The Return Job (working title)
7/13/07

At 1:32am Macy Philips was in her office in the corner of the basement, fast asleep on her keyboard. Her computer had long since frozen from the constant pressure her face applied to the keys. It was now steadily emitting a faint beeping sound. Her glasses lay in her lap, where they had fallen three hours before as her head slid from her hand and she drifted off to sleep.

Now soft footsteps could be heard on the stairway behind her, approaching quickly, but quietly. As if sensing the disturbance, Macy jerked her head up immediately. The ‘F’ and ‘R’ keys clung to her cheek. She brushed them off as she felt her face for her glasses.

Meanwhile the mysterious footsteps were coming closer. They moved almost soundlessly down the staircase and came to a stop just outside the door to the office.

Macy jumped up from her chair and her glasses fell to the floor. She scooped them up and pushed them onto her face, wincing as they brushed against the pink impressions the keys had left on her cheek.

A shuffling sound came from outside the door. Macy’s eyes darted around the office in a panic. She reached for the phone, but thought better of it. There was no one she could call.

Behind her, the doorknob was slowly turning. Macy wrenched her keyboard from her computer and held it out in front of her like a weapon.

This is stupid, she thought. What am I gonna do? Type them to death?

She gently touched the silver cross pendant that hung on a chain around her neck. “Give me strength,” she whispered.

The door slowly began to open. Macy backed up against her desk and tried in vain to steady her breathing. “Who’s there?” She called in a shaky voice.

There was no reply. The door creaked open the rest of the way, and in the dim glow of her desk lamp Macy saw the large, hulking figure of a man.

“Who are you?” Macy croaked. “What do you want?”

The man said nothing, but continued to slowly advance on her.

Macy clutched her keyboard to her chest. “Please,” she begged softly, fighting back tears. “I’m not in that world anymore. I’ve changed. I’m a Christian now.”

The man still did not reply. As he came closer Macy could see the chiseled outline of his face.

“Please,” she tried again. “I’m working in charity now.. with children.. you wouldn’t want to hurt children, would you? P-poor, helpless, st-starving children?” Her trembling legs suddenly gave way and she stumbled back onto her desk.

The intruder was inches away now. She could smell cigarettes and coffee on his breath.

Macy lifted the keyboard and swung it as hard as she could. Several keys fell to the floor as it made purchase with his face. The man seized the keyboard and bashed Macy’s head with it, sending more keys rattling onto the desk.

Macy cried out in pain. “No!” She screamed. “Please! No!” She flailed her arm but he gripped her wrist tightly with one of his massive hands.

His other hand grabbed a handful of Macy’s long red hair and yanked her head backward.

“No!” She cried again, desperately clawing at the hand in her hair. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled against his powerful grasp.

“Shut up!” He growled, releasing her wrist briefly to slap her face.

Macy shrieked and brought her arms up in defense. “Please don’t!” She breathed between sobs.

He pinned her up against the desk and wrapped his hand around her neck. He squeezed tightly for a few seconds and then eased up.

Macy gasped for air and pulled at the fingers on her throat. “What do you want?” She wheezed.

He loosened his grip a bit more. His other hand pulled firmly on her hair. “You know damn well what I want,” he snarled. “The money. Where is it?”

“What money?” Macy whimpered, looking helplessly up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

The man’s expression grew darker. He dragged Macy across the floor by her hair and stopped in front of her computer tower. “Unplug it!” He barked.

Macy made another futile attempt to free herself from his grip. “It wasn’t me!” She sniveled. “I told you, I don’t do that anymo—”

He slapped her again, harder this time. The bitter taste of blood filled her mouth.

“Cut the crap!” He bellowed. “Unplug it now!” He thrust her head forward and blood dripped from her mouth onto the computer.

She began to sob louder, “I swear to God it wasn’t me! And I don’t swear anymore!”

“Quit blubbering and do as you’re told!” He let go of her hair and she fell forward, knocking over the tower. “Now!” He ordered.

Macy rubbed the back of her head and turned her pleading eyes to him. “Please don’t do this! I…” She trailed off when she saw him reach into his jacket. She scrambled under her desk, certain he would pull out a gun.

