Weekly Drabble #264: Business Before Pleasure (Patreon)

This week's prompt is 'wedding and a murder' from Sam C and it involves, well, a wedding and a murder. Enjoy!

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Business Before Pleasure

It was a lovely ceremony. Ellie’s never looked more beautiful to me than when I saw her standing before me at the altar. I shouldn’t have felt this way; it was just a job, but at some point it became much more than that.

Let’s start a ways back.

I kill people. I’m not a crazed gunman or serial killer. This is my job and – to borrow a phrase – if I show up at your door, you did something to bring me there. I’m very good at it, too. My work doesn’t involve drowning a cheating housewife in the bathtub or staging muggings to kill an embezzling business partner. You want that done, there’s plenty of other quote, unquote, professionals who can handle that. My phone rings when there are very special jobs that need to be handled delicately. A diplomat needs to be silenced without causing an international incident, a cartel member needs to vanish without kicking off a gang war. Anything that requires a certain level of skill. That’s where I come in.

I’ve heard that Interpol has a file on me. I even have a suitably theatrical name: ‘the Ghost’, because they’re not entirely sure I exist. That’s the point, of course. I vary my methods and where I work to keep anyone tracking me from building up a profile, and I’m very careful with my clients and my jobs.

My work and my results speak for themselves. If you want something done, there’s plenty of men and women out there who can do it. If you want something done well... you hire me.

This job has been a little bit different. I was contracted through my agent for a special mission. Very high pay, but long-term, and very high difficulty. There’s a particular wealthy and powerful man who developed a deadly and incurable condition: a conscience. Normally, those of the elite who are stricken with that affliction are harmless. They start charities, donate to causes, drive quality of life improvements with their investments. Some though... some come down with a terminal condition of morality, like my current target.

He learned more than he should have. What that was, I didn’t ask and don’t care to find out; assassins who ask questions end up in one of two places: the unemployment line or six feet under. You hire a professional to keep your secrets secret. That’s the whole point, and it honestly surprises me how many of my peers give in to curiousity and are then surprised to find themselves in the crosshairs. As May would say, it is a ‘surprised Pikachu face’ moment.

Anyways. Maybe this man’s conscience had been growing all the while and what he learned jump-started it, or whatever was going on was a step too far even for him, but he started making trouble for my clients. They’ve been able to contain the damage so far, but their colleague is getting impatient and is now a threat to their operations.

I was contacted early on in the debacle, allowing me to position myself in such a way that it eventually lead, well, here.I was both an insurance policy in case my clients were unable to handle things themselves and to provide my expertise and experience on getting to the target, should it become necessary.

My analysis on the latter was not optimistic. The target is powerful, wealthy and even before the situation, paranoid. I’ve seen cartel bosses with less security than this man. Nothing’s supposed to be impossible, but getting to him on his own territory is pretty damn close. It hasn’t helped that some of the clients got nervous and made two attempts on the target using other contractors. Obviously, both failed and made the target even more paranoid. He only leaves his estate to go to a handful of other locations, each of them fortresses in their own right and escorted by a personal protective detail that would make the Secret Service envious.

Even trying to intercept him en route is a dead start; his vehicles are practically tanks with bullet-proof windows, un-deflatable tires and an armoured undercarriage. Even an IED would only feel like a bump in the road – and I don’t do ordnance or collateral damage. Sniping him on his way from the door to his vehicle is another no-go. If he doesn’t have an underground garage, then all the useful vantage points are covered by his security.

Anything that comes to him goes through detailed examination, so packages and poison are right out. The handful of couriers that get onto the property never get to meet him and are shadowed by at least one guard at all times. Getting in is possible. Getting to him much less likely and getting out afterwards damn near impossible. I don’t do suicide missions.

The thing, then, is to lure him out to a place he can’t fully control. Not a lot of options there. He has a full-time medical staff on call at his estate. His family have their own guards (and a lot of surveillance that they don’t know about). His son was in a car accident a month after the first bungled assassination; the old man never left the property. Family celebrations get live-streamed to him, or an associate goes with a phone in hand. Apparently, that’s more than he used to do.

A funeral – that would probably get him out of the house. I mentioned the conscience, right? But all of his relatives are in reasonably good health and like I said – I don’t do collateral damage.

It came to me in a flash. If funerals are a no-go, health crises and more mundane celebrations aren’t enough to lure him out – what about a wedding?

