Wade had to admit, the package gave him a hard time. Not only was it hard to find, it didn’t go willingly either. The package, or Bill as they called him in English, threw all two-hundred fifty pounds of himself around, planting blow after blow to Wade’s face and chest, leaving scrapes, bruises and broken bones. But it was nothing a bullet to the knee cap and the butt of the pistol to the back of the head couldn’t handle.
Now we both have to show up to the party with broken noses. Nice going, asshole.
Though Bill was unconscious when the men came to pick them up, they felt the need to chloroform him anyway.
Showoffs, Wade thought as they made their way to their next destination.
Being an international hitman had its perks, like traveling the world with a seemingly bottomless expense account. Getting into a tussle here and there wasn’t all bad especially in the current instance. Japan was one of his favorite places and Ms. Lynn was one of his favorite clients.
Since the twenty-something took over as commander-in-chief of her family’s ‘association’ when her father got his brains blown out by a rival a few years ago, Ms. Lynn had to be more than assertive to the dangerous men who followed her.
She’d set examples for them, pushing their uncertainties in her favor as they were forced to witness her decapitating or cutting the heart out of those considered disloyal. It was like a show that she gave to her masses to inflict fear and solidify her status. Since she wasn’t completely sure who she could trust among her men, she’d hire Wade to go find those who’ve gone rouge, deliver them, and enjoy the show. Though it was simple, Wade was sure his presence for the ‘show’ had a double meaning. She wanted to convey her shallow message to all.
But who could blame her? Knowing that she could be assassinated by any of her soldiers or rivals at any time had to be nerve wrecking. But Wade didn’t care about her wellbeing, status, reasons, or whatever point she wanted to portray. He only cared about executing the job and of course, the pay.
Ms. Lynn was waiting patiently on the vacant fifth floor of one of the office buildings on her family’s shipyard. The booming of heavy machinery, men yelling and the bellowing of ship horns riddled the night along with the unforgiving stitch of rotting fish. Each wall of the dank, abandoned fifth floor was packed with several men and one of them (a teenager?) wielded the familiar Katana sword. Its aqua wooden sheath embroidered throughout with a silhouette of a thin, golden dragon.
Wade chuckled to himself. Although the Katana was Ms. Lynn’s preferred method of execution, she kept a 9mm pistol in her leather hip holster, but never acknowledged it. Wade chalked it up to her being prepared for whatever fight was to come, just as any good leader would.
In the center of the dim floor was a steel chair backed by a child sized steel bucket full of water, a hand towel and a medium sized cooking pot.
Wade and one of Ms. Lynn’s men tied unconscious Bill to the steel chair, bounding each leg and midsection along with his arms behind his back with a hemp rope.
“Wade,” Ms. Lynn said softly as she approached him. Her sweet voice was as graceful as her long dark hair that flowed behind her with every step. However, her dark eyes told the story of a power welding psychopath that was impossible to read, just like most of Wade’s clients.
“Ms. Lynn,” Wade said with a nod.
“Didn’t look too easy for you this time,” she said, using her small index finger to motion at her button nose.
“You know me, I prefer challenges.” Wade had forgotten about his deformed nose, one nostril stuffed with gauze. Aside from the occasional stinging, he had grown used to it.
“Well I’m happy you got your challenge, but the night is still young,” she said as she removed her leather jacket, exposing the tattoos on her upper back and arms of dragons and goat heads.
Her army boots and a black tank top made her war- ready. She removed a pink hair band from one of the many pockets of her cargo pants and tied her hair into a bun, sitting it atop her perfectly round head.
“Wade,” she began, “do you know what waterboarding is?”
Of course, he did. His brief stent as a CIA spy rewarded him the misfortune of being on the wrong side of the assault. That’s what I got for talking so much shit to my captors, he thought but said, “I’m familiar.”
“Bill has information that I want. You will waterboard him with the help from my men to until he gives it up.”
Bill shifted his head, coming out of his induced coma, then he started to shake his wrist. The easy, passive movement became violent when he peered up at Ms. Lynn. He pulled limbs away from the chair and against the rope, slicing his flesh in the attempt to get away.
You’re not going anywhere, buddy.
“Didn’t think I would find you, huh?” Ms. Lynn asked. “I knew you wouldn’t get far.”
Bill shifted from left to right, taking the chair down to the floor onto its side. The thud of Bill slamming to the floor was accompanied with a crack. He screamed and grimaced once he landed on his arm.
“Looks like you broke something,” she said, kicking at Bill’s arm that was wedged underneath him. Bill shrieked as Ms. Lynn motioned for one of her men to flip him onto his back. He let out another agonizing cry as all his weight came down on his broken arm and hands that were now scraping against the grimy cement floor.
“Where is it?” she asked as Bill continued to wallow in pain. Wade admired her courage. She was so petite upon the sea of dangerous men who crowded the space, standing against the walls engaged in silence.
“Where is it, Bill?” she asked again.
Bill screamed in Japanese when Ms. Lynn interrupted, “English only, please. We don’t want to be rude to our guest.”
Obviously, Bill didn’t care because he continued yelling in their native tongue. Ms. Lynn turned to one of her men and nodded. He and another man lifted the chair and held Bill horizontally, slightly tilting his head over the bucket.
Wade placed the wet towel over Bill’s face, covering his nose, cheeks and eyes. Slowly, Wade poured water from the pot onto the towel. Bill choked and coughed as he shook his head trying to avoid the steady stream, but was powerless. After a few seconds, the men dropped Bill back to the floor. He choked and gagged and screamed all at once as his weight crushed his bloody hands underneath him.
Finally, Bill screamed out in English, “Hasyu has it! My brother Hasyu has it!”
Well, that was easy.
Ms. Lynn laughed maniacally as she motioned at one of the men near the staircase, who left for a minute or two. He returned with a body that had a bloody stump where its head used to be and dropped it in front of Bill.
What? Wade was surprised for a second but then remembered: Psychopath. Yeah. That’s about right.
“Why?” Bill screamed. “Hasyu!”
“Because I can,” she spat, glaring at faces around the floor, including Wade’s. “I just thought it would be fun to hear you say it. Now, sit him up,” she demanded as she motioned for the boy who was holding the samurai sword to come forward. He did. After the men sat the chair upright, she pulled the sword from the wooden scabbard while maintaining focus on Bill who was whimpering as he dripped water and blood, defeated.
The sword tore through the air and sliced through Bill’s thick neck effortlessly. His head popped off and rolled across the floor toward a cluster of men, who dared not move or speak. Just watched. Thick crimson liquid spewed up and out, stunned by the circulatory disruption.
Ms. Lynn returned the sword to its sheath and searched the room once more. Her dead eyes brought down an icy hot sensation as she, without words, sent out a cynical message to all that stood before her. Once satisfied that the message was received, she glared at Wade and said “Now, let’s clean you up, get you paid and get some dinner. I’m starving,” she smiled.
Wade nodded. This was his favorite part about visiting Japan, the fine bonus: spending the evening with a dangerously powerful, sex crazed Japanese woman who was paying him a million dollars.
He smiled and followed her to the exit, leaving the men to clean up the mess.
Edited by: Haylee Swinford
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