Casey Butler and the Job http://literfull12.deviantart.com/art/Casey-Butler-and-the-Job-426066965 I don't want what you got." That's what I said to her. I don't want that darkness she carries around with her. The pain, and self-loathing bubbling up right behind her eyes. I don't want that. But, it didn't change anything. I still owed her a debt. I owed the woman who was partly responsible, though one can argue it's all my fault, for destroying my life. I owe Eva a debt. And no, I don't know her last name. She made me an offer. Two, actually. I help her pull off a job, I get a million dollar, and a villa in Europe where I can start fresh. The other offer is that I become her partner, I could keep stealing with her, or whatever else she does, and make more money than I can imagine. All I'd have to do is do the horrible things that come along with that. So I chose option A. "Can't say I'm all that surprised, Casey" she said, pushing her blue back. If I paid her back for saving me, she'd give me a new life. A life where I can do whatever the hell I like. It'd only been a week since my, for lack of a better word, experience. Spent a couple of nights in the hospital to hear medical jargon I can't even wrap my head around. Eva waited with me the whole time. Probably to blindside me with this supposed debt. Driving back to New York, I realized how detached I was from the city. Told a very bad woman I loved it. Trying to sell myself on the idea that it was my home. It hasn't felt like that in a long time. The job is simple. And horrible. I go into a bleeding edge tech firm, as an IRS agent(are they called agents?) and say I need to look over their financial records. Now, Eva tells me this place is as shady as they come. Tax evasion, murder, theft, stealing from other companies. The thing is though, it's the guy who's running the company that's doing this. Ordering employees and security to do his dirty work. They can't quit or report the guy to the authorities due to the fear of losing their jobs and pensions. Here comes the bad part. They want him dead. Not all of them, but some. And guess who got paid to kill him? See, just the mention of looking over anything that could be even slightly incriminating, this guy, Carl Yates, has the person taken care of. In fact, he does it personally, using security guards to escort, and clean up whatever is left of his victim. So naturally I'm the bait. They pull me away, I'll have a tracker built into my clothing. Eva follows, pulls a trigger, job is done, and I'm on my way. "You look fine," Eva assures me. "I feel like crawling out of my own skin," I say. I'm wearing business attire. I hate dressing like this. White dress shirt, with a black dress jacket over it, black skirt, stockings, and high heels. I really do feel like crawling out of my skin. I'm wearing make up. Chili red lipstick, and eye liner, and ugh, still hate it. Too much product on my face. Too much. I'm even wearing a wig, so on the off chance this goes wrong, it'd be harder to identity me. A long, red wig, over my blonde, shag cut hair. "At least you're not doing the whole murder bit. That's on me," she continues. "Yeah, I could just end up dead," I snap. "Hey, we all end up dead eventually," Eva says in a way that's meant to be comforting, but completely isn't on any level. "Wish I was got a villa on my first job." "First and last," I correct her. "We'll see." What have I gotten myself into? Well, it pretty much goes how it's supposed to. I walk in. Ask the question. And two minutes later, a bag is pulled over my head and I'm carried away. There was not one gasp, or finger raised. Like this was natural. Like people should accept this. Hooray, big business. But of course, it isn't my life if there isn't a complication or two. They pull the bag off my head, revealing a poorly lit room, with concrete walls, and a blue haired woman, sporting a black catsuit, tied to a chair. Eva. Knocked out, and bleeding from the side of her head. "Ah, crap," I mumble. "Crap indeed, Ms.Butler, crap indeed," the soft spoken man dressed in a brown business suit, and red tie says. And he's bald. Not relevant, but necessary to point out that I could die at the hands of a baldy. No idea why that bothers me. This is Carl Yates, by the way. "You know, I find it insulting that my employees never thought I'd prepare for the eventuality of them trying to kill me," he starts, as a burly man pulls off my wig, and sits me down in a chair. "I mean, really? They should've tried this years ago." "How'd you know we were coming?" I ask. My hands are now handcuffed to the back of the chair. "Well, it's not that hard. I picked an employee, who wasn't really acting all that suspicious, but hey, I'm a man with some clear psychological issues, maybe a touch of paranoia, and had brought him to this very room," Yates explain. "And I got to cutting him, and poking him, and threatening him, and just making his life all sorts of Hell. I made sure every waking second was the second he wanted to die. All he had to do, for that simple, simple thing, all had to do to get to die, was tell me who he hired. Not who else was involved, just the assailants." Oh god. He might be crazy. "I figured the assassin, the person who's loyalty was only to the mighty dollar, should share that. Of course, I wouldn't offer him, or her, that. Not money. No. They'd get what, oh what was his name now? Michael! Yes, Michael. They'd get what he got. A slow, agonizing end. The best offer, I'd make," he states proudly. "And, isn't it funny, but I know exactly who the two of you are. The broken little, thief, murderer, kidnapper, etc., and the failure of a person whose life she ruined. For me." "What?!" I roar. So this is the guy? The guy she said didn't have the stomach for killing me? The guy who is clearly psychotic? What the Hell. "Figured