Le Doux Noir- Preview
Felix was home again after a long day at what he does.
He came into the home, jagged key turning tumbler, freeing the waiting lock dutiful in
protecting the much of nothing that was this place.
He took off his well-worn boots, still useful in protecting the fragile pseudo-fingers they call
toes (were they a combination of hybrid thumbs and digits?). He placed them in the corner,
tossing them in perfect alignment. He left the entryway light off, even though his instinct yelled at him
to inspect the place. He sat on the lone loveseat, a deep sigh exhaling the rough contents of
the day. Closing his eyes, and drawing in the familiarity, he let his clasped hands accept his
head. The same head that would probably do better on a pillow. This wasn’t his normal wind
down but today had been a hell of a day. He let his mind swirl, wondering where he had
slipped, what he did wrong. It was good for him to analyze the good, the bad, and the middle
ground to see where he could improve. He needed to always attack what he couldn’t foresee,
what could trip him up and give him over to Hell sooner than he wanted or anticipated.
Besides, betterment would mean more money, more coin, which was his main motivation.
Wasn’t it everyone's? Anything else was pointless. What was the world if not run by
commerce? His prize catch was fucking up his opportunity to cash in. She had been like all
the rest: Overconfident and blissfully ignorant of what the world was really like, at least for
those on the other side. For the normals, those who somehow were oblivious that Death
lived right over everyone’s shoulder in an instant, the world was a combination of sunshine,
Ipods, Tweets and lollipop lattes on the way to instant success and pop musician hero boy
toys and social mediaphite worship. For the real world, at least according to those like Felix,
the world was a wet, dank, horrible freakshow of survivalists, capitalists, conmen and
conwomen climbing over one the other for a piece of a ticket to a paradise that took a 60
plus year death sentence at some cubicle to enjoy. Those who wanted to escape the
life jail lived outside and sometimes above or between the law to get what they wanted
sometimes and what they needed if they were lucky. Felix believed in making his own luck.
And money ruled over morality. Oh, there were limits; no kids. If he had to push down an
old lady or club an elderly or sickly man over the head, so be it. But no kids. Well,
what if you fucked up a kid’s household? Well, that was in the rulebook as okay.
Dog eat dog and the lot of the luck. Maybe the kid would grow up with a grudge
and save his city, fleshing out evildoers everywhere on some reckless crusade for justice
for one and all. But, Felix was about doing what was necessary to get the coin.
He remembers the hunt like he was still there twelve long hours ago. How long had she
fought back? She had way more spirit than most he thought. He rummaged through her purse,
annoyed at the mass of cosmetic mess at the bottom. Clearly, the well-worn accessory was
her favorite. Tonight was a special night: She was meeting her girlfriends to celebrate leaving
the bastard of a boyfriend she had dated for two and a half years. Felix watched the whole
scene, even ordering some side dish made of overcooked asparagus, with tough escargot
covered with an almost unbearably, salty gravy. He gulped it down chasing it with a water
forgoing his usual glass of vino. No time for alcohol, as he watched the girl have her share,
more than it looked like she was used to. She and her friends set the dance floor ablaze with
rapturous joy, with nary a care in the world, clearly unaware of just who was keenly watching
every rhythmic twist, every gyration, every little step she made. And spins became blurs,
her turns into slips, every whoa from the crowd turned into whoas from her friends.
She was quite the accomplished, beautiful dancer. Given time and more training, her wildcat
could be tamed into something for figure-skating gold or a true artist of dance.
Instead, Felix planned on making her become rent, become supplies, become toiletries,
all in the name of his benefactor: The International. The International paid well for bodies,
teen to mid-twenty-year-old females, slave labor etc. If you see someone on a poster,
there are several reasons why they might never come back. The International is the reason
if its a young lady or someone they can use to work. After the cold war, jobs began to dry up.
Then, people with Felix’s skillset were offered jobs. The job was to find people,
‘cull and thin the herd’, was how they explained it and man, did they pay in spades.
Felix never got paid like this for the old work. The old work was 10 times the hassle and
potential for never coming back.
This job was simply ‘catch and release’: get paid half upfront, catch and qualify, get paid the
the remaining half, become reliable and get bonuses. So, he leaned over the rail, watching
waiting, fending off drunken overtures, keen on his prey. There was an art to all of it, and he
had become its master. Her girls called a taxi and they all dropped off one by one.
Felix followed until the girl was next to last at her stop. Had they all been smart they would have
seen one the other up and in, safe and sound. Alcohol dulled the senses, including the
common ones. So here she was, alone in front of the yellow light that shone all over her.
She made the attempt to get the key where it should have gone, dropping it.
How many times had she come home shit-faced and done the same thing only to lapse
into a drunken induced sleep that she would work off with aspirin, eggs, and a Bloody Mary
to boot? Felix thought correctly that if sober she would have known better and had an
earpiece on, talking to one of her girlfriends for alert, quick, sharp rapid movement to slip
in almost one singular motion saving time, space and boosting safety. No, not this night.
So, the girl smiled, almost wanting to laugh. She had to pee so she quickened her efforts to
get inside. By that time Felix was right behind her as she opened the door, pushing her
forward with enough force causing her to fall in the heels that she really didn't wear on a
regular and therefore drunken stooper and untrained ankle worked together toward her
demise. Felix slipped the door shut almost silently, then felt a sharp pain over his left temple
and eye. Skin pierced and blood came leaking over the eye he’d just managed to turn and
protect, hand helping. He felt her young fragile foot against his left kidney.
