Ten ways to kill a man
(The chronicles of a female assassin)
By Quicksylver
A little something I wrote in school. Seen from P.O.V of different people.
PWP warning & some language.
Double Tap
Joel "Porsche" Mc Athy sat on his large black leather couch. His jacket was strewn over it carelessly, his shirt half unbuttoned and his belt buckle undone. His shoes lay where he had thrown them, near the door. He looked around his trendy new age apartment with weary eyes. He ran his hand through his dark brown hair and looked at his reflection in the smooth surface of the glass coffee table.
What have I gotten myself into, he thought to himself, sipping his scotch straight up. Never fuck with the mob... even though you may be the mayor's son. Not even daddy can bail you out of a quarter of a million in gambling debts. He downed the rest of his drink and reached for the bottle. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, he looked up. It came again, short and crisp. He walked to the door and opened it wide.
It was a beautiful brunette in a short leopard skin dress. "Mario sent me with a present for you" she gushed, smiling.
Joel grinned, she was hot. "Yeah, what is it baby?" he asked. Her smile disappeared as she pulled out a 44' Magnum and shot him twice in the forehead.
"This... baby"
Quietly she closed the door and walked to the elevator.
Uno
Ashes to ashes
Leland Tremoss awoke to the sound of splashing water. The stench of rubbish and something else he couldn't recognize filled his nostrils. He groaned, this is one killer hangover... but I'm used to it. Something was wrong, he remembered passing out in an alley but he felt as if he were in a shower. He was soaking wet but it wasn't water. He rubbed the liquid between his fingers. Oh shit! It was gasoline. His eyes widened.
It was then that he saw her. Her face alight from the small flame in her hand. Time went in slow motion as she flicked the cheap lighter toward him, the small case forming an arc before hitting the wet ground. He tried to scream but it was already to late.
Dos
No Salvation
Richard Schwarz ran his thumb over his badge. He used to be a good cop. But now he was even worse than a criminal, he was a traitor. He had washed his hands with the blood of innocents. He walked out unto the patio and looked down 30 stories to the street below. There was a sound behind him. He tensed and reached for his gun but it was on the table inside. Damn. He turned slowly.
With the bright light of the apartment behind her she looked almost angelic. Her long hair blowing in the chilling night breeze. Suddenly she hit him across the face with his heavy ceramic dog centerpiece, smashing it. His vision blurred and his heart raced as he was knocked back, leaning over the smooth railing. He reached out in a desperate attempt to regain his balance but she did nothing but watch as he finally tipped over the banister to his death.
Tres
Anchors away
He looked at me with terror and disbelief in his eyes. For the third time he tried to free himself from his bonds. How futile. I chained him tight, of that I am sure. He wants to know why. He keeps asking this, mixed with sobs and curses. They fall on deaf ears. I stopped listening a long time ago.
I pulled the lever and the floor opened. He was suspended above the water now. He fought vigorously to release himself from the chain that attached his feet to the huge cement block. I unhooked him and he fell with a splash, sputtering and struggling as he tried to keep his head above to water. I pushed the block off the ramp and watched as they both disappeared into the murky depths.
Cuatro
Lickety- split!
Oh my! the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. All I said to the guy was that the price of cigarettes had gone up 5cents and he freaked out. And I mean postal. What was his problem anyway? I'm just a cashier in a mini mart... what does he expect? Sweet Jesus he has a gun, one of those six shooters, and now he's walking up and down waving it and talking to himself. Acting all nervous, making me nervous.
It's the ping of the register that really ticks him off and he charges for me. Suddenly she steps out from nowhere, snaps his fool neck and disappears... right into the cereal section. Just like that... lickety split! Damn!
Cinco
Natural Causes
Michael Pilot lay in his hospital bed, sedated. Two armed policemen stood just outside the door. Pilot was a hardened criminal who had turned state's evidence in a plea bargain. Already his former 'business partners' had tried to kill him and this time they almost succeeded. Hollow point to the left shoulder, almost took his arm off. They had pumped him full of sedative for the pain. Now he was out cold.
The two guards tipped their hats to the nurse. Wow! They thought as the tall brunette sauntered in. once inside she pulled out a syringe and drew in 10cc of air. Sticking it into the vein on the inside of his thigh, she slowly pushed all it in. Michael struggled for a while until he flat lined. The pilot had finally landed.
Sies
Et tu Brute...
Cory Hannah stepped into the rain, pulling his collar closer to his face. It was raining cats and dogs. Thunder boomed across the sky, lightening flashing through the dark clouds. He jogged over to where his brand new jaguar was parked, fumbling for the keys in the blinding downpour. Suddenly three men descended on him, pounding him with fists and feet until he lay half-conscious on the wet pitch. They stole the car, leaving him there.
He didn't know how long he lay like that. There was a hand on his shoulder. It was a woman. Her eyes were dark and her brown hair long and limp from the rain. He opened his mouth but no sound came. He dropped to the ground... knife to the heart.
Siete
Power Surge
Warren Wellington III sank back into the bubble bath and sighed. It felt so good to be bad, but so tiring. Anyway... another day, another dollar. There was a knock on the door. It was the new maid, a real looker. She had her hair in a tight bun and was wearing the cutest little maid uniform. He smiled to himself as he imagined her hair like brown silk on his pillow. She bent over him, smiling, as she plugged in his hair dryer. This gave him a chance to check out her cleavage. Nice. He smiled and she smiled. Then she dropped the dryer into the tub. Light's out.
Ocho
"One man's meat is another man's... "
Sacha Volconov stood near the door to the kitchen of his restaurant in little Odessa. Business was good, both legal and illegal. Being Russian was the best, he thought to himself, stirring his usual vodka tonic. He looked over at the new waitress; she was attractive and worked well. She had even brought him his drink today with a cute smile. He took a sip from the tumbler.
Everyday since he arrived in America he would drink a vodka tonic. It had become almost like water. Yet today it tasted different somehow. He suddenly dropped to his knees, his insides burning up. The restaurant went into a panic as convulsions rocked his body. Then he lay still, the vodka from the fallen glass soaking into the plush carpet.
Nueve
The trouble with trains today.
I've never been one to complain. I like the subway. It takes me to work, it takes me home. It's cheap. But toady? toady is different. This weirdo was acting like a real asshole. He elbowed me in the ribs and didn't even apologize. Well I don't really care anyway. Here's my train. There he is, talking to some woman. She's a real looker if you don't mind my saying.
I can see the lights now, and hear that ole whistle too. What the...! He jumped! The asshole flung himself right in front of the train. Wow! Everyone's screaming, this place is a zoo. Man... I wonder whose gonna have to clean that up.
Deis