Hela... is Ch. 03 - Mortality

******************************

It was ten am and I was the first to wake. I was in the shower when Lucas wandered into the bathroom and asked if I'd like him to join me.

"Not a chance," I said. "It's four hours from here to Nashville and I want some breakfast before we leave. It's going to be late afternoon before we get there, and I want to eat before we go to the 'Opry. I don't like to be rushed. If you get into this shower we'll never get to see the show."

"I'll go and pack my bag then, you spoil sport. I'll have a quick one when you're finished." The disappointment in his voice was evident.

"I hope you mean a quick shower when you say that, because you're not having a quick anything else!" I laughed and didn't attempt to hide the happiness I was feeling and had from when we were in the diner yesterday.

When he came out of the bathroom and began to dress I was stood looking out of the window. We were at the rear and had an interrupted view of the hills in the distance which is not the usual view you get from a motel window, even when you are on the third floor. But I didn't see the view. My mind was elsewhere.

"If we push it we could arrive in Nashville with enough time to look around a little before we go to the theatre." My words had the ring of the happiness I felt.

"I don't think that's going to happen," I heard him say, in a strange voice. "Turn around."

"What's the ma —?" The words stayed in my mouth when I saw the gun pointed at the centre mass of my body.

"Sit down," he said, indicating the chair by the dresser. "No, not astride it, turn it around."

He remained in the armchair, the unwavering barrel still pointing towards me, having anticipated what I had been thinking. If I'd been astride the chair I could have flipped it towards him, blocking his aim, giving me a chance to turn the tables. But now it wasn't going to happen.

"Why?" It was the only logical word to say. I didn't say anything more. I didn't need to say anything more. My mind was busy searching for possibilities.

"Because I do the same thing as you for a living. Someone has put out a contract on you and I'm fulfilling it." He absent-mindedly fingered a button on his shirt.

He was very matter-of-fact about it and was even smiling. I wanted my fist to connect with his handsome face. "Who put out the contract?" My words were terse and demanding.

"Does it matter? Does it really matter whether or not you know their identity? It certainly won't matter soon."

Again that supercilious smile. I was finding it more and more difficult to stop myself from launching myself across the few feet that separated us. To take my chances with a bullet. Was he as good as me? Were my chances better than fifty-fifty?

"That may well be but I'd still like to know." I was deliberately keeping my voice unemotional. I had more chance of getting the information that way.

"No." There was a finality in his voice.

I decided to change tack. "Are you really a teacher? Why didn't you kill me yesterday? Why not during the night?"

"The first answer is yes because I enjoy it and it also provides a good cover for this job and the answer to your second question is because I didn't want to sleep with a corpse. But another was I wanted to enjoy myself. You're not the first attractive target I've slept with before completing the contract."

"You arrogant bastard," I temporarily lost my cool because of his insufferable attitude. His contempt for women and his assumption he could have any woman he wanted. But it had worked with me and the thought made me angrier. But then my brain told me to calm down and control myself because that's what I needed to do if I was to leave here alive.

He rose from the chair and took a step forward. "Hey, what can I say," he said, throwing his arms wide. "I'm handsome, I've got charm, and you must admit I perform well."

I had been waiting for an opportunity and this was it. I reached into my boot and, in one fluid movement, I sent death through the air in a heartbeat. The move caught him by surprise and the force caused him to fall back into the chair, his legs spread out in front of him, the gun hanging from limp fingers. He stared, with unbelieving eyes, at the handle of the knife protruding from his chest, the entire blade sunk below the skin. He was alive, but not for long, as the red patch encircling the handle spread.

"Why?" There was no other possible word I could utter. My mind was in turmoil. This was the man I'd fallen in love with and yet he had just tried to kill me. Why?

"Because it was a job." The words crept from his mouth in little more than a whisper because of the pain. "Someone wanted you dead and, like you, that's what I do for a living. Nothing personal." He coughed and his tongue moved across dry lips.

My mind was racing trying to think of who it might be. Was it someone I'd done a job for who'd been dissatisfied with the outcome? Perhaps the other way round? Someone associated with the target? Perhaps nothing to do with my occupation? But if so how had they known what to do? How did they know how to contact a professional assassin? I sat back in my chair and again it was the one word question.

"Who?" I was almost at the point of pleading with him. I was tempted to take hold of him and shake it out of him. But I knew that wouldn't work. He'd probably be dead before he could answer.

"Does it matter. I think I may have been unsuccessful." The attempted laughter in his throat died, just as his body was going to do shortly.

"Don't be stupid. Of course it matters." I was speaking quietly now, knowing shouting would get me nowhere. "When they discover you've been unsuccessful they'll send someone else. What would you do if the circumstances were reversed? You'd want to know so you could retaliate before they found out. It makes no difference to you not telling me. What can they do to you when you're dead?" I leaned forward. "Consider it a professional courtesy."

His head lolled forward and, for one awful second, I thought he'd died. Then he raised his head. "You offed Frank Marcus a few years ago. His mother and daughter found out recently and put out a contract. Happy now?" A sliver of red slid down his chin, dripping onto his pristine shirt.

"Thank you." It was all I could think of to say. I couldn't feel sorry for him. He'd set me up but he'd failed. He wouldn't have felt sorry for me if he'd been successful. My remorse was even less because of the way I'd begun to feel about him. My anger was cold and I needed to move on to the next step. I needed to do the clean up and then deal with my problem. One good thing to come out of this incident was anyone who heard about it would think twice before trying something similar.

I removed my knife, walked into the bathroom to clean it, and when I returned he was dead. When you decide to enter our profession you have to accept the possible consequences. I had no alternative but to leave him there. There was no way I could get him out of here without being seen and how do you explain carrying a body out of a building? Tell anyone who saw me I've just murdered this guy and I want to put him in the trunk of his car? It'll give me time to get away and in a few hours I'll be long gone? Kill everyone I met on my way to the car? I couldn't pretend he was drunk not with blood all over his shirt. I couldn't put a coat on him, not in this heat. I couldn't burn the evidence. I'd done it once before but it had been a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Setting a motel on fire might bring a little too much attention.

I picked up both bags in one hand and reached for the door handle. Looking back to him I whispered, "You were a complete bastard but I only have myself to blame for falling in love with you. From what you said I'm not the first. But I enjoyed myself and you were good. Although I was better, of course. In everything." I couldn't help but laugh. I wasn't being callous. Sometimes you need to lighten the atmosphere when the smell of death hangs over the scene.

I left the room, without looking back, closing the door firmly behind me. No Nashville for me. Time to get on with life. My life. The next thing on my agenda was Sophia and Anna Marcus. They'd spent years trying to find me. Finding them would be easy.

*****

Ch.04. End of the road or just the beginning?