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Senator Chamberlain was riding in the backseat of his black stretch limo to the annual “Give to the Poor” charity ball. He never really enjoyed giving his well-earned money to the bums on the street who just get in the way, but the honorable action was good for his image. The average voter was more apt to vote for the man who showed even the slightest interest in street scum.
“What are you thinking about, Jimmy Boy?” said the blonde bombshell sitting next to him.
“Nothing, Candy. Nothing at all,” he said with a sigh.
Actually, his was mind was nestled deep in thought. This was a dangerous city, especially if you were high-class like Chamberlain was. He had made many deals with many people, good and bad, so the senator had grown accustomed to watching his back. Just the other day, his business partner, Truman had been stabbed to death while sleeping in his bed.
“You can’t lie to me, Johnny Boy. Whatever it is you’re thinking about it, I know exactly what I can do to take your mind off of it,” she said as she scooted closer to him.
A mischievous grin spread the width of his face.
The wind was blowing incredibly hard for such a hot summer night. Delilah stood on the roof of the small gift shop on main street. Armies of people marched below her, but they paid no attention to the small girl. Her short razor-cut brown hair blew helplessly in the wind. Had she been wearing more clothes, those also would have given in to the wind’s persuasive voice. Instead her skin tight leather pants, blue bikini top, and jean jacket stayed in her control.
She looked down at the people below her, judging to see if anyone had noticed her. No one made any signs. One of the shoelaces on her sneaker had come untied and was blowing vulnerably in the wind. Disgusted, she bent down and tired up her loose end. When she stood back up and regained her original composure, she saw the black stretch limo headed in her direction.
It wasn’t approaching very fast, Delilah noted. Probably only 40 miles per hour. She watched till the two bright headlights were only two seconds away from before jumping off the building. Having done this before, she knew exactly how to use the wind as a guide to the top of the car. This time, however, the wind fought with her and she ended up landing on the rear of the car. The wind pushed her even further so that she slid off the back and could barely grasp the antenna for support.
Cars behind the stretch limo screeched to a stop. Delilah used all the strength in her petite body to swing back up onto the car. The inhabitants inside the automobile seemed to not notice her mishap. She reached inside her denim jacket and pulled out her silencer pistol as she made her way silently across the roof of the car to the front window.
“What’s going on, Johnny Boy?”
“I don’t know what the hell this idiot driver is doing,” he said as he began to tap on the privacy divider that separated the front from the cab. No one responded.
He reached inside his tuxedo jacket and pulled out his gun. Candy’s eyes widened when she saw the firearm. With a finger to his lips, he motioned for her to stay quiet. The door of the limo opened quietly, and he climbed out of the vehicle and into the dark car park.
Candy instinctively followed him around to the front of the car. Shattered glass filled the front seat along with the slumped over body of the chauffer. Half of his head had been blown off with a very powerful gun. Candy screamed and fell to the ground as Chamberlain began to check all of his surroundings.
“Where the hell are you hiding!?” he yelled into the darkness.
One of the lights hanging overhead flickered and went out. Chamberlain began to haphazardly shot at the ceiling. A couple of lights blew out and glass fell all over the dirt covered floor. Eventually, he ran out of bullets and dropped the gun on the ground, defeated.
“That, perhaps, was the dumbest move of your political career,” said a cold voice from behind them.
Chamberlain spun around to see the small girl perched on top of the black limo. She was carefully unscrewing the silencer from the pistol. He could see and smell the chauffeur’s blood on her denim jacket. The blood had splattered in a spiral design and there was undeniably chunks of brain matter down the front of her. She showed no sign of letting this affect her, though.
“I am removing the silencerfrommy pistol, Chamberlain, because I think it is necessary for you to hear what the sound of someone being killed is like because that is what you do yourself. You can smell the blood on my clothes just as I can smell the blood on your hands,” she said as she stood on top of the car, towering over the pair.
She aimed her gun right at Candy’s head and pulled the trigger. The shot hit the girl straight in the chest and blew her backwards across the floor. Once her body came to a rest, the assassin continued to fire bullets into her lifeless body, making it dance to a sickening tempo. Chamberlain rushed over to the body and could hardly believe it was the same girl he had been with just a few minutes ago. She was ugly, mangled. It made him want to vomit, and he did.
The girl jumped off the top of the car and landed silently on the hard pavement. Chamberlain did not notice her walk over to stand beside him. He was too shocked to say anything or move. The assassin grabbed his face and held it painfully tight in her right hand.