Not a bad kick, he thought for no particular reason other than if he were training a woman.
He filed it, like how he did with other useless bits of information that might be retrieved
for re-use toward the coin or survival of some sort. The better move would have been to
run immediately and try to call for help. At least she knew her house, he thought.
Much like he did, as he knew he wouldn’t have to search his place like he did after returning
every evening. But he was too tired as he wanted to just rest for a moment or two to process
what the hell had just happened and how a drunken kid almost ended the evening in the worst
possible way.
He wanted clarity, so before he made his cola and whiskey, he looked at the lines in the ceiling,
searching the run of cracks, looking at the old water stains, thinking he should move.
This was the perfect place for what he did, so he dismissed the thought. Lay low, collect,
continue. Buy a place by the water in Mexico. Call it a life. Maybe in 3-4 years if he was on top
of his shit, maybe not. If he kept slipping like tonight, it would end in a half a year at best.
How the hell did the girl give him such a fight when she was drunken? Liquid courage?
Maybe she was just a fighter like that? Felix couldn’t possibly know and it didn’t matter.
He knew that if he wasn’t so soft on her, he could’ve ended it after the ceramic exploded on
his temple. He had done a terrific job of deflecting the blow and although it had caused his
own fall, he quickly rose to one knee and grabbed her ankle. The girl’s next mistake was
thinking she could take on the bigger assailant. She had no clue as to what the intruder’s
intent was, nor how many there were. The best move was to run, but for the liquid courage.
These were the thoughts of a man, who actually felt sorry for his victim. This was a major
mistake, one that could have gotten him killed. In this line of work, or anything similar, one
doesn’t just assume the weakness without also accounting for the potential strength,
especially when playing the game on the opponent's home turf. What if she had a boyfriend?
What if her estranged husband had spent the night? What if she was a trained ex-superspy
of the infamous Red Brigade? He didn’t really do but a rudimentary check of any of them.
He was just told, young and able,
the prettier the better. The more the merrier, the money increase including the bonuses.
The closer he would be to landing in a villa in Mexico, or the Florida Keys, somewhere nice and
warm where he could forget what he had done to get there. He promised he would be more
thorough, but man, the quicker he could pull a fish, the quicker he could leave the nets behind.
His thoughts went back to how he grabbed the ankle and used his left hand to push her to the
floor. The girl must have been thinking rape, because she then fought for all her worth, kicking
at Felix, managing to get his right eye with her left foot still heel-covered. Still, the girl did NOT
run! She cursed him and gave Felix a follow up karate-like move to his throat with her index and
middle fingers. The nails were hard enough to cause a cut to his larynx with the effect of a punch.
If he wasn’t fucking around at Mercy U, he would have normally punched her thigh already,
numbing the leg, rendering it useless and making her a one-legged easy victim. Instead,
he had to fight the urge to put both of his hands on his esophagus, trying to desperately get a
breath. To the contrary, he lowered his head, let go of what for most would have been panic
and caught the executed next move. The girl had been trained, probably a self-defense
class or two, to do the move and take advantage of the moment of someone trying to
catch the ability to breathe. This would’ve worked on someone who was on the other side,
you know, just your run-of-the-mill stalker/rapist/killer. Nope. Felix was none of these;
catch and release. So, the veteran kidnapper had seen a great deal and learned even more.
As the girl tried to swing at him, Felix instead caught her whole body, picked her up and did
the 50-yard dash into her mantle outside of her kitchen. He then, followed up with another
tackle, this time against her refrigerator to totally take the wind out of her sails and
just before she crumpled her gave her a right cross that finished the fight for sure.
He leaned over her sink, letting the stainless steel cool against the war of pain and
breath catching. She was STILL stirring, when he pulled out the chloroform,
pouring it on the cloth and covering her still resistant
body. He sat behind her wrapping his legs around her waist, holding the cloth tight against
her mouth. Still she twitched in violence, seemingly still not giving in until literally, her last
breath was the darkness. He lay with her in the same position for a few minutes like a lioness
or a wolf holding the muzzle of a buffalo, just to make certain it was all over. He relaxed on
the couch, the sound of plastic still fresh as he wrapped her like a mummy in cellophane and
delivered her to the drop. Just another day, just another young dame, just another dollar but
man did this one cost. One sharper move from this simple civilian might have cost him more.
He got up and made his drink, leaving it on the counter so the ice could settle with the alcohol
and cola a bit. He retreated to the bathroom to ice his sore external throat, looking in the
mirror to examine the damage. He rubbed it realizing that he was lucky the girl didn't perform
an instant tracheotomy on his adam’s apple. He turned the attention to his head wound. The
girl was NOT playing games and he respected her for the fight, cursing himself being so
careless. So much so, he hurried back to the kitchen after cleaning and bandaging the head
wound. He drank down the drink with haste, poured and drank one more before deciding a
final front door check of the deadbolts and the windows. Drawing his thick drapes closed,
he caught a glimpse of the beautiful city lights causing his head to spin. He stumbled to bed
falling forward to the awaiting darkness with little care of anything but the eternal bliss of night.
End of Chapter One
