Chapter One

Dying's a b***h.

First thought that popped into my mind.

Well, first logical thought anyway. Closely following "Whuzzat?" and "S**t! How did this get here?"

As the simple messages played through my head, I was lying on my back on the living room carpet, fishing around in my chest cavity for the bullet, with my bare hands.

Okay, that may be a bit overblown. The bare hands part, I mean. But the only thing I've got remotely linked to a surgical tool is the eyebrow tweezers poking around in the gaping hole of my torso.

They weren't sterilized.

Neither were my hands.

And yet I was pulling this piece of lead from my unbeating heart.

So sue me.

Wait.

Unbeating?

I put my fingers into the hole I created earlier.

Yep, not a peep. What the hell?

The logical part of me took in that information in and processed it while the sentimental bit ran into a corner, huddling there, humming lullabies.

The physical me just sat up and examined the bullet more closely.

A fractured 9mm.

30 cents a pop. Not really a choice for professionals. So I've died in hands of a common street thug? God, that makes me sad.

I looked down at the gap in the center of my torso again. Not a pretty sight. Blood was still going out of me. Not the water-fountain type you see in movies. Rather like a punctured sports drink bottle. But I guess my heart's still, so no gushing.

A little disappointing, but I'll make peace with that. Eventually.

The blood slowly tapered out, then stopped. I waited a few more seconds to be sure, then stood up.

Why am I so calm?

Surprises me, too.

Maybe this isn't really happening. Maybe the dead aren't walking, maybe I don't really have a hole in me.

I looked down yet again.

Nope, hole's still there.

I put my fingers into it. No beating.

Sigh.

Well, a guy's gotta try.

I got up, put on a shirt, sat down on my beaten up sofa and tried to pull my thoughts together.

And failed miserably. Which was not the least bit surprising.

My life has been pretty much falling apart around me lately. To the point that I wished I was falling with it, too. But no such luck, I was made to stand and watch, as it crashed around me.

It's a bit like watching those card houses collapsing, only far less amusing.

As it falls, it strips me of my property, dignity and sanity. Bit by f*****g bit.

It all flashed before my eyes.

My brother dead.

Best friend dying.

Me dead to the family.

Ex-girlfriend wishes I was dead.

I wish I was dead.

I looked into the cracked mirror on the other side of the room, which Itarol bashed with her suitcase on her way out of my apartment. My shattered reflection stared back, dead eyed, the same lifeless gray eyes that I glare into each morning in the bathroom mirror.

Most people think I'm putting up a tough, lonely guy charade to cover up the pain.

They're wrong.

I've never tried to cover up my feelings. Sure, maybe try running away a few times. But I always put my sentimentality up front.

Maybe that's why it's been tasered senseless.

Now, nothing less than a nuclear apocalypse can rattle me anymore, maybe not even then.

Cause I wouldn't be around after that.

Ha.

Back to business. About the hole under the shirt.

The situation is complicated.

I'm obviously dead, and yet, obviously not.

But I should be six feet under, shouldn't I?

Maybe I'll eat a bagel to prove my point.

I hauled myself off the couch and staggered into the kitchenette. The counter was littered with liquor bottles, haphazardly strewn.

My sentimentality might already be senseless, but booze helps. It always does.

I opened the door of my refrigerator and faced a solid wall of beer of every brand. My ever rotating collection. Keeps me amused, and sauced up. Two birds, one stone.

Orright, the bagels.

I found a bag of 'em on the bottom shelf. Two months past the expiration date, but still looks as if just exited the oven. Mummified, by the looks of it. I shrugged. They'll do.

I popped one into the toaster and waited.

Like all people when they're bored, I glanced at the clock. Eight thirteen.

Seems pretty early for the dead to be strutting around. Well, beggars, choosers.

I sauntered back over to the fridge and snagged a Corona. Downed a third of it in one gulp and looked around in time to see bagel pop out. Seized that, too and ambled back into the living room.

Plopping myself back on the couch, I took a huge bite out of the bagel. Taste alright, bit dry though. I took another swig of frosty beer. Better.

The phone rang.

I made no move to pick it up. Itarol hated my habit of not answering when I'm eating. Well, she ain't here is she? I let the machine get it.

After six rings, the machine came on.

"You've reached Lyle Sarvis. I'm not here, or maybe in the showers, or maybe didn't feel like picking up. Whichever. You know the drill." Beep.

"Sarvis? Sarvis? You there?"

It was Detective Darrell Cowan. He's one of my few friends and a nerdy, tubby coworker.

I let the machine handle the recording and kept on chewing my breakfast, all the while feeling very wise.

"Anyway, Sarvis. A new contract came in. Bossman wants you on the case. See if you can arrive earlier today."

Arrive earlier? Is this guy high? I snorted into my beer.

"I know it's a Monday, but Cole insists. See if you can come right after you get this message." An uncomfortable pause, where I chewed more energetically to cover his awkwardness, then Cowan hung up.

The machine beeped a couple of times, saving the sound file, which I promptly deleted three seconds later.