Her cold blue eyes stared into his. They held no emotion whatsoever for the innocent woman she had just killed. She held the pistol inches from his right eye. He suspected that she would say something sarcastic and witty before she killed him, but no words came out of her tightly closed lips.
The shot echoed throughout every level of the parking garage, but no one but Delilah was around to hear it. A splash of blood covered her face and clothing as his body fell to the ground. She pulled out her already blood covered handkerchief and wiped her sickening red make-up off. Her clothes were ruined, she knew, and it would take at least ten showers to get the blood out of her hair, but she knew her paycheck would make up for all of her trouble.
Without looking back at the carnage she had instigated, she began to walk out of the deserted parking garage. The wind had silenced itself and everything was still outside. One of the bushes rustled, causing Delilah to turn quickly turn around. The bush stopped rustling and she swore she heard footsteps walk away. Her heart calmed back down, but she continued to watch every corner as she made her way to his office.
Delilah had already gone to her house and changed into a small orange t-shirt and washed out denim jeans. The blood had been insanely hard to wash off and there red rashes on her body where she had scrubbed so hard that it hurt. Her clothes were utterly soaked in the liquid and ruined. This wasn’t the first time she had to dispose of soiled garments.
The inside of the office smelled like soured milk mixed in with cheap cigarette smoke. Delilah’s eyes began to water from the stench, and she started to have a coughing fit. Three men sat at the desk in the back of the room behind the iron bars and door. They laughed when they saw her.
“Ah, if it isn’t the lovely but deadly Delilah,” the one sitting behind the desk said as he took his cigarette out of his mouth and sat it in the ashtray. “How did it go, Love?”
She didn’t answer him and approached the iron bars and stuck her hand through with palm up. The one who had spoken to her hit a button placed underneath the mahogany desk to open up the door so she could enter. The door slid into the wall with a loud squeaking sound that said it needed to be oiled. Delilah casually walked through the opening and stood in front of the men with her palm still outstretched.
“Come on now, Love,” he said to her again as the others sniggered. “You know that no man likes the silent type. Just say a few sweet words for my ears to hear.”
“Give me my damn money, Leo,” she whispered, harshly.
“Why do you do this, Love. If you would just be with me, I could give you all the money in the world,” he pleaded with her. “You know I’ve loved you since I first met you.”
“That’s a filthy lie!” she yelled at him. “It’s not your money anyways. It’s your father’s. He owns this damned business, but you act like you run the whole show.”
“Daddy is getting old,” said one of the other thugs. “Soon, Leo here is the one who will be in charge.”
“That’s right, Love,” he whispered to her, getting out of his chair to tower over her. “This will all be mine one day. You could be my number one assassin. I’m the only reason you get work anyways. Everyone else thinks you aren’t capable. That you’re just a little girl.”
While Delilah started to shrink back into the corner, Leo began to walk towards her until he was right on top of her. She could feel his smoky breath on her face. She directed her eyes toward the floor, so she wouldn’t have to look up into his cruel brown ones. He roughly grabbed her chin, though, and forced her to look into them.
“Get your dirty hands of me, Leo,” she whispered while a tear fell from her eye.
He harshly wiped her tear away with the same amount of force she had used to wash the blood from her body. More tears began to fall from her eyes uncontrollably. She felt so helpless and alone. Her hands felt limp and useless as he grabbed them and pinned them against the wall above her head. His face was dangerously close to hers, and she thought that he might kiss her, but he stopped before doing so and said:
“How can this be the same girl that killed three people in cold blood tonight? You look so vulnerable and childish.”
The two thugs who had been sitting there the entire time laughed hysterically. Delilah looked back up at Leo and said:
“Tell them to leave, Leo.”
He stopped for a minute, doubting what she could mean by this. A look in her feeble eyes told him that he should do what she said, though. He looked at the two thugs and motioned for them to leave. They both went through the opened iron gate and out the door. Delilah could hear their curses as they walked on down the street.
“So, Love, what would you like to do?” he questioned as he sat down on the desk and pushed the button underneath to close the gate. The squeaking sound signified her imprisonment.
“I don’t want to do anything. I just want my money,” she testified.
“Now, you know very well the rules of this game. You have to do something before you get the payment,” he said, opening one of the drawers on the desk and rifling through its contents.
“I already killed him. That was the deal. Now give me the paycheck,” she said to him.
After going through the contents of the drawer and apparently finding nothing, he opened up the drawer below it until he pulled out what he was searching for. It’s long blade gleamed beneath the yellow light fixture hanging from the ceiling.
“You have to play by the rules, you know. If you don’t, I’ll have to hurt you, and you won’t like that very much will you,” he laughed as he held up the knife in his hand.