We’re almost caught up now. I lift the veil from Ellie’s face and, I know it’s a cliche, but my heart skips a beat when I meet her eyes. Her father is sitting in the front row, watching intently. There’s a pair of guards on either side of the bench and two more at the doors leading into the chapel. I don’t so much as glance at him. I want to say it’s because I don’t want to startle him, but in all honesty I only have eyes for my bride.

It’s a good thing I started the groundwork for this early. Relationships take time. My clients have been trying to mollify and stonewall the target, which has given me some breathing space to work in. I did my homework; even if I did swing that way, the son is right out. He’s not exactly a party animal, but he’s not ready for a steady relationship as the string of one-night stands and quick relationships he gets into and out of regularly attests.

The target had two daughters. The older one, Jessica, died in an accident three months after her wedding along with her husband and her unborn child. The target skipped her wedding in place of work. It created a rift between father and daughter that was never patched up before she died. That’s got to weigh on him.

Surviving daughter, Ellie. One child of her own, May – short for Maeve – from Hudson Brockler. Hudson went missing shortly the pregnancy was announced. Officially, he skipped town once he realized Ellie was pregnant. Unofficially, he’s probably mixed in with the concrete that got used on one of the new skyscrapers that the target’s company built around that time. By all accounts, the target never liked Brockler and there were whispers that he was going to propose to Ellie, so the old man took care of that.

(This was all pre-conscience, you understand).

So, Ellie it was. I arranged a ‘chance’ meeting with her, did some small talk and got her number. It was as I expected. She was lonely; her father’s distance and paranoia were wearing on her and she was desperate for human connection. We went on a few dates; I knew I had her when she introduced me to May. There was some probing of my identity – that was the target checking me out – and some signs of PIs investigating me, but I’ve spent a long time building different aliases. This one was rock solid and didn’t give the target even a sniff that something was off.

I handled side jobs while I did this one; nothing too intense and my business trips fit in perfectly with my alias’s career. I waited for reports from the clients to see what they were doing. They were getting more pessimistic with each week, but hadn’t given the green light yet.

I took Ellie to the movies, to restaurants, to art exhibitions, ice skating. I helped May with her homework, bought her ice cream, taught her how to skate. This was a job, I kept telling myself. They were just cover, no different than the clothes, wigs and makeup I’d used to hide before. Things started to happen. I didn’t notice at first. I should have. I should have kept my distance, but they were getting under my skin.

When I garroted Jimmy ‘the Knife’ Verdan, I was thinking about getting flowers for Ellie. When I was planning to extract Marco Lopez from a Colombian cartel’s safe house, my desk had a clay figure May had made on it. They were becoming a distraction. I tried to keep things professional, like any other relationship I’d used for cover, but this wasn’t like those others. I didn’t know how, but it was creeping in like the flu.

The proposal wasn’t even planned. I just did it. I don’t know why. I hada plan, the perfect setting, the perfect day. There’d be no way she could say no. Instead, I did something spontaneous and immeasurably stupid. I didn’t plan, I just acted. It worked. I shouldn’t have done it. There’d been a chance it could have failed, but... they were getting under my skin.

Meeting the family was the next step. The brother was first, then some cousins and aunts and finally the target. I pretended to be in awe, curious, worried about all the security, but Ellie was reassuring. I met the target. Guards on either side of him, the man himself hunched over and braced on a crane. He didn’t need it and he had perfect posture. He was pretending to be weak and in the corner of my eye I caught Ellie’s dismay. She understood her father’s paranoia, but she trusted me. She shouldn’t have. Her father was right to be suspicious, but even he underestimated the threat I posed.

I suppose I could have done it then, but I hadn’t been given the go-ahead by the clients yet, so I stuck to recon. The layout of the mansion, the doors, the location of the cameras and motion sensors, the number of staff and bodyguards. I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. The target wasn’t a frail old man and I knew he was watching me. Everything I did or said would be analyzed and scrutinized. This was after the first botched attempt on his life, so he was on alert. I played the game though, I smiled nervously, talked about Ellie and how we met, and the fake life I knew he’d been looking into.

It satisfied him, at least for the time being. My relationship with Ellie continued and little by little, I started to realize how attached I was becoming to them. I was compromised, but I couldn’t stop myself from seeing them, from feeling this way. Our engagement was brief. Ellie was excited to plan the wedding. I told her the one thing I wanted was to have our wedding in the same church that my parents had been married in. If they couldn’t be there physically, then this would honour them in spirit. She agreed, though I knew she would have to fight for it, and fight she did.