Popping the last piece of bread into my mouth I glanced at the clock. Eight nineteen.

That was quick.

I looked around the apartment. Nothing interesting, except poking around more in my chest cavity, which I've done enough for one day.

Might as well go to work.

I looked down, blood was still seeping out. D****t. Well, there goes my third favorite shirt. I went to the closet, grabbed my steel cross necklace from the dresser and took out a roll of duct tape.

 

Five minutes later, I was rolling out of the underground parking lot in my secondhand '71 Oldsmobile Cutlass.

Tapping the steering wheel to the beat of whatever that song is on the radio, I cruised onto the street.

 

I guess it's time to tell you a little about my work. I'm a paid killer. That's not special. By that, I mean not a lot different from what the other assassins do. I pull the trigger, drive the knife, break the neck, whatever. It keeps food on my table, clothes on my back, and the bills paid.

I don't believe in charity.

The strangest thing about being a hitman is that I'm paid by a U.S. Government project. Yeah, you heard me. My allowance comes from Uncle Sam himself, a generally nice person in small doses. And by small doses, I mean only when it's time for him to cough up dough.

But enough of that. My job is mainly to be troubleshooter for the nation. When there's trouble, I shoot it. My targets are mainly ganglords, drug dealers and spies. I punch their ticket before things get out of control. The s**t-catcher, if you will, I catch s**t before it hits the fans... or the front page. Whichever is more devastating.

I'm the cover-up guy for this country, a white glove to keep the dirty pawing out of sight.

And I get paid.

 

My car pulled into the staff parking lot in front of my workplace. Essentially a police department, but we receive special funding. Money that the government doesn't want the people to know about, but is spending anyway.

Uh, that sounds awfully familiar. Politics.

I popped the lock and hurried into the building, nodded greetings to a few random people. And slipped into the office.

"Sarvis!"

Crap, Cowan. I turned around, all smiles. "Hey, buddy, how's it going? Gee, did you see the game last night? Had a few kicks when your team score a few points in the basket... goal... whatever?"

Cowan might not look like much from a distance. Overweight, undernourished, and on the short side. He wears cheap suits, weird ties and plastic glasses. He has an overgrown bush of brown hair and no hair under his chin. Overall, a certified pureblood nerd.

You'll say that until you stand in front of him face to face.

Of course, being a tough guy that I am, I still say so when I'm face to face with him.

It's a guy thing.

But that doesn't mean I don't harbor some sort of peculiar respect for this person.

His eyes look out of place on his face. The scrappy outfit is just a disguise for razor sharp intellect. You'd expect his eyes to be dull and listless, but in fact they were deep ocean blue, emitting clear thoughts and solid determination. I'd trade those for mine in a heartbeat, which were silvery gray and had as much life and intelligence as a piece of river rock. Shame.

"...Okay... glad to hear that..." Cowan raised an eyebrow, "Step into my office for a second, will you?"

"Yeah sure, why not." I growled as I followed, "You know how I love working early."

"Drop the sarcasm and maybe you can get work done early and go home to do something with your life." He entered his room not bothering to hold the door.

Using my foot to keep the door from shutting, I followed him in, "Orright, what's the job?"

Cowan didn't reply but slipped a folder off his desk, flicked it open and drew out a stack of paper.

"Your target is this ringleader, Carl Torlos, of the gang Association Serpiente. Also known as the Cobra" He tapped the photo on the front of a young dark-haired man. Late twenties, I'd say.

"He's just a kid."

"He's a mastermind. Ambitious and ruthless, he has took over many a gang, and with astonishing speed. People tried to kill him, he's been shot many times over, but always manages to survive. No one knows how he does it."

"Sounds like the options of double-tapping, or simply mowing down his fort with a minigun weren’t considered." I replied absentmindedly, removing my .45 Springfield mil-spec from its shoulder holster and slid it into my desk drawer.

"Don't be a wiseass." Cowan fixed me with a glare, "His information is in this folder, well, the information we were able to gather on him anyway. His gang was only observed recently and we didn’t have time to plant any spies within." He slipped the papers back into the folder and handed it to me, "Oh, and Cole wants you to report in, he has further detail on the case."

Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. The Lieutenant something like my handler. Last time I "reported in" he gave me a briefing about killing this spy and getting a piece of paper.

This "piece of paper" turned out to be a launch code for some missiles in some third-world country.

I got the job done, but I keep the code in my cell phone ever since. You know… in case I ever wanted to be a bit festive on New Year's Eve.

Anyhow, being briefed by my boss means that the situation is murky, so that's one of the reasons why I took a deep breath before entering his office.

The other is that he smokes, and does so heartily.

I pushed the door open.

"Sergeant," Lieutenant Cole was standing by the window, the usual noxious picayune cigarette between his thumb and fore finger, "I trust that Detective Cowan has supplied you with all the information we have."

"Mostly, sir."

"I'm here to further brief you on the case." here he took a pull, I inhaled briefly, then held my breath again as soon as the fumes spiraled lazily out of his mouth.

