[lost-lover]

This is just a random idea for a story I came up with earlier, it's been written in the last half hour so apologies in advance if it's terrible. No real title yet either, so I gave it the first thing I thought of.

CHAPTER 1

I walk through the crowded streets on a very tight schedule. I need to be on time for my visit, but these crowds are making it difficult. I hate crowds - always have and always will. I'm not claustrophobic or ochlophobic -I've got nothing against confined spaces and I sure don't fear these crowds - they just bug me. I grew up in the city and I've been living with the human swamp for years, so it's not a new thing; to me though, crowds - and their ill-tempered, bad-mannered inhabitants - are one of lifes daily irritations. You'd never know it from looking it me; my emotions are almost constantly hidden behind a mask of indifference. Faking emotion is easy for me - I can flirt, pout, cry and act seriously stressed all within seconds, all beleivable. It's a natural skill for me; 'veI put it to good use in the past, and will again today. One slip-up and I could be caught out. I won't let that happen. I wouldn't be blamed if I did though - this little 'visit' will test me to the full. Tonight I have a specific purpose, a job to do, thus the need to stay on schedule. Damn crowds.
You see, I thing that doesn't help is I have a small tendency to stand out in a crowd. I'm a woman, 6, with shoulder length dark hair, and equally dark eyes, and, so I'm told, pretty damn attractive. Which really doesn't help, especailly this crowd is mostly men, like now; the majority of the idiots are spending more time staring at my legs than where they're going. Luckily though, my destination has females on stages who, for their part, look better and wear less than me. No I'm not gay, or bi, nor do I have any kind of work-related business to be done in a strip club. Yet that's where I'm going, because that's where my 'visit' will be. My host just doesn't know it yet. I'm not going to give away my whole story right at the start - I'll just say that I have some unfinished business with an old acquaintance. I have time off work - they think that I'm on holiday - so, when I said job earlier, I didn't mean an offical paying-the-rent, government-tax-the-life-out-of-you job. If this guy knew that I was in town, he wouldn't be. I'm not one to play by the rules - I don't play nice, nor do I play nasty. I don't have time for games. However, I have time for fun. In tracking my mark, I've had my fun, now I'm going to deliver a message.
I look at the tacky neon sign about two feet away - above my target point. A strip club with neon signs. Can you say cliche? I mentally roll my eyes, pull my knee-length jacket around me and walk up to the bouncers, who don't look like they'll try too hard to stop me entering. Sure enough, a cute smile, bet of my eyelids and a few flirtatious comments later I'm inside. Hmmm, and there I was hoping for a bit of a challenge.
The smell of second-hand smoke burns my lunds and stings my eyes. I fight the urge to splutter and coughe - I can't afford to draw attention to myself; I've come too far to screw up now. I walk as fast as possible without looking conspicuous. I head for the corner I scouted out on my last visit. Sure enough, it's deserted - no doubt because it's too far from the strippers. The little bribe I left for the barmen could have helped too though, and the fact that he owes me a few favours. It does, however, offer an excellent veiwpoint of the main floor -all the tables and both exits, plus the doorway to the toilets. It's for this reason I bribed the barmen to keep it for me. It's also a blind spot - no CCTV will catch a picture of me tonight. The cameras over the front entrance are convieniently broken. Good thing too. I look up and make eye contact with my helper. He heads over. Leo is mid 20s, like me; a 6"4 blonde with an athletic build. He's one of just two people in the world I trust with my life - I have done in the past - and one of just three poeple in the world who know what I'm planning for tonight. He drops into the chair next to me and places a drink in front of me. Not to drink, because we both know I won't drink it - it's there in case any of the men spare a glance from the scantly-clad dancers and spot me, then decided to offer me a drink and try it on. I can't afford distractions.
"He's here." Says Leo.
I nod, my gaze studying every corner. Leo knows better than to point me in the right direction - I'll find the mark in my own time. "Do you have what I need?" I say.
Leo nods and hands over a small vial containing a few drops of liquid. The last peice of the plan. Now I'm ready. I reach for my bag to get my money. Leo's done good - this stuff in banned and if he'd been caught with this he'd be in prison - matter how good a liar he is. I look at him to see he's shaking his head.
"No money for this one Cass. Hell, I'd pay to see it put to action." Leo says. He has his own issues with my mark. "Shame I have to work the bar for my sodding alibi." Why do we British struggle with swearing? Ah well, it's one of life's mystries. Leo nods and walks off, leaving a package on his chair. Something else I'd requested, for use later tonight.
