Page 3 of The Associate
I remember sitting in my father’s old office, my mother yelling at Sal to make me leave with her. Sal just stared at her calmly from my father’s chair before shrugging his shoulders and dismissing her.
That was the last time I saw her. The next day, she left for good, and he continued teaching me the ways of the organisation — my father’s legacy.
Sal was the next best choice to rule at the time my father died. He was the strongest and most reputable man there was in the Underbelly, but that was twenty years ago. I have been Sal’s second for a year. When he needs someone taken out, he calls me. When he needs a cleanup sorted, he calls me. I have contacts for everyone in this organisation, and even ones outside of ours. He trusts me with everything because I never let anyone get in my way.
* * *
I walk into the venue, my eyes watching the sea of people. Couples dance on the dance floor, others stand at the bar. Tables sit with even spacing around the perimeter. Floor-to-ceiling windows with sheer, white curtains line the walls. One of the windows must be open because a curtain flows out slightly, like a waterfall cascading down. The sound of everyone chattering is a dull roar; there would have to be at least two hundred people here. The room is spacious enough, but it still feels like everyone is standing on top of me. The gala tonight is just one huge pissing competition of who has the most money.
I catch a glimpse of Cyber over the other side and I nod in his direction. He is here to get the feelers out on what it is all for. There is no reason for him to be with me the whole time. He is just our intel; the brains of the organisation, and the one way we can get a bug inside this venue without being detected.
Closing my eyes, I take a breath to centre myself once again, and, when I reopen them, I immediately spot my target looking just as sleazy as his photos. His suit looks cheap, the jacket too big, pants too baggy. Nothing like the tailored suits the other men are wearing. His jacket is undone, and his shirt is only half tucked in. His beard is disheveled, poorly hiding the gaunt features of his face. He is scrawny, except for the beer gut peeking through his suit jacket.
His eyes dart around like someone is about to jump out at him. He isn’t wrong — I am the danger he can sense and this fucker is going down tonight.
I step up to the bar, order a shot of whiskey, and make my way towards the exit. I watch as his eyes move around the room, and while he is looking in the opposite direction, I down the shot of whiskey and smash the glass against the wall. A few heads turn in my direction, looking for the source of the sound, but then turn back to their conversations. The only person to really react is Jasper. His head snaps around towards the source of the sound and he looks directly at me.
The moment I have his attention, I flick my head towards the doorway, a way of instructing him to follow me.
The moment I am out in the car park, I wait a little further away from the door for him to catch up to me. As soon as he steps out from behind the doors, I aim my Glock at the wall next to him and fire.
His eyes go wide and he stares at where the bullet has hit, but I can’t kill him there – no. I need to pull him further into the undercover parking bays and away from any prying eyes.
He looks at me again, a hint of rage crossing his features, and I do the only thing I know to move him away from the safety of the gala: I leg it.
My black dress shoes slap against the concrete, the sound echoing through the building. I am not aiming for subtlety; I need him to think he has the advantage.
For someone who is wasted, he can still move fairly quickly when he runs, but when I pick up the pace, I easily gain some distance from him.
He has been drinking throughout this event, so fooling him should have been a cake walk, but this guy is giving me a run for my money. Thankfully, his senses are going to be a little off and I am good at what I do. My feet continue to slap on the ground. His file told me he is cunning, so I have to make sure that he considers me a stupid guy just trying to get a quick high. The look he gave me when I shot at him tells me he is figuring out exactly who I am.
I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. Only one person would be calling me at this time – the boss, probably checking how everything is going. I swear to fucking God it’s like this guy has a sixth sense for when I am in the middle of something; he is clearly getting impatient that this job is taking longer than he’d like. That call is going to have to wait because he will kill me if I answer while I’m on the job.
I pause and snatch my gun from its holster. I pull back the slide on the top of my 9mm Glock 17. My brows furrow and a growl leaves my throat. “Fuck.” Jammed.
I slam the butt of the gun against my palm. I checked this hunk of metal this morning. It might seem stupid, but I am a little sentimental about this gun. This has been my choice of weapon since the beginning of my career working with Murwood; not once have I had any issues with it, unless Sal had — I shake that thought out of my head,surely not.
A shot is fired, but the idiot has sent it in the wrong direction. Hiding behind one of the many pillars in the dim underground car park, I hit the release button on the Glock, ejecting the magazine with a metallic click as it falls into my open palm. I throw the jammed Glock behind a tire of the nearest car before I pull my backup out of the holster and make a mental note to come back for it when this is over. There is no way I am leaving the only keepsake of my father that I have left.
My heart is racing as I hear Jasper stumbling around. I close my eyes for a brief moment to focus. I can feel the monster taking hold, the killer I am trained to be. I won’t miss this shot; I have never missed a target in my whole career of taking them down.Alright monster, time to come out and play.
Another shot is fired behind me, ricocheting off the concrete right next to my ear.Oh shit!He has spotted me. I must’ve gotten his attention when I released the mag from my gun. I mentally berate myself for the stupid move.
A nearby car alarm sounds and a stray bullet breaks through the window, sending glass flying everywhere. Looking down at the white dress shirt I have on, I see it has been splattered with blood. I am not in any pain and I can’t sense anything out of the ordinary, so it must not be my blood… But, then again, there is no one else nearby.
I assess my current state again and, sure enough, there is a small tear in the sleeve of my shirt and a scratch on the skin that has been exposed underneath. Okay, so maybe the bloodismine, but what did I catch myself on? Surely he didn’t catch me — I’d have felt it if he did.
My vision starts to close in; it feels like the lights around me are being switched off. I can see the objects surrounding me, but it is just the shape I see — no details. I need to catch my breath and calm down, or I am going to be the one leaving here in a body bag. The adrenaline and anxiety of this job can get overwhelming, but I can’t afford to have an episode now.
I take a few moments to breathe and calm my heart rate. I can hear my target’s footsteps moving in the opposite direction once again. In one swift motion, I rise to my feet, raise my gun and point it directly at the back of his head. “Oi, asshole!” I growl.
He spins around on his heels, and I am finally able to see him clearly. His eyes are bloodshot, a sway in his stance. He is wasted., I can see it in the way he is staring at me, trying to make sense of who is in front of him. No wonder he isn’t shooting straight; he is probably seeing more than one of me standing here.
I chuckle to myself. The monster inside chomps at the bit. Jasper staggers towards where I’m standing, or where one of me is standing; when he is a metre away, I pull the trigger. The shot hits him right between the eyes, and I watch with a satisfied smirk as he drops to the ground like a sack of shit.
Good riddance, I think, as I assess the dimly-lit area — things are a mess. Glass is scattered on the ground, blood is sprayed up the walls, half of the lights have blown, and a singular fluorescent is flickering on and off. The light is making an ominous crackling sound, like it is about to die as well. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I call in the clean-up crew.
I collect my jammed Glock from under the car near the pillar that I had been crouched behind only moments before. I have the back of my shirt lifted, ready to put my Glock in its rightful place, before realising that spot is already occupied. Muscle memory can be a pain in my ass.