Instead he produced a large knife. He jabbed it under the desk, piercing Macy’s arm. She wailed in pain.

“Get to it!” He yelled, “I’m through playing games with you!”

Weeping, Macy crawled out from under the desk and used her good arm to pull the cables from the back of her computer. An eerie silence fell over the room when the machine’s persistent beeping ceased.

“Now,” the man began in a softer tone. “You have ten seconds to tell me what you did with the money.”

Macy sniffed and wiped the blood from her mouth with the sleeve of her thermal undershirt. “Nothing!” She whined. “I told you! It wasn’t—”

Before Macy knew what was happening he’d grabbed her hair again, jerked her up and slammed her against the wall.

“Ten,” he said between gritted teeth. Then in one fluid motion he pulled her head back and brought the blade across her throat.

Macy’s hand shot up and clasped the fresh wound on her neck. Blood oozed out smoothly between her fingers and over her “W.W.J.D.” bracelet.

The stranger slid his hand out of her hair and stepped back. Sweat dripped from his brow as he watched her collapse onto the floor.

Blood poured out into her long red hair and trickled onto the hardwood floor in little puddles. A few discarded keys from her keyboard were swept up in it like logs floating down a river. Her hand dropped to her side and her frightened eyes became vacant.

The intruder lit up a cigarette and observed her silently as he smoked it. The clock on the wall above her read 1:57.

A few moments later he stomped out his cigarette and began rummaging through the pockets of Macy’s faded blue jeans. He found a small pink pamphlet with a cross on the cover. “Jesus is the Way,” was written above the cross in bright white letters. He threw it down and it landed on Macy’s chest, which was now stained dark red with her blood.

The man picked up the computer she had unhooked and carried it carefully out of the room.

· · · ·

“I expressly told you not to kill her!” Spike Marone thundered, turning a fiery glare on his button man. “We needed to interrogate her!”

“I tried,” Max shrugged. “She wasn’t talking.”

Spike slammed a fist down on the table. “You’d just better hope we find something useful on that computer!” He snapped, pointing to the young man beside him, who was typing fiercely on a laptop.

“I know we will,” Max gulped, not really believing they would. He hid his shaking hands behind his back and flashed Spike an anxious grin.

A short time later the young man with the laptop shook his head.

“What do you got, Freddie?” Spike asked, rising from his chair.

“It’s wiped,” Freddie replied, gesturing to the external IDE case that now held Macy’s hard drive.

“Wiped?” Spike shot an irate glance at Max. “What do you mean?”

“It’s empty,” Freddie explained. “Wiped clean. Formatted.”

“It can’t be!” Max bolted up. “It was on when I came in! There were programs and files open!”

“Well they’re gone now. See for yourself.” Freddie pointed at the screen.

Spike didn’t need any computer mumbo-jumbo to tell him that Max had screwed up again. “How could she have done that?” His question was directed at Freddie, but Spike’s glare remained fixed on Max.

Freddie looked up from the monitor. “A really powerful magnet would do it. She probably had one hidden somewhere in the house, around a doorway or something.”

Spike pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Max.

“I didn’t see any magnets!” Max protested. “Spike, please!”

The gun clicked as Spike cocked it.

“Wait,” Freddie interjected.

Spike and Max were frozen in place.

“A hacker with the foresight to install a magnet in a doorway is probably smart enough to routinely back up her hard drive.”

“English?” Spike muttered.

Freddie sighed. “There’s probably a copy of her hard drive somewhere in the house.”

“I’ll go, Spike!” Max spluttered. “I’ll go find it right now!”

“No, you won’t,” Spike said coolly, pulling the trigger.

Blood sprayed into Spike’s face as Max fell backward, knocking over three metal folding chairs with his immense girth.

“If you want something done right,” Spike mused, rummaging through Max’s pockets. “You’ve gotta do it yourself.” He found a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

Freddie coughed and waved a hand in the air to waft away the smoke. “Do you mind, Boss?”

Spike turned and gave him the finger. Behind him, a grandfather clock struck 3am.

“Pack up your equipment,” he said, arbitrarily wiping some of Max’s blood from his face with his hand. “We’re going back in.”