With Malice Aforethought Ch. 01

Just a quick flash story to get my feet wet with the process of posting here.

All the usual restrictions apply. Copyright 2018. I am not thrilled with how it ends but I decided to post anyway. It could still use some polishing.

No sex in this one. Let me know what you think and if I should continue with my other stories.

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I was used to sitting in the dark. I had spent many hours over the years in dark places, dark rooms, alleys, dimly lit bars, using the soft cloak night provided to mask my presence. The curtains were drawn over the windows, shutting out the city lights, just as the height of the building shut out the noise from the street.

I had fixed the switch by the door, so the light didn't come on when he entered, causing him to cross the room to turn on a light by the couch to see. He had angrily flicked the switch up and down a few times first, as if he could fix it by simply manhandling it, but it stubbornly remained resistant to his ministrations. He didn't see me, sunk into the leather club chair across from the sofa, until he turned from the lamp.

"Who the fuck are you" he growled at me.

I slowly lifted the gun from my lap and pointed it in his general direction. "Sit down Mr. Hall" I said, "we need to talk". The gun wasn't pointed directly at him, it wasn't threatening yet, but it wasn't far from him either. It was an old Walther PP, pre-war, in 7.65 caliber. Yes, it didn't have the knock down power of a .45, or even a 9mm, it was more of a precision instrument, but just like a scalpel in the hands of a skilled practitioner it could be equally deadly. And I was nothing if not highly skilled. It was small, but I am not an overly large man, and it fit my hands well. It also took a silencer without difficulty and although there are many who consider the 7.65, or 32 ACP, a pipsqueak round, the Gestapo killed thousands with it. I had learned early on it wasn't a matter of power but shot placement and on that I was an expert.

He had his overcoat draped over one arm and now placed it over the arm of the couch before dropping into the couch facing me.

"I am giving you 30 seconds to leave before I call the police."

I made an open gesture with my left hand, palm up, welcoming him to call. "Be my guest."

He hammered at his phone for several minutes before finally flinging it down in disgust. I removed a small device, about the size of a cigarette pack, from my left pocket with my left hand and held it up. "Phone jammer, it disables all cell phone transmissions within 500 meters. It also works on surveillance cameras. I assure you know one saw me enter this hotel, or this room. We are quite alone." I replaced the device in my pocket.

"I don't think you know who I am, but I have a lot of friends in this town. I am a quite powerful, wealthy, and influential man. I am not someone you want as an enemy."

I looked at him for a moment, just long enough for him to see my eyes. When you have killed as often as I have, with as little compunction as I have, have become as used to dealing out death as I am, it shows in the eyes. But then again, my eyes had always been that way. Even as a child, adults had not wanted to look at them, seeing their own mortality staring back at them, somehow knowing as they did, they were looking at death incarnate. But the intervening years had not softened that look, only enhanced it.

As I said I am a somewhat average sized man, at least compared to some who are larger and more intimidating, but I noticed when I look in someone's eyes they often leave, quickly, if they can. Even those I work with tend to avoid me and prefer communications, when possible, in a public place. Not that I have ever had any compunction about killing publicly instead of privately. But there are very few who want to be alone with me. Only my Tracy seemed unaware and often danced where angels feared to tread.

"Alexander Richard Hall, 52, senior partner of Adams, Jennings, Hall, and Brian. Specializing in medical malpractice, a somewhat lucrative line of the legal profession, criminal law, and lately, political fundraising. Net worth in excess of 63 million dollars. Married, to the former Denise Adams, with two children, a son, David, currently at Harvard law, his father's alma matter, and a daughter, Jennifer, at John Hopkins. Primary residence in Darien, Connecticut, plus you keep this suite at the hotel for when you stay in the city. You also use it for, shall we say, other assignations you would prefer to keep quiet from your family. I think that about covers it."

Looking at me had unnerved him and then my calm recitation of facts unsettled him even more. As my experience with all powerful men, men used to getting their own way and running roughshod over others, has shown when faced with an unsettling situation he resorted to bluster. "What do you want here, I only keep minimal funds in house. If you are looking for money there isn't much here."

I looked him the eyes again. I wanted him to have the full effect of what he was facing, to know fear before he felt pain, to see his death before he felt his death. "No Mr. Hall I don't want, or need, your money, I am here to kill you."

That shook him, but not enough. I could see the calm recitation of his fate bothered him more than if I had beaten and physically abused him. He leaned forward in his chair as if to come out of it, and in response the gun wavered ever so slightly so it was pointed directly at his abdomen. "Sit back in the chair, Mr. Hall. Unless you want to speed the evenings events up."

