Deadline for Writers. 12 Short Stories in 12 Months – March– Prompt: Contract.

I’m afraid that I have had to cheat a little this month due to relentless work and family commitments. This is a character extract from a novel I wrote a few years ago, the character in question being a kind of Contract Killer who loosely fits with the prompt. I have edited a little to try and make the story more standalone. Hope to be back properly with something completely new and original next month.

This is an extract from my novel, Personal Effects, available from Amazon in physical or Kindle format HERE .

*******

It was a shame that it had to come to this.

Café Man stared down at the tablet with an unusual hint of trepidation. He wasn’t used to it. He had grown to respect her. He could see why she had been chosen, by both her organisation and the head of his, but even now, something about this whole situation didn’t sit right with him.

But it wasn’t his job to think.

The result was predetermined. Become a terrorist, and you become a legitimate target. That was the crux of it. The job was second nature now, laying the traps, warming the trail. He knew how to grab people by the scruff of their weakness and pin them up against the wall with their pride. He didn’t get pleasure from it – he was no sadist – he just knew that it was sometimes necessary to maintain order in a world where the physical barriers of old seemed to be disappearing faster than the sun below the horizon. The world needed people like him. If it was all going dark, he’d be the one who would find a man with a torch and do anything to keep that light shining. Anything. Sometimes, it was all necessary – distasteful or not.

It was why they had put so much faith in him. He followed his orders efficiently and effectively, even if sometimes he didn’t really understand their reasons. The trust that had been put in him was reciprocated fully so it wasn’t his place to know the Doctor’s plan, though that didn’t stop him wondering sometimes if he was as clever as they liked to portray.

‘No choice mate, Doctor’s orders!’ as his partner Jones would say. It wasn’t funny the first time, and yet Jones perpetuated the quip with his ridiculous common tongue that made the colloquial sewers of the capital’s backstreets seem like the height of elocution. He despised the man if the truth be told and failed to see exactly what he brought to the table, but these were details that didn’t concern him.

‘Hmmm…’

Though right now, and not for the first time in the last few weeks, he found himself in the unusual position of questioning his orders. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but he obviously couldn’t see the whole picture. That’s all it was.

‘Wassit say, boss? We got another job?’

Café Man didn’t lift his eyes from the tablet but could feel the expectant puppy-like gaze from Jones behind him. Seriously, what had he done to deserve him?

‘Looks like a little trip to the capital may be in order soon Jones,’ he said to the tablet. ‘Can I trust that isn’t a problem?’

‘Na mate. Got to ain’t we? Doctor’s orders!’

The dispirited sigh was lost on Jones, as were most things. Cafe Man turned off the tablet and, ignoring Jones completely, turned to address the wall. He took off his thick-rimmed glasses and gave them a polish.

‘She’s getting close. Looks like she may find him soon.’

‘Finding ‘oo? Her?… So, she’s the target yeah? Take ‘er out?!’

He replaced his glasses, still looking at the wall.

‘Yes,’ mused Café Man as he squinted in concentration. ‘That’s Plan A anyway. That bit makes sense. Plan B, on the other hand…’

‘Look mate, I don’t care if it makes sense or not.’

Café Man turned and looked at the masticating Jones with thinly veiled disgust.

‘Of course you don’t,’ he said, before abandoning the room and leaving the vacuous flat-capped embarrassment to it.

Perhaps he shouldn’t either.

*******

Plan A hadn’t been possible. From his vantage point, there was no way he was going to get a clean shot, she was covered by the secondary target. Hopefully the Doctor would recognise there was nothing more he could have done for now. At least the secondary was neutralised.

It still irked him though. As he stood, looking at the rain hitting the window of his dank motel room, Café Man pondered his latest orders. It was a risk, taking people out in broad daylight like they had. Perhaps things were a little more urgent now than he realised.

‘So, what is our next move then?’

‘We wait.’ He pushed his glasses slowly back against his face in an almost choreographed gesture of contemplation. ‘She’ll be back. I’m sure of that. He’s here after all. He’s the one she wants. We wait Jones. We wait, and she comes to us.’

*******

‘We’ve had word, Jones? Regarding her movements?’

‘Yeah guv, latest comms came in yesterday, ‘ere you are, look…’

Café Man stared at the screen.

‘There’s an officer in government that needs protection I believe, she’s coming for him, Jones. I think it’s time we position ourselves ready for when she arrives.’

