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The Assassin
“Twenty-one,”
“Argh! I lost again?! You always kill me at this game, Al!”
Aldous, or as his friends called him Al, had just beaten Llewelyn, his best friend, at another game of blackjack. It was the lunch break at St. Catherine’s High school, of Soho, London, and they were passing the time with Llewelyn’s deck of cards. Their other friends applauded and patted Aldous on the back.
Aldous was sixteen, going on seventeen. He had tousled brown hair and muddy brown eyes. He was just over six foot and quite fit, although he constantly turned down offers from the athletics team. A smile was never far from his features. All in all, Aldous Asquith was your average, normal teenage boy. Except.
Except he was a professional assassin.
Aldous knocked the door then opened it with his key. Mum was home; he could smell her cooking. Mmm, spaghetti bolognaise tonight. He shouldered his satchel in the hallway and walked into the “living room”. The plan of most apartments this day was a bathroom and one or two bedrooms then a large open space where all the other rooms were merged into one. Aldous collapsed onto the sofa and flicked on the television. Hearing the blare of Richard and Judy, his mother walked into the living room.
“Oh, you’re home then,” she chirped cheerily. She was wearing a blue and white checked apron and carrying a wooden spoon in one hand. She was a small and wiry woman, with black hair and green eyes. Aldous barely looked like her. In fact, she always insisted that he was the spitting image of his father.
“Yeah, Llewelyn landed the both of us with a detention in History today,” Aldous replied, flicking through the channels, trying to find something he liked.
“Oh, dear. It certainly doesn’t damage your reputation with the girls.” she sighed. She retreated to the kitchen for a moment and returned carrying a bouquet of flowers. “I found these on the doorstep when I came back from shopping. There’s a note, but I haven’t read it yet. I wonder who its from.”
She handed it to Aldous, who sniffed them and blinked dreamily. “Hmm, I wonder,” Aldous mused absently. They were daffodils, with a small envelope with a red dragon on the seal. Llewelyn was from Wales, but that idea seemed unlikely. For one thing, he had taken most of his money at blackjack earlier. For another thing, they weren’t from any students at all.
Aldous got up and went to his room. Throwing the flowers onto the bed, he closed the door and made sure to lock it. The flowers weren’t tokens from an admirer; they were his call-up sign. It was his idea. He needed something as a vessel for his correspondence that was inconspicuous and private. He opened the envelope. His client was Red Dragon; he had done jobs for them before. He had no idea who they actually were, but he liked the personification. Inside was a small slip of paper and a photo. On the slip of paper, in little more than a scribble, was an address. The photo was of someone who looked like a businessman. He was in his late fifties with glasses and greying hair. After committing the information on them to memory, Aldous burned both slips of paper with a lighter. It was best not to leave any evidence. He glanced at his watch. It was half past four. Considering dinner and the route, he would be back home by six o clock.
“Don’t you want any dessert?” his mother called to him as his hand was on the doorknob.
“I promised to meet Llewelyn and the guys after dinner. I can go, right?” Aldous turned to face his mother. She gave him a stern look, and then broke into a smile.
“Of course you can. Just don’t stay out too long, and don’t go drinking, or smoking, or drugs.” She went up to him and kissed him on the cheek. She had to stand on tiptoes to do so. “Oh, look. You’ve got sauce all over you,” she wetted a tablecloth and forcefully rubbed the minute stains off her son.
“Ahh, mum,” Aldous whined as she stepped away from him.
“I know, you’re all grown up now- the spitting image of your father. You seem to go out with your friends almost every night. Where does the time go?” she sighed as Aldous zipped up his jacket and walked out the door.
“Bye, mum.” He shouted from down the corridor. Aldous was lucky she hadn't seen, or smelt, the flowers tucked away in his jacket. They were the same flowers from this afternoon. They were more evidence to get rid of.
Three doors down from his flat, Aldous stopped and rang the bell. There was a lengthy wait, and then the door opened. A kindly old woman stood in the doorway. She had thinning white hair and oversized dentures.
“Hello, Mrs Robinson!” Aldous shouted. She stared at him politely. “I’ve brought some flowers for you!” she continued to stare at him. Wordlessly, he produced the flowers, pointed at them and smiled enthusiastically. Mrs Robinson was stone deaf. Aldous could see the hearing aids in her ears, so he thought he might try speaking today. Was it possible they made her hearing worse?