Her father was resistant and insisted the wedding take place on his estate. She told him that his choices had made his situation and she wouldn’t make herself a prisoner because of them. She was going to have the wedding she wanted, where she wanted and she didn’t expect him to come, no more than she’d expected him to be there for anything else in her life.

My Ellie. Like a wildcat dozing in the sun one moment and then all claws and fangs the next. Her father scared a lot of people, but not her. If this had been any other situation, I would have been proud of her. Instead, she was signing her father’s death warrant. I... actually felt bad and I had the insane impulse to tell her to call her father back and tell him that the family chapel would be fine. I didn’t. I had a job to do. The clients had pulled the trigger. They couldn’t stall the target for much longer and it was time to deal with him.

Ellie and I both had a lot of work to take care of in a short period of time. She hired the planner, looked at decorations, approved the guest list, oversaw the menus and seating charts. I examined the venue, double-checked methods of ingress and egress, memorized the building’s layout. It’s a large church and community center, suitable for the wedding and reception. The grounds are well-tended and look out to sea. There’s ample places to do the work. I have plans, contingencies and contingencies for those contingencies. The target’s one excursion beyond the safety of his walls will be his last.

The day comes and despite everything, I find myself nervous in a way I haven’t been before any other job. I chat with the guests and my future in-laws. I share a drink with the father of the bride, pouring a glass for myself from the same bottle. He doesn’t drink until I do. Then, the moment comes. My stomach is in knots. The music plays. May, looking adorable as the flower girl precedes her mother. Then.. Ellie.

She is... indescribable. I can’t help but be frozen in place as she approaches, utterly bewitched by her presence. I have seen her a thousand times. Laughing, crying, happy, sad and everything in between but this moment still catches me wholly unprepared. We speak our vows and I place the ring upon her finger, kissing her.

We are wed.

The reception comes and goes and for a moment, I forget everything but what is happening within these walls. Soon enough, I remember and a weight settles upon me. I have to go outside for some air, stopping by the cliffs. The wind is strong and the seas are choppy. For the first time in my career, I am conflicted. This was just a job. Just cover to lure the target out so that I can deal with him and now... now I have a wife and a daughter. Not ghostly presences, there and gone, like so many others in my life. Now, they are part of my life.

As I think and wonder and struggle, someone comes up to me. My new father in law. He stands beside me, his bodyguard a respectful distance back. Close, but not nearly close enough. I could throw the old man over the edge in seconds. The guard himself... I have a derringer hidden on my person. With the wind, no one would hear the gunshot. The sea is rough and pounds the cliffs ferociously. Even a champion swimmer would be dashed against the rocks and dragged into the undertow. They’d be lucky to recover any bodies. (I did choose this place carefully)

Instead, wracked by indecision, the old man speaks. He says he had his doubts about me but I make his daughter happy. We talk and for the first time since we’ve met, he offers me his hand. I take it. He winces, pulling back, a drop of blood on his palm. I apologize; my ring has gotten turned around and it has a bit of a sharp edge. I promise to get it fixed. We talk some more and then I return to the party to see Ellie, my father-in-law walking alongside.

There were a dozen different opportunities in which I could have killed him tonight, but I didn’t. Ellie has been so happy, I didn’t want to tarnish her memories of this day. To be more honest with myself, I didn’t want to lose her. I shouldn’t care. I should have killed the target already and disappeared, taking a new face and a new name like I have before. None of this should have mattered to me, but it does. I didn’t want to hurt her more than I already have.

Her father is fine now, but soon he’ll start to feel tired and dizzy. He’ll probably leave early. Over the next few days, he’ll feel worse. Numbness and weakness in the extremities eventually leading to complete pulmonary failure. His doctors, good as they are, will be mystified and consider it a heretofore unseen heart defect. He may suspect poison, but there will be no evidence. The damage is already done.

It wasn’t the drink I shared with him, nor was it the jab with the ring. It was both. Two halves of a very rare and very expensive poison. I don’t like using poison. For it to work well, the signs will be obvious. For it to be circumspect, it won’t be efficient. There’s even a chance that one of the target’s very well-paid medical staff will recognize the signs and counteract it. Throwing the target over the cliffs was the best bet, or cutting his throat in the men’s room, or any of the other ways I could have dealt with him before now.

But it’s like I said before. Ellie and May have gotten past my defences... and I don’t want to ruin my bride’s big day.