‘And we take her out?’

‘Yes,’ sighed Café Man. ‘As the Doctor dictates.’

‘Doctor’s Orders!’ cried Jones in his cheery, ridiculously proud tone. ‘Though it ain’t technically this time I suppose…’

Café Man’s brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, this one weren’t straight from The Doctor, some other geezer, but it’s all the same really ain’t it?’

That didn’t matter, the order had come through the normal channels. He didn’t know how far down the chain of command he was, but these weren’t things that concerned him. Completing his mission, that was all that mattered. He had to shut out the doubts, kill the emotion. He, and all the others like him left in the world, had to think clearly and maintain order.

One thing he was sure of, it was now time.

And she would come to him.

*******

‘So? What are you saying? You can’t protect me?! What the hell are you doing here?’

The disbelief in Richard Classer’s eyes was almost amusing. Government ministers were all the same. Café Man had always thought that it must be a difficult moment for these people, finding out that the power which they hold is completely meaningless once the abstract foundation that it is built upon disintegrates. He could have almost felt some sympathy for him if he wasn’t such a weaselly scumbag.

That was subjective of course. He knew that too. But still…

‘I’m afraid,’ he began patiently, whilst checking and reloading his firearm, ‘that it appears that you’re not nearly as important to the party as you thought you were.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?!’ If Classer was trying to sound authoritative, it was lost behind the breaking tones of his rather panicked voice, ‘I am a minister of government!’ he suddenly cried. ‘I command you to protect this facility!’

Café Man sighed with an almost sympathetic tone. ‘You can command all you want, but it’ll do you no good. Whatever authority you may feel you have is long gone, in fact, it’s surely questionable how much you actually had in the first place.’

‘How… how dare you! Who the HELL do you think you are!’

‘I don’t think that’s relevant,’ he replied as he removed his thick glasses to clean in preparation. ‘What’s more relevant, is who, or what, you actually are. You may try to hide it, but we both know what that is.’ He replaced his now pristine lenses. ‘Nothing. Not to me. Not to anyone. Apart from her, anyway, and that’s not a good thing…’

‘Fuck this, and fuck you,’ Classer replied, anger now clouding whatever judgement he had left as he turned to leave. ‘I don’t have to stay and listen to this; I’m going while I still can…’

‘I wouldn’t do that.’

The minister looked back to see the now cocked firearm pointing directly at him.

‘Not if you want to keep those worn-out knees of yours.’

The anger in Classer’s face seemed to fade almost instantly to one of terror, followed by the stereotypical snivelling, with perhaps even a little resignation.

‘You just said I’m nothing. I’m nothing to you, to no one. Maybe you’re right, I don’t deny it, I am worthless. So why? I don’t understand – just, let me go? Please…?’

‘You’ve yet to serve your purpose,’ Café Man explained, as if talking to a slow and disappointing student. ‘But I only need you for the next few minutes. After that, do what you will…’

‘But she’s going to KILL me!’ Classer cried desperately. ‘Don’t you understand?! What the fuck am I going to do?!’

‘That,’ came the reply with a now impatient disdain, ‘is not my concern. Sit. Stand. Cower. Pray even. Do whatever you feel you need to do,’ he lowered his gun and looked straight into the man’s trembling eyes. ‘My only interest is the girl.’

*******

Grace Lillian wasn’t expecting Classer to have company. The man in the flat cap meant nothing to her, but the smarter one seemed familiar…

‘Oh God, oh God…!’ Classer stuttered. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please…. I beg you!’

‘Mr. Classer, really,’ the smarter of the company interrupted. ‘A man of your position should really maintain at least a basic premise of decorum.’

He removed his thick-rimmed glasses and gave them a polish.

‘I do apologise Ms. Lillian,’ he continued as he replaced them, ‘for our host’s somewhat hysterical demeanour. I realise you’ve come a long way and waited a long time for this moment, but I’m afraid it’s not going to go quite as you planned it.’

Grace just stood surveying the scene with a stunned hush. Classer moved in front of his extraordinarily large desk and sank to his knees.

‘Please. Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he sobbed. ‘I didn’t mean, I really didn’t… it was tampered with. TAMPERED! I SWEAR! I wasn’t in control… I wasn’t…’

But Grace wasn’t paying any attention. She was looking at the smart man with the now quite visible gun.

‘I know you…’ she said. ‘You’re the café man!’