“Don’t you dare cut me, you freak!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, hoping someone would hear her.
Leo paid no heed to a word that she said and began to walk towards her with a devilish grin spreading the width of his face. Quick as a flash, he placed the knife into the wall right next to her cheek. A small cut appeared on her and blood began to slowly drip out. He smeared the small stream of blood all over the rest of her face, while she just stood there and let him do it.
“What’s the matter? No fight left in you, Love? I thought you were a tough girl like the rest of your group,” he said as he smeared the blood onto her painted red lips.
He stopped and looked at her bloodied face before hitting her with the back of his hand. She fell to the ground lifelessly and did not even try to get back up and face him. Leo was not too pleased with the lack of fight she was putting up, and he grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her off the ground.
“Listen here, Love. You aren’t playing by the rules, and you know it!” he yelled at her, but she did not give him any response.
He threw her across the room, and she slammed into the dingy brown wall and fell back to the ground. She did not stand back up, so he walked across the room with the intent of picking her up and giving her the same treatment. Before he could, though, Delilah planted the knife she concealed in the back of her pants into his right hand. Blood spewed out as he screamed. Delilah got up off the ground and began to run towards the gate but remembered that it was locked. She tried to run to the desk to open it, but he stopped her before she could
“You bitch!” he yelled at her, pinning her on top of the desk. “Youruined myhand! My perfect hand! I’ll kill you for this!”
The knife was still stuck through his hand, and he pulled it out with a loud yell. Blood spewed out all over Delilah who laid underneath his weight. Her eyes widened as he positioned the knife right above her head. He was just about to ruin her pretty face when an unknown voice spoke up.
“You better put that knife down nice and slow, Lad, or I’ll fill you full of holes,” said the voice behind the bars.
Leo immediately jumped off the desk, prepared to face the intruder. He stopped, though, when he realized who he was.
“What the hell are you doing here, Radcliffe?” he said in a disgusted tone.
“I’m here to get my payment,” he replied, coolly. “Having fun with one of your girls, I see.”
“Yeah, before you interrupted, anyways,” he said as he pushed the button to open the gate for Radcliffe.
“You shouldn’t mess around with this one, though. She runs with Tracy’s gang. You know that. If you hurt her, you’ll bedead,” he said with a laugh.
“Same goes for any of you. I get hurt, you’ll be the first one I’ll kill right after this dame,” he said while tying up his wound with a piece of white material.
Radcliffe put his gun back into it’s holster and walked up to the desk. Delilah had managed to get herself up and stood shaking in the corner. Leo handed the check to Radcliffe, who put it in his coat pocket. He started to walk away, but turned and said to Delilah:
“You coming with me, Doll, or are you staying here?”
Delilah didn’t answer but ran to follow him, not even looking back at Leo who stood cradling his injured hand. The piece of material had turned a deep scarlet that matched his expensive tie.
“You can stare at me in the car,” he said casually. “We have to get out of here. It isn’t safe around these parts, especially with you around.”
She started to ask him what he meant by that but thought better of it. He opened up the passenger door for her, and she quickly plopped into the seat. Like the outside of the car, the interior was always kept stately and clean. Most of the cars that Delilah had been in smelt like cigarettes and some other unmentionable stenches, but his car only had the pleasant hint of expensive cologne.
“Tracey said that you are the only decent man she’s ever been with,” Delilah said after Radcliffe got in and started the car.
“That statement would be credible had Tracey ever been with a “decent man”,” he replied.
“You’re voice sounds funny. Are you from somewhere else?” she asked him, trying to make conversation.
“I was born in London and lived there for most of my life.”
Delilah’s eyes brightened as she said, “London! That’s terrific! What ever made you leave such a place to live in the stinking gutters of this old town.”
He didn’t answer her and continued to stare straight ahead at the yellow lines on the black pavement. Silence was uncomfortable to Delilah, so she looked for something to spark a conversation with him. A small corner of a picture was sticking out from his coat pocket, so she instinctively removed it from its hiding place.
A young girl stared back at Delilah from her prison portrait. She was lying on a bed covered in crisp white sheets that matched her angelic dress. Her wavy hair was a dark brown that contrasted with her pale skin and brought out her shockingly blue eyes. Her small pink lips formed a smile that Delilah knewwas only meant for Radcliffe.
“Who is she?” Delilah asked after staring at the picture for a while.
“Her name is Jane,” he said coolly.
“That’s a pretty plain name, don’t you think?”
“The name only serves as an understatement of her beauty.”
“What’s she like?” the inquisitive girl asked, glad to have found something he found apt to talk about.