she wouldn't tell you. I paid her to off you. At the time, I really wanted whoever your opponent was going to be, to win. Turned out she was a dud, professionally. But the funny thing is, Eva couldn't do it. Kill you, that is. She most certainly took you out of the fight. For whatever reason, she didn't kill you. Maybe she knew you'd destroy your life all on your own. Maybe she didn't have the stomach for it. I don't know. The fact is, I don't care. I get to just ruin her for taking my money and not doing what I asked. And finish the job myself." Yates, leaves, saying he'll be back. Leaving me alone with my thoughts, and Eva. This, this is the guy. The guy. The one who really wrecked my life. Sent my on a downward spiral. Of mistakes. Of pain. Of horror. Of humiliation. This, this right here, is my chance. This is the guy I get to kill. Eva is still knocked out cold. She probably needs a doctor. Soon. Or she's dead. Putting getting us out of here, on me. And I know a trick for getting out of cuffs. Not a pleasant trick. Not a clever, or secret trick. But a trick. I dislocate my thumb. It hurts. Bad. And I almost pass out, but I don't think I have the luxury of that, so I don't. Popping it back hurts, too. I check on Eva, hoping she isn't dead. Breathing, and a steady pulse. She still needs a doctor. I can hear him outside the door. Sending his guards away. Giddy that he gets to start being a miserable excuse for a human being. All I have to do is wait. Just wait for him to open it. And then, I break every, dark, twisted, bone in his body. I see the knob twist, and the door crack opens ever so slowly. "Now, ladies, I believe it's time we--" I don't let him finish. I pull him inside and smash his head into the wall. He gasps, and swings his elbow back, hoping to knock me away. All I do is catch his arm, I hyperextend his elbow and snap it. He screams, and all I do is smile. The rage pounding in my head, and my heart. I have not lived a very good life, and I have not lived well. Now I have a tangible face to think about in regards to all this pain. When I kill him, when I get to look back at this period of my life, I'll at least know I got to do this. He tries to pick himself up, but I violently stomp on his left heel and hear something pop. I'm shaking. Some part of myself hates this. Wants it to stop. I think that part of me is very stupid right now. I won't stop, not until he starts be begging me to. And then, that's when I'll kill him. His face is bloodied, and I won't stop pounding on his midsection. "Casey. Stop," I hear a voice squeak out. "Stop." Eva. "You don't want to kill him. You don't want to carry that with you. Trust me," she warns me, barely able to force herself awake. "I lied to you. This suit I'm wearing, it's wired to record audio. Everything he says. He gets to rot in prison now. It's done." "That's not what I want!" I shout. "I want it back. All the time he took. I want it back." "Don't work that way. Never has. Never will. Bad people do bad things, and others pay the price sometimes. It's the way it goes. Just got to move on. Move on," she says, slipping back into unconsciousness. I stop. My hands shaking. The second person in my life I came this close to killing. It hurts to think about it. Hurts to see what I've done. Oh god, what's wrong with me. "Yes, do listen to the woman with a concussion. Don't kill me. You coward. It's all you are, really. Someone looking for an excuse," Yates croaks out. "But, I'm telling you: Killing for revenge? Satisfying. On many levels. Try it." Egging me on, is he? Probably doesn't want to rot in a cell. Or does he get the death penalty? Does New York still have that? He should get that. "Like her idea better," I state, letting him sink to the floor. "You're done." Yates hung himself in his own holding cell. Morbid, I know. But that's the sort of day it's been, I guess. Eva wasn't going to kill him, originally. This was some weird form of therapy for me. Cathartic, she called it. But he died, so she got paid. "You gonna be okay?" She asks, sporting bandages around her head. "The offer still stands. You can have the Villa. I'll even give you all the money you need. You've more than earned it, with all that you've been through." It doesn't even take me a second to respond. "I'd very much like that. Yes. Please," I say. I don't know what else to do. What to say. I'm spent. On many levels. Tired, broken. Afraid, angry. Like I'm being gnawed at from inside. The city isn't good for me. And I can't stop shaking. "When you picked me up at that bar, when we were talking and flirting, and I got all weak in the knees," I start. "Was any of that real? You told me the best lie, was the truth. Was That part of it?" She stares at me. Almost confused. "I didn't kill you when I should've. I rescued you, risking my neck. I give you the guy who started your nice chain of misery. I'm giving you four million dollar and my villa. Do I actually need to say anything else?" Eva asks. "Kind of?" I say. Eva walks up to me, handing me an envelope. "Passport, ticket, and a set of keys. Once you land, you'll be given the money and directions," she says. Eva then, before I even know what's going on, presses her lips against my own in a deep kiss. "Goodbye Casey. Go have yourself a life. Stay out of trouble." And like that, she's gone. Well. That was something. Mixed messages. Should probably go after her, or something, but for some reason I won't. As she walks out of sight I realize our ways have finally parted. A part of me feels sad as I know I have developed strong feelings for her. But I also feel happy as this crazy ordeal is now finally over and staying in her dark world would have been the wrong choice. Making my way through the airport towards my plane I smile. "And staying out of trouble? Me? That's probably not gonna happen."