He sank back in and I could see him looking me over, trying to take stock, to make some sense of the situation he found himself in. I usually try to blend in with the situation, be it a back-street brothel or a boardroom, so for this upscale hotel I had gone with a nice Brooks Brothers suit, made to measure from Italian fabric, a white dress shirt, and wingtips. I think he was having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that such a blandly dressed man would calmly shoot him down.

"I don't know what your being paid, but I will double it. Or triple it. Name your price and I will pay it. Or anything else you want and if I can get it for you its yours. I know a lot of people, influential people, who can get you practically anything you want. Just tell me what I can do."

"I don't want your money, Mr. Hall, I have more than enough for my own needs. I am a simple man and my needs are simple as well. Not that my needs are a concern of yours. But there is one thing you can do for me Mr. Hall, and if you can do it, I will let you live."

He looked on firmer ground now. There was a chance, a negotiation, and he was a master negotiator. "Just name it" he said, a bit over eager, "and I will see to it."

I looked at him. I looked straight into his eyes and he knew his own death was staring him in the face.

"You can un-fuck my wife, Mr. Hall. If you can undo the sex you two had in this suite, in this very room, and return her to me untouched, pure, unsullied by your hands, if you can turn back time and return her to me, as clean as she was when she met you, I will let you live. Can you do that for me, Mr. Hall?"

He just stared at me. His face was white. "Who are you?"

"Tracy Evans husband, you remember Tracy I am sure. You fucked her in this suite, in this room, on the couch you are sitting on now. I know you have had several women here recently but surely you remember her. 32, blonde, a figure you could die for, and shortly will. You see, Mr. Hall, she belonged to me, the one pure thing in this world, and you dirtied it. You took what was mine, from me, you took my angel from me, and now you must pay for it."

"I didn't know she was married, I wouldn't have touched her if I did."

"Come now, Mr. Hall, would you go to your death with a lie on your lips. How many married women have you seduced here, in this room. How many have you taken to your bed. But maybe this will refresh your memory."

I pulled the recorder from my shirt pocket using my left hand and, holding it, pressed play. A snippet of conversation started, obviously recorded in a bar or restaurant.

"So why aren't you married Tracy. I would have thought an attractive woman like you would have been taken up ages ago." It was obviously Alexander Hall's voice.

"Actually, I am, just we don't advertise the fact. My husband works in the security field of some type and he considers it could be dangerous for others to know who I am married to. I think he worries they will use me to get at him and I will end up hurt."

"Sounds very mysterious, so how far do you go to keep up the unmarried pretense? I mean do you have an open marriage, do you date, just for appearance sake."

"No nothing like an open marriage. I kept my maiden name, don't wear wedding rings, and go on the occasional event with friends, out for dinner or drinks in a public place, like this, but that's as far as it goes. John is a bit old fashioned, definitely the possessive type, and I know he would kill any man that took it too far with me."

I switched off the recorder and placed it back in my pocket. The gun never wavered from Mr. Halls abdomen. I looked at him again.

"I have been shot, several times, once in the abdomen, once the left shoulder. The closest I could describe the pain I felt when I heard you and Tracy on tape, in this room, rutting like animals, was when I was shot in the guts. It is one of the most painful wounds known to man, as you will shortly feel"

"Please wait" he said as I shot him twice in the stomach. The gun, with silencer, made little noise, more of a poof than a bang, just a whisper of silent death. The 7.65 is a small round, subsonic, and not very powerful. He had placed his hand over the shot and then, lifting it, stared at the blood on his fingers, as if he didn't believe it. We sat, he bled, and I watched him slowly die.

"We have time, neither shot was immediately life threatening, but the pain will be intense. And it will grow, over time, to be overwhelming. You lawyers have a phrase, malice aforethought, which means intent to commit a crime. Tracy warned you she was married, and that I would kill you, and you knowingly fucked her anyway. You considered yourself above my wrath. Currently your belly feels like it is on fire, but it will get worse. As the evening progresses the pain will strengthen, until you will do anything to end it. I once spent two days in a jungle, belly shot like this, and lived. You will not live." I checked my watch, it was nearing 1:00 AM. "I have about six hours before I need to leave. Until then we can enjoy our time together." I sat back to watch him suffer. At one point he went to rise but a shot shattered his left kneecap and ended that and left him lying on the floor.

It was shortly before 4:00 AM when it became too much for him. He was in shock at this point, raving, and going in and out of consciousness, but he was getting louder so I put two bullets in his brain, at the base of the skull in the back, angled up. I swept the room to make sure no evidence was left, collected the five empty brass cases, and turned the jammer back on at 7:00. Then I left, mingling with the other businessmen and travelers, jamming the security cameras that silently tried to watch me leave.

I needed to talk with Tracy.