"So Cowan has said."

"And regarding the termination of this Cobra," he turned to face me, "the government wants his head."

What?! My brain demanded.

"What?!" I blurted out, "Literal head? Is this some sort of test? Or sick joke?"

"Sergeant, hear me out!"

"Oh, you want me to scalp him too? Make a nice anniversary present for the wife?"

"Sergeant Sarvis!" the director did not look to happy, "just sit down and hear me out." He pointed to the hard wood chair before his desk.

I sat, ungraciously.

"I know the order sounded unorthodox."

"Sounded like someone up there was smoking pot or doing lines."

"That's not it, Sergeant."

"Ooh," I leered at him, "that sounded a bit forced. Maybe it was a crackpot order."

"Fine." Cole snarled, "You want the truth, here it is. It won't be a secret any longer, anyway." He paused for a second, I took the liberty to inspect my fingernails. "People have stopped dying."

That got my attention.

"Remember that emergency order issued six days ago that? That all dead bodies had to be cremated?"

"Yes." I replied quietly.

For the first time in seven years, the Lieutenant looked at lost. "Do you know why?"

"No, but there have been rumors..."

"That people have stopped dying?" Cole asked.

"... yeah."

The Lieutenant stared back out the window. It was a moment before he answered, "They're true."

Ah. That certainly explains a lot.

"So..." I tried to act casual, "this Cobra... he's dead?"

"That's what we've deducted." the Lieutenant nodded, taking another pull from the picayune cigarette.

I held my breath as he exhaled, “So… that’s why you guys want his skull?” I tried to sound conversational, more or less nailing it.

"That is correct, Sergeant." Cole replied.

Ah, that was rather blunt of him. But when you’re on the subject of eliminating another living human being, well, there really isn’t another better way around it.

"Yessir." I gathered the folder and stood up, saluted sloppily then exited the room.

 

I stomped into the office which Cowan and I shared. The detective was already clicking dutifully away at his computer. Freaking paper-pusher.

I nodded to him and tossed the folder onto my own desk, which by comparison, was pretty much a junkyard, a junkyard after the apocalypse, if you want to be exact.

"So what did Cole want with you?" He asked, not lifting his eyes from the glowing screen.

I collapsed into my chair, and plopped my feet onto my desk. "Not much." I replied, "Save that Lieutenant wants that guy’s head, said it’ll look nice on his mantle. Looks like I gotta sharpen up that old tomahawk of mine."

"Look." my coworker finally averted his eyes from his PC and gave me a half bored half reproaching look, "If you don’t want to share that sort of thing, fine. But don’t take me for a person with the same intellect as you."

Ooh, harsh. My pride was suffering from multiple wounds.

"Hey," I protested, "It’s the truth."

"He wants the head of a gang leader as a household decoration?"

"Okay," I stumbled, "That would be the exaggerated version of the truth."

"Yeah… sure," Cowan’s eyes wandered back to his computer, "so what would boss man want with that head anyway."

I considered telling him the truth, but hastily decided against it. I was already having trouble convincing myself. I doubt I would make much progress with my overly logical friend.

"He doesn’t." I lied.

"Thought so," Cowan sniffed and went on typing.

Me, I snagged the folder, flipped it open and started reading.

 

It was pretty standard report. Pictures, data… things you could easily access skimming over his facebook page.

Christ, people these days just have to put everything on the net, don’t they?

Though info covering his whereabouts and recent events are strangely lacking.

But aside from that, it seemed just like one of those plain old cases that are probably buried under the giant mess on my desk, except this time, I’m supposed to kill a dead guy. But again, I’m also a dead guy, probably the best candidate to get the job done.

Now comes the hard part: How?

I mean, decapitation sounds like a great way and all that, but how do I get close to the target enough to saw off his head?

Asking nicely would always help, but I need something a bit more practical.

Hmm.

I ran a hand through my black hair, lamely thinking about a much needed haircut.

I exhaled exasperatedly. Well, no point not trying the old way of doing stuff.

My hand went instinctively the cell phone in my right pocket, having the little plastic box at my side felt oddly comforting.

I faked a stretch and stood up.

“Gotta roll,” I told my colleague, taking my gun out of the desk and throwing on a jacket.

“Happy hunting,” Cowan’s fingers never broke rhythm.

I nodded and shut the door firmly behind me.

Author's Note

Any and all comments will be appreciated.

Reviews

[Soma-ko]

I don't write really write stories, but I enjoy reading them. This chapter I absolutely enjoyed, and I love the main character. Throughout the entire chapter I had fun reading, and didn't become bored half-way/at all. Great job, and I can't wait for chapter 2.

[Venatici]

Thanks! That was very kind, I'll upload another one today!

[Soma-ko]

Can't wait to read it! But at the moment I'm headed off to sleep. I'll be keeping my eyes open for it. :)

[Parsimony]

Quick and fluid. Really just a few rough patches that didn't quite flow with the rest. ie wording that was mundane at the top "going".

[zainul]

This is quite well organized.
Enjoyed reading.