Volume 1, Flashback 2: Career Counseling, Penrose Style (Patreon)

Link to previous flashback: https://www.patreon.com/OneDropRain/posts/volume-1-1-take-168778234/

Seven years and six months before The Event

“…if none of you have any more questions,” Penrose addressed the five men seated around the long table.

Besides the remains of the sushi he had served them for the meeting, one of his subordinates was also sprawled across it—a man who had possessed enough audacity to challenge Penrose’s authority.

Now bloodied, with his forehead split open, his nose probably broken as well, and a pair of metal chopsticks driven through one hand and pinning it to the table, he lay half on and half off the surface, unconscious.

“No, boss,” Arthur replied—Penrose’s right-hand man, and someone who devoted quite a lot of his time to training me in hand-to-hand combat, jujitsu, and all the other things that required breaking through the resistance to violence that society ingrained in people from childhood. “We know what to do.”

“Excellent,” Penrose replied, dismissing the men with a gesture.

Besides the six of them, each responsible for different operations with a fair degree of independence, five other younger men and I stood along the walls of the room. Every one of us was learning the trade, observing both how Penrose operated and how the men we served more directly conducted themselves.

“Mikeil,” Penrose addressed the one who approached his superior and began pulling the chopsticks from his hand so he could carry him out of the room. “Please leave Mr. Remoire exactly where he decided to take his little nap. I’ll still have something to discuss with him when he wakes up.”

“Yes, boss.” Mikeil nodded and stepped aside.

“Begone, all of you.” Penrose waved again, urging us toward the exit when we paused after hearing him address the man. “Everyone except Alexander,” he added, forcing me to remain in the room even though I was already one step from the door.

So I stood there and watched the rest of the men leave. When the door closed behind Thomas Torque, who was the last one out, he maintained eye contact with me until the very end. His square jaw, covered in blond stubble, was tense.

Without a word, I understood that he was wondering what exactly I had done wrong for Penrose to decide to speak with me alone, and how it might come back on him later.

I shared the sentiment, though I was thinking far more about myself than about him—my own skin was worth considerably more to me than his.

“Please, sit,” Penrose said, gesturing toward the seat Thomas had occupied moments earlier.

“Boss? Did something happen? Why did you ask me to stay?” I asked, driven by nerves, though I realized too late that it had been two questions too many.

“Alexander,” Penrose replied, drawing out my name as he leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the armrests. “Did I not teach you that silence in a difficult situation will, sooner or later, force the other person to react?”

“Yes, that’s true,” I answered, but I didn’t lower my gaze. If an attack was coming, it was better to be aware of it than to let it catch me by surprise.

“At least your eyes are still watching me,” Penrose noticed immediately.

Then he suddenly pushed away from the table, his chair scraping across the floor. Pulling the bloodstained cloth from around his neck—the one protecting his suit—he walked toward the enormous glass window.

The cloth drifted calmly to the floor as he stopped beside the transparent wall overlooking the vast depths of the city.

“First of all, Alexander, you have nothing to worry about. As far as I know—and I know everything—you haven’t done anything that would give me reason to take action against you,” he spoke with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the traffic below. “Second, I had the genuine pleasure of attending a charity gala where they were raising money for children with leukemia or some other shit.”

He finally turned toward me, gesturing at the half-eaten sushi rolls lying in the middle of the table.

“Help yourself. If you don’t eat it, someone will eventually come in and throw it away.” He added that while looking at the man sprawled across the table. “There were, of course, plenty of influential people from our city and the surrounding area at that event, but one person in particular caught my attention.”

He stopped speaking for a moment when Remoire began muttering something, as though he were regaining consciousness.

I was just putting a good-looking piece of tuna sushi onto the plate Thomas had left behind.

“Boss?” I asked when the pause dragged on.

Penrose finally reacted. He walked over to the man, grabbed him by the hair, and lifted his head while bending down himself to check whether he was breathing, or perhaps whether his eyes were open. It was hard to tell.

When the man muttered something under his breath, Penrose straightened, then slammed the head he was holding into the table with one quick motion. Remoire lost consciousness again, and the impact caused his entire body to slide off the table, leaving only his pinned hand behind on its surface.

“Forgive the interruption. Mr. Remoire apparently still hasn’t learned when it is his turn to speak—or even to offer an opinion. Unfortunately, that is something he will have to learn before he dies.”

Penrose’s voice did not change in the slightest.

I was fully aware, however, that the end he had mentioned would probably come immediately after the lesson was complete.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted, I met a remarkably beautiful young lady there, wearing an even more splendid diamond necklace worth a considerable fortune. During the course of our conversation, I learned that, for her own amusement, she serves as the headmistress of a small school for artistically gifted young people.”

“Long con?” I asked, then immediately used the chopsticks to put another piece of sushi into my mouth. It was fucking delicious.

“I would prefer it to be more of a medium-length con, but yes—I want you to play the role of a student at that institution. Get into the woman’s good graces—and, as I have already taken the liberty of confirming, she tends to prefer younger lovers rather than older ones—and find a way to make sure that necklace ends up belonging to me, along with anything else you manage to take from her.”

