really bad jamie narrative

2011-08-17T05:37:45Z

Thumping bass beats slammed through his body, making his heart race, pause, race. He stood silent, the eye of the storm. Around him, young bodies moved and twined together, performing a horizontal act in the vertical form. But he was unmoving, icy eyes shut to the world as he listened, smelled, tasted, felt.

Fingers brushed against his back, and then a leg touched his. Deep inhale, scent of alcohol and sex. Human arousal, pushed to its max, and then confined on a dance-floor. Dinner lingered in his mouth, a food spicier than he normally would have chosen. The bambino liked it hot.

But above it all, forcing his consciousness to razor-sharp focus, was the music. The beats were only the bottom level, and as he listened, he heard the nuances of note and voice, heard the electronic synths as the female singer's voice was amplified and digitised to make it sound better. Always, to make it sound better, cooler, higher, lower, more. But beneath that, discernible human voices.

Deep inhale. Listen.

"I told Paul we're through," a drunk woman slurred. Near the bar. He knew the voice; she had tried to dance with him earlier.

Further away, a deep man's voice saying, "I'm just not sure, you know? It's like... it's like this may not be the perfect job and if I take it, I may fuck up my life forever, you know? It's just..."

Deep inhale. Listen harder.

He rolled his shoulders and let his head fall back, taking another deep breath to clear his thoughts. Focus. Find the voice. The contact. The mole. Listen, find the source, kill.

"So anyway, all I'm saying is that she should watch the baby more!"

"Nothing, nevermind. It's not important!"

"I don't know if my financial aid will go through."

And then, finally: "He's here. Our men saw him at the door."

Another voice asked, "Is he alone?"

There was a pause, and he almost lost the conversation. But then the first voice said, "He always... he always comes alone. He doesn't ever bring a partner."

"You rely on his patterns? It's no wonder he devastated your team int he Andes, Pyke. His one constant is that he is unpredictable. Expect at least half the people in this bar to be in on it. Better to overestimate this one."

He almost laughed. This man knew him, but he was going to die anyway. Thanks for playing, see you in hell. Jamie opened his eyes and headed further into the throng of people, ignoring the way the music made his heart pump irregularly, ignoring the rush of adrenaline, ignoring the woman putting her hand on his shoulder. He pushed his way through to find a partner, a young man he'd never met before. He chose a young blond, thin and drugged so high he might have been on the moon for all he knew. Jamie draped an arm around his waist, moved in tandem, made it seem like they were together. This was the integral part, making him seem like an accomplice.

He leaned up, whispered in the boy's ear. The words were meaningless, but the boy responded because he was too high to know not to. Then he danced away, caught a black girl by the arm, and repeated the process. Long, thin fingers traced her arms, her breasts. Then he spoke and she answered, and he moved on, targeting a series of people and then slipping off to the side. Some of them moved to follow, or went off in their own directions. A few he had taken care to disgust so thoroughly that they would shove out of the club.

The target's men fanned out in the crowd, stopping the people that he had targeted. He knew he didn't have long; soon, they would discover his ruse. He slithered along the wall, moving as fast as he dared, and came up behind the DJ. A brief conversation, and suddenly, the song screeched to a halt. Jamie moved away quickly, listening as the DJ made his announcement in heavy Chav tones.

"We've had a request, ladies and gents!" And then, without further preface, the speakers began to churn out Lady Gaga. (Although if he was being quite honest, Jamie wasn't sure Lady Gaga was even a lady, and he was definitely not sure that she'd ever had any musical talent. Ever.) But that irritating "Bloody Mary" song ought to have been enough to keep the crowd distracted, between shouts of "I love this!" and "I hate this, get it off!". Enough to give him the time he needed.

It took less than two seconds, cutting through the back of the club. The man was getting in his car when the knife stuck in his throat, and his driver hadn't even heard the wet thunk until it was too late. He retrieved his knives, wiped them clean on the coat of the target, and tucked the weapons back into their hiding places. A quick job.

Jamie stooped over the bodies, pulling a heavy college ring from the driver's left hand and the neat leather gloves from the target's pocket. They would fit him well, he thought, those gloves. Nice and tight. He pocketed the ring and gloves as well, and then threw a look back at the club, watching for movement. His decoys must have worked, he decided, and with that, Jamie slipped away. He walked to his bike, put on his helmet, and rode away.

Hee'd be home in time to eat something normal, something bland. Fucking bambino.

Iolana Scraps

really bad jamie narrative