“Have you ever seen the sun rise on the seashore?”
“No.”
“Then you wouldn’t understand the beauty and wisdom that she possesses,” he said, trying to simply end the discussion.
“And do you trust this dame?” Delilah persisted.
“I love her.”
“There’s a difference between love and trust, just like there is a difference between people like us and ones like her.”
He remained silent.
“Does she know what you are?” Delilah questioned, deviously.
“No!” he shouted, looking at Delilah for the first time since he had stepped on the accelerator.
“Why don’t you tell her? If she loves you like you do her, then she’ll understand, won't she?”
“You are the one who doesn’t understand what we are. We are the demons who heed the devil’s stringent orders.”
“Then why do you do it? Why not just leave it all behind?”
“I can’t.I owe one too many favors to the wrong people."
Silence filled the car, and ironically Radcliffe was the one to break it this time.
"Have you ever thought about leaving this business?
“No. I have nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do.”
“What kind of a response it that? Anywhere is better than here. How do you live with yourself knowing that you claim lives in the name of boredom and lack of options.”
“A girl has to make a living somehow, right?”
“You know, you remind me of someone I used to know,” he said after a brief period of silence between the two.
“Was she like the seashore too?” Delilah retorted, sarcastically.
“No. She was just a girl, plain and simple.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was so damn naïve and scared that it ended up killing her.”
“You think that’s going to happen to me?” Delilah asked, doubtfully.
“If you do not leave this place, then yes,” he said as he pulled up in front of the shabby apartment building that belonged to Tracey’s gang.
The building in which Delilah lived had been there since the early 20th century and its age showed miserably. Boarded up windows went all the way up to the fifth floor where Delilah stayed. Her room was painted dingy brown that could make even a strong stomach sick. Knowing it was the only place she could afford to live was the only thing that kept her moving somewhere else.
She got in the shower for what felt like the twentieth time today and washed all the blood, grime, and guilt off of her again. The water was warm for a change, and Delilah drowning herself in its heated affection, but something forced her to get out and change into her pajamas. She had just put on her red heart covered cotton bottoms when there was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” Delilah said softly through the door.
“It’s Tracey. Open the door,” said the feminine voice on the other side.
Delilah unbolted the lock and let her in. Tracey towered over her at an uncomfortable 5’10 and was dressed as though she had been out making some extra money on the side. Her short black hair had gel in it so it spiked out in the back and she wore dramatic black eyeliner and viciously red lipstick. The top she had on looked more like a leather bra, and her shorts looked more like they were a pair of tight black underwear. An Uzi was locked in her grip and she didn’t bother to set it down on the table or anywhere else.
“What the hell happened at the office,” she asked impatiently.
“It was nothing, really,” she said throwing a quick glance at the bruises on her bare arms and shoulders.
“Did that bastard Leo do this to you?” she said, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Yeah, but I’m alright. I can handle myself,” Delilah said.
“I talked to Radcliffe just a few minutes ago. He said you probably would have been dead if he hadn’t shown up,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“Maybe. It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly.
“You think I’m going to let some stupid little boy screw around with one of my girls? I’m going to go have a nice little talk with his father tomorrow, and then we will see how he feels toward you. In the meantime, I want you to stay here,” she said getting up to leave.
“I can’t stay here. I have to work. How am I going to live if I’m not getting any jobs?” Delilah protested.
“I’ll support you. I always do, you know,” Tracey said, putting her hand on Delilah’s shoulder. “The only way we can survive is if we stick up for one another.”
Delilah merely nodded as Tracey went out the door. Once all the locks and bolts were back in place, Delilah fell on her knees to the ground. Tears fell silently from her eyes onto the equally disgusting beige carpet. The rug’s fibers immediately soaked up her cries of pain.
“You have to be strong, Delilah,” her strained voice instructed her. “You have to stay in control. It’s the only way to survive.”
Her mind and body were equally tired, so she managed enough strength to get up and collapse on the tattered blue couch. Despite its ragged appearance, it was warm and soft, and Delilah immediately drifted off to sleep.
The cat rubbed affectionately against her legs as she opened up her refrigerator to find nothing. Every shelf was completely devoid of anything edible. Delilah slammed the door so hard that the whole wall shook and the white cat scampered underneath the couch.
She changed into a pair of washed out jeans and a black t-shirt before heading out the door. All the while, she thought of Tracey’s instructions to stay in the house. They painfully bounced back and forth in her head, but she chose to ignore them. After all, Tracey resembled her interpretation of the devil side of her conscience more than the kitten did. What harm could come from listening to her conscience?
