye sockets and a dagger through the top grinned out at her. I'm keeping this, she thought, slipping the chain around her neck and hiding it under her shirt and hair. A faint sound in the hallway made her ears perk, and silently, she moved twords the door.

"I just don't understand you," a male voice came from the other side. "Keeping your best jewelry in a spare bedroom. And why in the world do you want it now?"

"Ronnie!" whined a female voice. The elvin girl made a face, picturing a simpering little brunette twit, with eyes like a doe, and as scheming as a politician.

"I'm not asking you to understand it," the woman's voice whined on. "It's just woman's intution!"

"If you woman's intuition me one more time," Ronnie's voice came, "I will, I swear, put you in a woman's institution!"

If I killed her, he might even thank me, the elf thought, grabbing her cloak and tossing it around her shoulders distastefully, and putting a hand on the window. A pain line appeared between her eyebrows as the woman's voice shrilled.

"YOU WOULDN1T DARE, RONNIE!"

"Crow," snarled the elf, glaring at the unlocking door. "I may kill you for the hell of it, that voice has no right to exist!"

"YOU'D BE NO ONE WITHOUT ME!"

"Yes, but now I'm someone, Anita, and now I don't need you."

The elf hid behind the curtains as Ronnie dragged Anita in, firmly holding her by one wrist. As Ronnie set the oil lamp he was carrying onto the dresser, her eyes sparkled. Domestic battles. How droll. Ronnie was a thick and curly haired man, a good two feet taller than herself, and a foot and a half taller than the girl he was with. And stronger. So he easily grabbed a dagger, and slit her throat with it. Antia gave one more shrill scream and expired.

The tall dark man tossed her body onto the bed, where the crimson blood began to pool on the pastel comforter. "There," Ronnie said. "I'm done with you now."

"Ah...no," the elvin girl said, slipping from her hiding place and shutting the door to the hall. "I'd say you were just beginning."

"Who are you?" snarled the murderer.

"I'm a witness," smiled the elvin girl. "And for a price, I can become an alibi."

"You'll be just as dead!" snarled Ronnie and charged her. The petite elf sighed and drove the palm of her left hand into his nose, disarming him with her right, by swiftly cranking his wrist in the opposite direction of the way it was suposed to turn. Not enough to break it, but enough to make him let go.

"There, that's how you got covered in blood," she said, as he backed up, clutching his nose. The girl skipped forward and looked over the dead body. "Well, a fairly neat job. I hate to take credit for it, but a fairly neat job." She perched on the side of the bed, neatly staying out of the blood. "It works like this: you leave this room alive, and with an alibi, in exchange for a fairly reasonable amout of money. Say- five thousand crowns." His mouth flapped open. "They kill murderers, you know. And you should see what they do before they kill you." His mouth closed. "The little woman, Anita, was it? Got worried about her jewels, which you have told her before that she should store elsewhere." The girl began carefully cleaning the knife. "Are you with me so far?" Ronnie thought about it, then nodded. "Good." She smiled, slipped the knife into her belt, and pointed inside his jacket. "You may want to give me that, too." He looked down, and drew the sheath off his belt. "You started up with the little shrew, but had to go to the bathroom, so gave her the keys and told her you'd be up in a minute. I presume this wing has its own john?"

"Yes," said Ronnie

"And as you started up the hall to this room, you heard a scream. You rushed to the door, and saw a figure, clothed in black, with a face covering. You didn't see more than that and the fact she was standing over the dead body of poor, poor Anita." The elf smiled, and cocked an ear. "Sound good so far?"

"Sounds good," Ronnie said. "I'll give you two thousand now, I can't get anymore without drawing attention."

"Done!" smiled the elf. "But I wasn't finished. You naturally rush to defend Anita, even though it's too late, and get punched in the nose. Then, the killer goes to the window, leaps out, and seemingly disappears." She stood up and spread a smile across her face. Looking like the girl, or rather, the elf next door. "Now, then, my money?"

Ronnie went over to the closet.

