Till Deceived Do We Part

Tree after tree. They passed by as if nothing, and they were nothing. In our life, in our lives, when did we take time to actually admire something, such as a tree? It was non-consequential. As were the small grains of cement making up the road. The yellow lines lining the cement were washed down into a degraded road. It was wearing and tearing away, but who really took notice? Who really stopped to think about a dying road? Non-consequential. These things didn’t matter. Just like some murders didn’t matter to some people. Just how the disappearance of Zane was non-consequential.

Who cared if an assassin was missing? Who cared if he was being tortured and beaten? Who cared if he was within a thread of dying? In today’s society you only cared about what was yours. What was around you. If someone across the planet got brutally gutted and left to rot, what’s it to you? That was how people thought nowadays, and though I was the last person to judge people, it bugged me. It annoyed the hell out of me that I was freaking out over a man I cared about being gone while everyone else was living their lives all happy and loving. I just... I just didn’t know anymore.

When you kill for a living, how do you grow close to anyone? When you wait for everyone around you to die, how do you make attachments? When everything around you begins to crumble, to fall apart, what do you do? How do you save someone when your whole life you’ve been taught to do the opposite? To kill? How do you know what to do, when everything in your body when everything in your mind, screams at you to stop, to go the other way?

I wasn’t supposed to grow close to anyone. This was why. I shouldn’t be effected. I just shouldn’t be. I should be able to look at this with a cool calm composure. But I couldn’t, and I could only wish that soon these feelings would go away. I didn’t like feeling so vulnerable, so open... it was as if I was exposed to our enemies, and they were pulling every string inside me that I wished to remain un-pulled. They knew how to get in my head, and I needed to get them out. For Zane’s safety and my own.

“The guy’s name is Rory. He has a record for domestic violence and women abuse. You’ll enjoy this.” I didn’t even glance at Flint, I just nodded. That was all fine and dandy, and while beating up Rory for information would please me, it would only last a short while. It was like a drug. I’d get high off the feeling, then sink back into reality; reality without Zane.

“This is pointless. You and I both know that.” This time, Flint didn’t even glance at me. I didn’t care.

“Then why argue the point to go out?” Way too nice. In a normal situation, Flint would come back with a snipe. Something like, “You know something? The apocalypse has begun!”. But not today, and probably not tomorrow.

“I’m sick of just sitting around. I had to do something.”

“You’ve been doing a whole lot of something with that boy of yours, as far as I’m concerned.” Now that was the Flint I knew, and for once, anger didn’t hit me. Relief did. Annoying pain in the ass Flint I could take. Nice, caring, freaky Flint, I couldn’t.

The tattoo parlour-though it was more like a shack-was about fifty km outside of town. Even with Flint’s ‘speed limit’ driving, we still got there pretty quick. That, or I was better at tuning him out than I thought.

The shack was next to a run-down house, looking to me like a druggy place. Knowing our guy, it was probably just that. Or he merely liked looking like he was poor. Poor people are less likely to be robbed... but then rich people go poor from being robbed. Controversy. They were both made of wood that was splitting and cracking all over. The house, however, had a small patio in the front, leading to the front door. I counted at least three holes that were in it, where you would fall through to the ground. And the stairs were slanted, though I suppose if you tilted your head to the side, it almost looked normal. Almost.

There was no colour painted on the wood. That was probably for the best, for even the little trimming of colour around the windows were peeling and flaking everywhere. The windows looked blacked out, whether from paint or something self inflicted, I didn’t know. For all I knew, it was smoke from shooting up or getting high. Didn’t really matter.

The tattoo ‘parlour’ was much smaller, and also had blacked out windows. The door, however, looked fairly new. My guess? Someone kicked the last one down. There were spider webs covering the wood, and even from the distance of Flint’s car, I could see the bugs crawling all over it. All in all, I could not understand why someone would trust this man to give a tattoo, in a place like that. It’s just screaming infection.

Flint parked the car while I took in the surroundings; one vehicle in the driveway, forest surrounding, and no guard animals that I was aware of. All in all, easy. We didn’t need a plan. It was a simple questioning, and everyone knows what goes with simple questions. Pain.

We reached the door and Flint opened it, not bothering to knock on it. He stepped aside, holding it for me, a stupid grin on his face. I shot him a glare of pure malice, before walking in, allowing him to follow me. Flint was back, and he was beginning to push my buttons.

The inside was better than the outside, but I suppose that isn’t saying much. There was a dirty mat immediately when you walked in, and to the right, there was a small filing cabinet. Further to the right, there was a simple wooden desk, looking rather flimsy. Papers and drawings were scattered across it, as were some rather... interesting looking needles. If you were to walk straight through the room, there was another door... or a mesh covering? It looked like mesh, but since when was mesh a door? I assumed that was where the tattoos were done. Then there were the pictures... to put it simply, some tattoos just aren’t meant to go in certain places.

Rory say behind his desk, his eyes raising to meet ours when we entered. He wasn’t overly obese, but he was chubby. He had a tiny little nose and beady little eyes, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn he was a molester. Who knew, maybe he was and he just hadn’t been caught yet. His cheeks were just fat, hanging slightly. You couldn’t even make out his cheek bones. His head was half bald, and the rest was covered in greasy faded brown hair, with bits of grey flaked in it. His arms were covered in tattoos, and even through them I could make out needle marks. And not the type tattoos gave. His left ear held multiple piercing’s, and there was a small stud sticking from his eyebrow.

“Sorry. Booked up.” His voice was deep and laced with annoyance. Did he honestly thing someone that looked like I did, or how Flint did, would come to him? He was delusional.