I wave Leo off to the bar and resume my scouting of the bar. I always pick the mark out personally - if it's my job I want the guy to know I saw him myself, that they're not just someone who's been fobbed off on me. Then again, in most ways this mark's different. I've never taken a job so far, nor done a job quite so...personal. Most of my, shall we say, less-than-official jobs are normally moeny jobs. This though, is a whole different agenda. More on that later though.
My eyes are flicking continually between people around the establishment with such concentration I fail to notice the approach of a fat, ugly man in his mid 40s. Oh *****. "Alright darling? Fancy givin' a private dance?" Says the Balding Oldie. His breath stinks of cigarettes and booze.The **** thinks I'm a stripper? I don't have time for this crap. I look at the man sat way too far into my personal space, just in time to see him licking his lips at me. Eww.
I put on a bugger-off voice. "I don't work here, and I'm not in the mood for conversation. So if you don't mind?" I gestures for him to leave. He doesn't take the hint. He puts his hand on my knee as he leans towards me. I try not to gag from his breath. "Loosen up sweetheart, we can have some fun."
His hand starts moving up my leg. Okay, time to quit being the polite Brit. I grab his hand in a vice grip. Stinky Breath starts to make some comment about liking it rough when I put on a voice of deadly calm, my mask of indifference not wavering for a second. "If you do not remove your hand then I will break it."
The perv just repeats his comment. I sigh. Then I cover his mouth with one hand and break his arm with the other, all the while keeping my gaze on his piggy little eyes. I wink at him, before summoning crocodile tears and ripping my blouse. His screams and confusion are quickly silenced - Leo arrives with a bouncer, who proceeds to drag my "attacker" outside while Leo "comforts" me - trying to decide whether to laugh or yell at me. Laughter wins, but not without a warning to be careful. He's right. After he returns to the bar and I have assured the bouncer I'm ok, I focus on the customers, still searching for the mark I know is among them.
My gaze focusses on a man in his early 40s with greying hair in a black suit. His dark eyes are still glued to a dancer even as he makes a path to the toilets. I recognise those eyes. This is my mark.
I grin to Leo and head to the bar with the drink he gave me earlier, unceramoniously dumping the contents in a plant pot. I put the now-empty glass on the bar with the little vial he'd handed me earlier. I wait for him to come and collect the glass then nod to the toilet door, which the mark has just left - now making a beeline for the bar. Leo nods in return, winks, then, using me as a blind spot, pours the contents of the vial into the mark's glass. I head back to my table before he spots me and wait for him to leave. It wouldn't be long. Due to prior arrangement he'd have one more drink after this one, then be told to leave because he's drunk. He's not drunk, nor will he be after one more drink but liquid estacsy has that effect on your appearence, I'm told. We'll see, after all, Leo's just put it in his glass.
Half an hour later, I watch my target be forced out by the bouncers. I wink to Leo, wait a few minutes, then follow. My target is out of it, the drug has done it's work. I know, through survaillence, that he drove here, parked a few streets away. I know his route, and so I know where to get him alone. In another blind spot. This isn't something I want recorded. The drug insures he won't spot me until I want him to. I follow him until we reach the car park - empty except for us and his 4x4. He won't be usiong that tonight.
He still doesn't know I'm here - that changes now. I take a deep breatheI clutch the package Leo gave me, pull on thin leather gloves -I don't want fingerprints leading to me after all the planning I've put into this - then a remove the item inside. A 9mm handgun. Fully loaded, with serial numbers scraped off.
I take I deep breath. Then I call out. "Andy."
He turns around, face sweaty, eyes unfocused. Despite the drug, I know he recognises me. I take a step forward, into the light, just to be certain of it. His eyes focus. "Cass?" He whispers, not quite believing.
For the first time, I feel my mask cracking. "You don't get to say my name!" I hiss, not moving.
Then I pull out the gun. His eyes widen in horror. I fire once, just below his heart. The silencer ensures I won't be heard. He stumbles backwards and falls to the floor clutching his chest. I move forward until I'm less than two feet from him; his drug-fuelled brain is still piecing things together. "That was for Ben." I **** the gun. "And this is for me." I send a bullet flying into his heart. I watch without remorse as his blood pours out, staining his clothes and the pavement. His grips loosen and his car keys fall to the floor, wet with blood.
I wait a few seconds then, for the first time, my mask drops. I let my emotions show on my face. My hatred, revulsion, everything. Still, I feel no pity for the sight in front of me.
I bend down to my dead, then lock my eyes on those of the mortally wounded man at my feet. My voice is stilll calm, cold as the night air as I speak the last words he'll ever hear, before I leave him to bleed to death in the car park. "Nice to see you again Dad."