"Luckly," he said, "jewlery wasn't the only thing she kept in here." He handed her a box. "I don't have a key, but I don't think that'll be a problem for you?" From the braids on the sides of her face, the elf withdrew lockpicks, and in three minutes had the lock picked. Inside was a pouch and a velvet box. She picked up the pouch, weighing it, and looked inside.

"I suppose that'll do," she sighed, and picked up the box as well.

"No, wait..." Ronnie started. The elf girl's face lit up.

"A gun! You've been holding out on me, Ron." She took it out of the velvet bed, tucking it into her haversack, followed by the pouches containing bullets.

"This will do fine." She smiled again. "Ooops, your nose has stopped bleeding." She dropped the box, kicked it under the bed, and punched him again, dropping him to the ground. "Bye now." She went to the window and opened it. "Oh yeah." She went over, and bent over, putting the address she'd been searching for earilier in front of his busted nose. "You wouldn1t happen to know how to get to this address, would you?" she asked sweetly. His eyes widened.

"Dat's de police sdation," he said. "I dought de deal was you don't durn me in?"

"Oh it is?" she said, pocketing it. "Wish they'd told me that." She smiled again, and left through the window. The rain had stopped.

*

Lieutenant Vido slowly and carefully let out a breath, then removed his hand from in front of his eyes. He still couldn't believe it. He almost smiled.

"Look at this! For once, the crime scene has not been traipsed over, no one has been beaten up, and we've been called for quickly. I'm amazed. Maybe, the goddamn awful medieval investigation techniques are finally going to be replaced with my preferred, more modern way." He closed his eyes again. Yeah, and maybe the head of the Sanctuary will turn himself in tomorrow. Who knows? He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and looked over the body quietly. Her throat had been cut from ear to ear, and the window which it was presumed the killer had both exited and entered through was still open. And the woman's husband was blithering, and still covered in blood. Reportedly, his own, but...

"Alright, calm down," Vito said. "We've heard what you saw."

Oh boy have we heard, Jace thought, and rolled his eyes. An assassin, he said, eight feet tall had come in though the window to kill his wife, and took her jewels. He sighed. If this was an assassin, I'll eat... I don't know, but it won't be something usually considered edible.

"Look, could you step outside for a few moments?" Vito asked, and the husband, Ronald Mac something, did. "Thank God," he muttered. He looked at Jace, who nodded. "Yeah, I thought so. This can't be an assassin, at least not a Sanctuary one. Way too messy." He looked at the carpet. "And have you ever heard of an assassin stealing?" He knelt down and looked under the bed, then pulled out the empty cash box. "Someone was here. Before and during the murder even, but who wasn't the killer."

"Who do you think the killer is?"

"Him," Vito said, jerking his finger at the closed door. "That's way too much blood for a nosebleed."

"Any proof?"

"I'd bet if we challenge his story, then he'll break down." The corner of Vito's mouth twitched, the scars makiing it a smile of gross proportions. "You're doing my job. Besides, he said it was an assassin. If it had been an assassin, he'd be dead. Hell, any good thief would do more than break his nose."

"But you said someone else was in the room?"

"Yes. I'm not sure who, but why don't we just ask him?"

Being right felt good. When they'd challenged his story, Mr. Mac-whatever had broken down instantly and confessed to killing his wife. He did maintain that some thief had seen him do it, and he had bribed her to keep quiet. She'd given him the story, he said. So he was in custody, and would doubtless be executed at the first opportunity. But for now, someone was waiting for him in his office. The room was dark when he walked in.

"Alright then, who's there?" He reached for the lamp and felt a gentle slap.

"No. No lights," a feminine voice said. "You can't know what I look like."

"Alright then, what do I call you?"

"I go by Emerald. Call me Em."

"Alright then, Ms. Em, what are you doing here?" The voice laughed.

"Just Em." She extended a hand to shake, that in the dim light, he could see wore a soft leather glove, with an inverted ankh on the back of the hand. "I'm an assassin."

"What!" He almost jumped out of his skin. She laughed again.

"I'm from out of town," she continued. "I was sent for. You know the old saying- 'It takes a thief to catch a thief'? Well, someone thought that to catch an assassin..."