I ignored his words, and one glance at Flint told me I was doing this by myself. He was leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed against his body. He would step in if he needed to, but unless I asked, which was highly unlikely, or Rory got the upper hand, which was even more unlikely, he would stay out of it. Good. This was going to be fun.

I walked towards him, and at this, he stood, anger flashing in his small eyes. His fists balled and he bared a hideous smile, showing off lack of teeth and blackened ones. Disturbing.

“Listen, lady, you have ten sec-“ I tossed down the photo of the tattoo onto his desk, cutting him off. I waited, and as I did, he shot me a look full of hatred and looked at the photo. I didn’t know what I expected, but I certainly didn’t expect him to choke up then reach for his desk drawer.

Now, I could have just pushed him out of the way. I could have hit his head on the desk-which was tempting-or I merely could have pulled out my own gun, but neither were too entertaining. And I was in a mood to be entertained, unfortunately for him.

I used my hands to support my weight on the desk, then pushed out with my foot. The bottom of it smashed against the side of the desk, sending momentum skittering out of me, and into the desk. It only took a second for Rory to be hit with the impact, and when it did, the gun he had just managed to grab, slid from his grip. It crashed to the floor, but I was paying more attention to him. The desk slammed into him, and since even his chubby body wasn’t enough of a weight to stop the momentum, it kept going. The wall, which surprised myself due to it’s ratty appearance, managed to be strong enough. Rory’s back slammed into the wall just as quickly as the desk slammed back into him, pinning him there.

The sound it let off... was amazing. Music to my ears. The rough breath leaving his disgraceful body, the scream of pain as a few of his ribs crunched, and the overwhelming sound of chaos. Sweet bliss.

I walked towards him, ignoring Flint’s coughs as he tried not to laugh, and ignoring Rory’s whimpers of pain. The only thing that mattered now was Zane. I would figure this out for him.

I grabbed the photo that had, surprisingly, remained on the desk, and held it up. I shoved it in his face before letting it drop. Tears brimmed his eyes and sweat dripped from his forehead. Good. He better be uncomfortable, because Zane certainly was.

“What’s the guys name?” I hissed, climbing up on the desk. I rested on my knees on the top and clenched my fists, ready to punch him if need came to be. He let out a whiny whimper before opening his mouth. At first he just seemed like a fish out of water, opening and closing it. But as my hand rose, he seemed to get what he needed together.

“He’ll kill me. Hell slaughter me! I don’t do this messed up bullshit!” At least he was talking, even if the pitch was hurting my ears.

“And what exactly do you think I’m going to do?” I asked, leaning closer to him, close enough that I could smell the sweat that kept coming down like a waterfall. I pulled out my gun and watched his expression range from fearful to full out horror. “All I want is a name. The guy’s dead, and if you don’t tell me, you’ll be joining him. So Rory, your choice. The clock is ticking.” Okay, I’ve never been one for cliches, but I couldn’t resist that one. And it wasn’t lost on Rory, which made it all the more worth while. And judging by the increase of coughing behind me, it didn’t go unnoticed to Flint. Rory stumbled for a moment, but I finally got a name out of him... with the help of a barrel pressed against his skull.

“Myron Welner.” Myron? I’m sure there were some nice ‘Myron’s’ out there, but when I heard that name, I had to suppress a laugh. Myron and killer just didn’t go together.

“And by messed up bullshit you meant?” His eyes kept darting between the gun and me, nervousness filling them. He even took one of those audible gulps that are usually only shown in movies. In real life, they’re usually too freaked out to be swallowing, or they just begin to hyperventilate. Turns out Rory was a hit for bringing cliche’s to life.

“I don’t know! It was just... just weird.” When I pinned him with a look, he quickly continued. “Whenever he got a call, he’d shove a gun in my face and... and tell me to leave. I said, I said that it was my place and he...”

“Threatened to kill you?” I put in lazily. Didn’t take a genius to figure that out. A man shoves a gun in another mans face and orders him to do something, and the other man doesn’t. There are only three possible outcomes for that. One, he shoots the man’s head off. While short-term effective and very messy, not good if you need something out of them. Two, you beat them senseless, and again while successful, they don’t always remain coherent. And three, you threaten what you could do. You don’t have to do any straining physical activity like beating someone, and you don’t have to throw away your blood soaked clothes. All in all, usually the best solution.

Rory nodded his head before gasping in pain. I suppose being pinned by a desk, even if it was a weak one like this, would be painful.

“Anything else? Phone number? Residence?” His head swayed as he shook it, his eyes now locked on the gun.

“N-no. He wanted this strictly between us... no outsides. He made that very clear.” I nodded and jumped off the desk. He flinched as my feet slammed into the ground. “W-wait! Now what? You can’t jus-“ I spun on him, shutting him up.

“Have you lied to me?”

“No!” He practically shouted in fear, earning an inward wince from myself. Damn. I didn’t know male voices could go that high.

“Then there’s no problem.” I turned again, and this time, he stuttered to say something.

“B-b-but you can’t just leave me-“ I turned again. You know, for a women beater, he sure shut up a lot when looking at the face of one. Then again, this was kind of fun and I was being mean... but it was just too tempting to pass up.

“If I recall, when we walked in, you said you were booked.” He remained silent. “And right now, you said you didn’t lie to me. So, if that’s not a lie, someone will be along shortly, right?” He didn’t answer, just paled. “But then, I suppose you could have lied, but if that’s the case, you may have lied about the other stuff, right?” Once again, no answer. “And if you did, then I would have to kill you.” I shifted the gun. “So, you’re going to be fine, aren’t you?” Again no answer, which I took as my que to leave.