‘Indeed,’ Café Man replied. ‘Though not the superhero name of choice I would give myself. If I was more of a linguist, I would retort with some form of coffee-related pun, but it wouldn’t change the situation we find ourselves in now, would it?’

‘And what situation is that, exactly?’ replied Grace. ‘Is this how far the government go to protect their own is it? Personal bodyguards? Tailing me for weeks? Am I really that important? Is he?!’

Her disgust was undisguised as she flicked her head towards Classer.

‘I assure you,’ Café Man replied ever-calm. ‘I have no intention of protecting this man. I mean, look at him.’

He shifted his head up slightly towards the now pathetically drenched figure on his knees also failing to hide his disgust.

‘You know who I am, what I am,’ he continued. ‘You know what this is. In the exact same way that I know who you are, and what you are. Ms. Lillian, your country thanks you for your service, however, for whatever reason, and however you wish to justify it, it appears that it now counts for nothing. I know about your organisation. I know how you plan to undermine and terrorise the populous of this nation…’

‘Terrorise?!’ Grace interrupted, as she made her own firearm visible. ‘You may convince yourself of that Café Man, but you’re the only people doing the terrorising.’

‘Ah, that old chestnut, one man’s terrorist is another’s freedom fighter. Please Ms. Lillian, save me the lecture,’ he replied in a strained, bored tone. ‘We have a democratically elected leadership, we have laws, we have order. Without these, we have nothing. I uphold those values. I admit, occasionally we are forced to step over certain lines, but only when deemed necessary. You, on the other hand, do your damned best to undermine them at every opportunity…’

‘You have no idea!’ cried Grace, unable to hide the slight panic now entering her voice. ‘You don’t have a clue! The system you’re protecting – democratic?! Ha! It doesn’t even exist! It’s a fallacy! There is no order! There’s only managed chaos, a chaos which doesn’t care who or what gets hurt – that’s what you’re protecting? That’s your justification?!’

‘Look,’ he said. ‘At the end of the day you are a member of a known terrorist organisation, and I stand here before you as a personification of the upheld law. We’ve tried to do this, discretely, both legally and surreptitiously, and I do confess, we were impressed at how your organisation manipulated your online trial, regardless of how convoluted it was. However, we do now find ourselves here. What are we to do?’

He paused. Grace remained impassive.

‘In the end Ms. Lillian, you have two, simple choices,’ he raised his gun. ‘You allow us to take you, and we all leave this room alive. Or… we don’t.’

The other tattier man at his side now smiled widely, nodding his masticating head in excitement.

‘You know I can’t do that,’ she said with a crack in her voice. Taking a breath to recompose herself, she looked back at Café Man. ‘I can’t do that.’

Café Man merely nodded with something resembling respect. ‘I understand, but…’ he continued, replacing respect with inevitability. ‘You know what this means…’

He had made his little speech. Made it look like he was giving her a chance.

He had known from the beginning. Just as she undoubtedly knew what his real orders were. Capture was not an option either of them had.

She wasn’t going to back down. She would charge. She hadn’t come this far and fought like she had to stop now, not with her prize so close.

‘ARGH!!’

It all happened in an instant. Grace let out a piercing scream, gun raised as she bolted across the floor.

‘Oh GOD! Please, PLEASE!’ Classer cried, desperately darting his gaze between Café Man and Jones. ‘DO SOMETHING! STOP HER! I… I COMMAND YOU TO…Please, please! I have a family… PLEASE! Oh God oh God oh God…’

He ducked as the first shot ricocheted over his head but looked to meet the terror of Grace’s eyes, screaming at him merely feet away.

‘FOR CHRIST’S SAKE MAN, DO SOMETHING! PLEASE DO SOMETHING!!!’

But Café Man wasn’t looking at him.

His focus was absolute. He followed her calmly, his barrel tracing her route as she ran screaming towards her target, her own firearm tracing the cowering mess squealing for mercy. He breathed deeply and slowed the world around him with sheer concentration, turning her crazed attack into a breath-taking ballet as she unleashed her destiny with a kinetic storm that showed no sign of abating. His expression remained calm at the top of his sights, watching her every move as she powered towards her target, her face contorted with rage and slowly drowning in tears. His focus was absolute. There was the muffled sound of two shots, maybe three, an irrelevant detail that didn’t matter. All doubts removed; it wasn’t his job to think. He was ready. It was time.

No choice mate, Doctor’s orders!

He pulled the trigger.