"It would take one," Vito said with a sigh. "So they tried to get one from out of town."

"Yes, and went through the most disrespectable circuits, which is how you wound up with me." He heard a deep sigh. "I1ve been out of work."

Great, Vito thought, collapsing into his chair. Just what I need. An out of work assassin on my side, who won't even let me know if she's human or not.

"You see, my father found out about my profession, and to say the least, he was not amused. Besides, freelance assassinry is a quick and easy way to get youreslf caught." The Lieutenant squinted. "So what exactly are you going to be doing for us?"

"I am going to go out and endeavor to get myself hired, by ways best not detailed to you. Then, I will feed you all the information I can, so you can shut down the Sanctuary. It's as simple as that."

"How do I know that you won't betray us?" She laughed sharply.

"You don't." And in a rush of fabric she was gone.

Crow, Vito thought and collapsed into his chair. And the day was going so well.

To be continued.....

POISON ELVES © Drew Hayes. I1m not violating it, I1m just playing with it, so I will not be any of the following: prosecuted and/or dismembered.....abducted from their homes, beaten mortally with blunt instruments, and will turn up in the past tense floating downstream in a nearby river with a picture of Tammy Faye Baker tattoed to their butt. Prosecuted if they survive. If.....hunted down like a dog in the streets, maimed beyond recognition (that's human recognition), and forced to listen to 17 hours of continuous rap while intravenously fed pure MSG. Trust me, on the 16th hour you'll crack and wish to whatever gods you hold dear, you never heard my name.....forced to become Michael jackson's next pedophile alibi. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is just a little ha-ha for my own amusement or a sign that you're on my black list for life. Sweet Dreams, suckers....I still own the rights-they're mine! mine! mine! Violators will be referred to the law firm Lou, E., Ville, and Slugger. .. thrown on the mercy of the court. Drew's court. From a thousand feet..... mutilated and forced to self-publish. ...Oh, hell..are ya cute? Violate me. Please. Just a little...beat repeatedly about the skull with a claw hammer, ground slowly from the feet up, and fed to cannibal midgets....cracked, sacked, and stacked... Violators are whimps. Get your own ideas or go work for Marvel--leave mine alone.... flogged and forced to do nasty things at my whim...strung up with chicken wire and live the rest of their bleak, hellish life as Robb and Brenda's dog chew toy...And I'll tell ya--the dog is huge!.....tied down and whipped. With piano wire. Didn't want anyone getting too excited. Hell, now all of you probably are. You violators are a sick lot.... strung up by the bang-bang fruit and flossed "Baywatch" style with barbed wire....O.J.'d.... forced to mate with that really ugly statue of the monkey-woman down the street from the Holiday Inn in Charlotte, And her poodles. Twice....l have their skulls crushed with a 70 pound meat tenderizer and fed to hyenas. Twice... strung up by their entrails and beaten like a fuckin' pinata... roadkill...forced to eat large quantities of estrogen while listening to Tori Amos and forced to criticize phallic art...Whatever that means... force-fed huge amounts of ecstacy, made to look at bergsma painting Clockwork Orange style, while the soft soothing sax of Kenny G is played throughout a 24 hour ordeal. Then you will be offered a shotgun with a rubber bullet. Whatever that means... impaled on giant Crazy Straws and forced to listen to hours and hours of that Fran Drescher (however you spell it) Nanny bitch whine about what a self-loving diva she is... pumped full of El Dopa and forced to diffuse bombs with a butterknife and tweezers while listening to Slim Whitman-live, naked, and loud... Forgiven by the Chirstian bookstore lady.....Used in top secret experiments on the results of many baseball bats and their various impacting forces on the human head. And no--you won't be the one doing the hitting,...smothered in saurkraut and eaten by Germans. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is the result of childhood head trauma, frequent drinking, or chemical imbalances causing delusions of ego. Get help either way, you sorry-ass... Any similarly to persons living or dead is purely a symptom of paranoia or an over inflated ego. Or of coruse, I could be doing it on purpose. You1ll never know.
Oh, boy, I need help. Badly.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

To Catch An Assassin- Index