“Oh, thank you, Andrew! They're so sweet!” she mumbled through her false teeth. Aldous continued to smile until she had shut the door.
“It’s Aldous, Mrs Robinson.” He said flatly.
As soon as his foot hit the tiled floor of the lobby, Aldous scanned the entire room. There were two cameras rotating in the two far corners and one more placed above the front door. The only other exits were the two lifts at the back of the foyer. In between them was the front desk with the graveyard shift receptionist behind the desk. There were also two security guards chatting at the desk. They stopped when he entered the building.
“Who are you? This is a private building.” one the guards called out. Aldous ignored him and strolled up to the desk. “Didn’t you hear me? You’re not allowed in here.” The guard tried again, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. Aldous turned to him and smiled.
In the blink of an eye, Aldous struck. With his right hand, outstretching two fingers, he crushed the guard’s windpipe. The shock of the attack sent the man into unconsciousness. With his left hand, Aldous reached for the holster on the guard’s belt and expertly retrieved a gun. The guard dropped to the floor.
“Whoa! Drop it! Don’t move!” the other guard shouted quickly as he fumbled with his own holster. The receptionist, an aging man with hair in places where there shouldn’t be, was cowering and clucking behind the desk.
Taking a quick moment to level the weapon, Aldous fired twice in swift succession. The first bullet, hit the guard in the centre of the forehead, killing him in an instant. Blood splattered across the tiles as he fell in an almost humorous way. The second bullet took care of the receptionist, entering through his right eye. Blood sprayed out onto the desk in front of him. He slumped down in his chair.
Without so much as blinking, Aldous walked over to the control console under the desk. A red light was flashing on and off hurriedly. Calmly, Aldous picked up the telephone on the desk and rang the police.
“Uh, hello? Hello, I’m at 35 Elizabeth Street. Uh huh, that’s right. I just dozed off for a moment and slipped onto the silent alarm. Yep, everything’s fine. Sorry for wasting your time. Goodbye.” Aldous put the receiver down and wiped it over with his handkerchief. Next he stopped and ejected all of the CCTV tapes. He broke them in two, threw them in the bin by the deceased receptionist and set the tapes on fire. They were yet more evidence to get rid of. Casually, Aldous approached the lift and pressed the call button with the nozzle of his gun. The lift arrived shortly and Aldous stepped inside.
He considered knocking on the door first- maybe he would be let in. he rapidly dismissed that idea and just blasted the lock away instead. With the lock in smithereens, he kicked the door open with ease.
If the corridor was expensive, they must have broke the bank making this room. Gold lined everything, even the skirting board. There was priceless, and tasteless, modern art hanging on all the walls. You could see all of London from the window; but Aldous doubted the target was here for that view tonight.
Reclining on a chaise lounge was a woman with deep mascara and heavy make-up on. She was wearing a skimpy, tarty red dress and the straps had slipped from her shoulders. She looked terrified (which could’ve been expected from Aldous’ entry). She was a call girl, a prostitute. With a slight snort of disgust, Aldous put a bullet in her head. She slumped onto the lounge then fell off onto the floor.
“Cassandra? What’s going on over there?” a man’s voice called out. A short, dumpy man emerged from around a corner carrying a bottle of champagne, his shirt already unbuttoned. The target. He dropped the bottle as his eyes fell upon the scene. They went from the woman to Aldous, to the gun, to the woman.
“Oh, please don’t kill me!” he simpered, quivering in his place. Aldous didn’t flinch. “It’s not my fault!” the man continued. “You can’t do this to me!”
The man turned to run. Aldous fired twice. One bullet for each kneecap. The man fell to the floor in agony, blood pouring out of him. Crippled, he tried to crawl away on his hands. Aldous shot again and again. The man’s elbows practically exploded in blood. The gun kicked and thrashed in his hand but Aldous remained in control. He was no amateur; this was his profession. He walked up to the man. Coward to the end, he was trying to pull himself away on his chin. With the flicker of a smile, Aldous fired once more. The shot hit the man in the back of his head. The body fell still. Target eliminated.
Aldous Asquith- The assassin.