“I will need to become her lover?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Will that be a problem?” he asked, picking up a shrimp and slowly peeling away its shell.

“No, boss. It won’t,” I replied, swallowing.

My body had stopped belonging only to me a long time ago. My fists delivered someone else’s justice, my mouth told someone else’s lies, and my head figured out how to solve someone else’s problems. There was nothing stopping my dick from fucking for someone else’s pleasure too.

Nothing except the dignity I sometimes pretended I could still find when I stared at my own reflection.

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. The fact is, though, that this is how I would do it—it seems like the easiest way into her estate, where she presumably keeps her little trinkets. If you find another way in, however, and don’t burn the access I’ve created for you, then, as they say, the road is yours, Alexander. Just make sure she never finds out who ordered the hit, and that she doesn’t remain in possession of what rightfully belongs to me. I probably don’t need to mention that, do I?” He addressed me while finally biting off a sizable piece of the tiger shrimp.

“That’s right, boss. I know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Excellent.” He pulled a piece of paper folded several times from his suit jacket pocket and tossed it to me, then reached for another shrimp. “Take a look.”

He gestured toward the paper, and I stopped eating to pick it up. I unfolded it slowly and began reading the page, which contained every observation about the woman Penrose had managed to gather.

What she liked and disliked. Where she often went, with whom, and for how long. What she wore, with notes on her color and fabric preferences. What kind of music made her head move to the rhythm and what made her sigh in distaste. What she liked to eat and what disgusted her.

At the bottom of the page was me—my new persona, along with instructions. I had to shave my hair down to a military-style buzz cut, wear blue contact lenses, and cover my freckles.

“Julian Porter,” I read my new name aloud.

“Yes. That is my third point. You will be the son of a soldier who has already contacted Ms. Elise Harrow,” he said, using the full name of the woman I was supposed to rob. “Displeased to discover that your tendencies and your admiration for art make him look bad in front of his friends in the military, he wants to send you to a boarding school outside the city, where you can quietly pursue your passions without embarrassing him. Love and all that shit.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he bit into the shrimp exactly as he was holding it—still completely inside its shell—crunching it to pieces with his teeth and spitting out only the parts that actually bothered him.

“When do I start?”

“The day after tomorrow. The man I hired to play your father will pick you up from your apartment Thursday morning at five sharp and drive you upstate, where both the school and the boarding house are located. By then, of course, you’ll need to prepare yourself physically, memorize the details of your history, and be ready to leave.” He added that while getting up from the table and walking toward a smaller side table.

I stood up with him, abandoning the food and waiting to see what came next.

Penrose picked up a small stack of documents from the table, checked them one by one with his other hand to make sure everything was in order, then returned to the main table and tossed the stack in front of me. I went through it.

Inside were photographs of the woman, both wearing the necklace he had mentioned earlier and without it. There were also photos of her completely naked in the company of a young man and another stack with an equally young woman, all three of them nude and in positions that no longer suggested anything but made the nature of what they were doing perfectly clear.

Besides those, I found more than a dozen pages describing my supposed situation, my history, my family, and my general background, all of which I would have to memorize by tomorrow.

“As you can see, sex may prove to be the easiest way of getting to this woman’s secrets. The young man she was fooling around with when those photographs were taken doesn’t look like he has anything over you. You have your physical advantages, nimble hands, and a handsome face, Alexander. It’s time they started earning their keep in a more sophisticated way than simply lifting money off people in the street. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, Mr. Penrose. I won’t disappoint you,” I replied, disappointing myself instead.

I really didn’t want to do any of what had just been laid out before me, except for the theft itself. The prospect of planning and executing it filled me with the only real sense of optimism and excitement I had felt since coming here. Testing my abilities under difficult conditions was something I had discovered I absolutely loved doing.

“I know,” he replied, walking over and placing a hand on my shoulder. “The man coming to pick you up will have clothes, a phone, and the rest of the equipment you’ll need, including art supplies and tools that may prove useful in less exposed places. If it turns out you’re missing anything, however, don’t hesitate to call and ask for it.” His grip tightened on my shoulder, forcing me to look into those cold, steel-colored eyes. “As soon as you bring me that necklace, I think it will be a good time for you to take a position more suited to what you deserve,” he added, shifting his gaze toward Remoire.

I answered with nothing more than a nod, but that was enough to make Penrose smile and release me.

A moment later, he began undoing the cuffs of his shirt and rolling his sleeves higher. It hardly mattered, since they were already stained with blood anyway, but perhaps he wanted to feel it against his own bare, unrestricted skin.

“That will be all, Alexander,” he said, pointing toward the door.

Then he grabbed one of the wooden chairs and slammed it against the floor several times.

As I opened the door to leave, he was in the process of wrenching one of its loosened wooden legs free, his eyes fixed the entire time on the man who was now lying almost completely on the floor.