Heartless – Part 2.

This is the second piece of a serialized work of realistic fiction. Read the first part here.

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2003

Arkady’s been out here for a week now, trying to hold it together while he waits for any hits on his ad. Sure, he has to be patient, there’s only so many people who really, truly, hand to God, want someone dead, but he needs the money badly. There’s barely any left squirreled away for a rainy day and he still needs enough to get stocked back up on his meds.

But it’s been a loooong week and he’s never been too patient. It’s his fatal flaw, working in tandem with his barely checked impulses.

Build up enough of a routine and you start to blend into the background. So, every morning for the last seven days, he heads to the little hole in the wall coffee shop so he can make his way through a cup of overpriced coffee and something cheap and warm. 

Then, once the library opens, he sets up camp there. Sometimes, he wipes himself down in the bathroom, changes shirts, and so on. 

Mostly, he just fools around on the computer. There’s a lot he can learn about a town just by picking through old headlines. And occasionally, he’ll check up on his ad, see if there’s any response. He uses a different email each time he moves, just in case.

And just before he calls it quits, decides this whole trip was a bust and he burnt through most of his money for nothing, he finally gets something.

It’s an email response to his ad, only a line long:

i have 2 problems that need 2 b resolved

Nothing about it sends up any red flags. They always talk in code; specific enough to get the point across but vague enough no one on the outside knows what they’re planning until it’s too late. 

Even if this guy isn’t good for the money, it’s still worth a shot to reply.

 rate for a double is 6k, up front, leave it under the 2nd bench at the marina w/ a desc. abt ur problems tonite @ 9

Most people who get this far are pretty serious about wanting someone dead, but the up front payment, no contact method seems to weed out anyone who might get second thoughts. He’ll see if there’s anything waiting for him. 

Sometimes the money’s a problem, but the average person looking for a hitman already has a chunk of change saved up for the occasion. And, as far as asking prices go, he’s pretty damn cheap.

Arkady deletes the email and his reply. Then, he goes ahead and deletes the account, playing on the safe side. He never uses any real information when he makes an account, and only ever uses public computers anyway. But, he likes to cover his tracks.

After that, he gathers up his bag and starts slowly making his way to the exit. He doesn’t want to stand out too much and doesn’t want to linger in anyone’s mind. 

Even if anyone did remember him, he’d be long gone before he was on anyone’s radar and he never uses his real name, always pays in cash, never outstays his welcome. It’s more likely that whoever hired him will get caught up in the murder investigation, and it’s all anonymous, no way to prove he actually played a part in it.

–

Arkady isn’t nervous. He’s done this a hundred times at least. 

It’s more of… well, feeling impatient.

The worst part of it all is waiting. He’s made it through this long, but the last stretch is always the hardest. Especially because he can’t get near the dead drop until after the deadline, otherwise it’d defeat the purpose of a dead drop.

He’s already cleaned his gun, added a silencer when he got it all ready for tonight’s job. Now, he’s just listless, wired for sound and all dressed up with nowhere to go for the next half hour.

There’s nothing left for him to do other than start cooking up back-up plans, what he’ll do if this job falls through. There’s a fine line between prepared and obsessive and as far as he’s concerned, he’s doing one hell of a balancing act. 

If only he had room to pace, then he’d be doing that instead of just wringing his hands–already disgustingly clammy–and occasionally flicking his eyes over to the case where he keeps his gun, tucked away under the passenger seat. 

But it’s good to get his nervous energy out before the job, that way he won’t screw it up.

It’s just like foster dad number three told him. You gotta stay calm, or you’ll startle them, and then things get… messy.

Arkady figures the man probably feels a chill down his spine every time he applies his advice to being a gun for hire. Probably feels like someone just walked over his grave.

He wasn’t half bad, as far as foster parents go. 

None of them were. 

The problem was always just Arkady.

Always too needy, too hard to take care of, never the kind of kid anyone wanted. 

Not that he blames them. He was a lot more than anyone bargained for. Especially when he was younger.

But thinking about it too long makes his burns itch. Some kind of cold, ghostly itch, since the worst of them were covered with skin grafts when he was just little. And he doesn’t remember the hospital, or even how he got them, or the fact that, apparently, he wouldn’t talk afterwards until he was five.

All he’s left with is a puzzle with a bunch of missing pieces.

He does remember one of his awful old shrinks crossing his legs and tapping his pen against his little notebook, pursing his lips like he’s unravelling the secrets of the universe. God knows the good doctor would probably have a heyday if he knew Arkady killed people for a living now.

That brings him back around, makes him grin a crooked little grin. 

The asshole would probably try to write a bestseller expose, but that would require actually having listened to Arkady all those years ago.

Anyway, it’s quarter past nine now, which is definitely enough time to make sure that nobody’s hanging around the dead drop at the marina.

Arkady starts the car running and slowly heads down that way. He’ll keep an eye out, in case he sees anyone hanging around like they’re trying to spot him.

It’s just starting to get dark and the streets are mostly empty, lit up with an orange glow from the streetlights. It’s a quiet night, and it doesn’t look like they get too many tourists here. There’s still some kids out playing in front yards, chasing fireflies.

As he passes by, they don’t even look up from what they’re doing. There’s no way any of those kids will remember his face, or his car. They’ll only remember the heat of the night and each other.

–

Once Arkady gets to the marina, he ends up holding his breath, fingers crossed as he casually walks over to the bench and takes a seat. The last hints of the sun play off of the water as it sinks below the horizon and he stares out at the scene like he’s any other normal, unassuming tourist. 

Then, he leans down like he’s tying his shoe, and grabs the brown paper bag sitting underneath the bench.

He hangs around a little while longer, just in case anyone’s watching, with the bag tucked into his jacket and his arms folded. The anticipation eats away at him, makes him jitter, feet tapping against the worn concrete.

When the sun’s fully set, he gets up and heads back to his car.

And, under the pitiful little glow of his interior light, he opens up the bag. There’s a note on top, scrawled out like it was written in a hurry, shaky and hesitant. 

ONE MAN AND ONE WOMAN. UPSTAIRS BEDROOM.

It says, followed by an address. He’ll burn it after the job is done, until there’s nothing left but ash. Maybe he’s a little too careful, but he’s still a free man at the moment and that’s good enough for him.

Then, there’s the money. He counts through it quickly. The bills are worn, well used, and it’s all there. It’ll be more than enough to get him through the next couple months.

Arkady tucks it into his glove compartment, next to his gun, and starts the car.

–

The neighborhood is nice.

He parked just outside of it, so no one would notice his painfully out of place car. A beat up little hatchback that’s over half a decade old has no place among all these Lexuses and Mercedes Benzes. Although, most people here are probably asleep by now. Not that he’d take that kind of chance.

He’s got his gun tucked down the front of his pants, hidden under his shirt and his jacket. He’s also got his gloves on, and his hair tucked up into a hat.

When he’s sure he’s at the right house, he circles around the side, looking for a ground floor window.  

If he needs to, he can scale up the side of a house. It’s a goddamn hassle, but he can do it.

It must be his lucky night, apparently. 

There’s one on the side, hidden from the neighbors behind a fence and some carefully groomed shrubbery. It’s locked, but it isn’t reinforced and it breaks easily when he hits it with the butt of his gun. 

It’s relatively quiet, but he still stands there, frozen in place for a few seconds as he cocks his head to the side and listens to see if anyone noticed the glass breaking.

Then, he clears the shards out of the window frame and climbs into the house. 

It takes a couple minutes for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but at least the tense silence he’s waiting in means he’s sure that he didn’t wake either of them up. Currently, he’s standing off to the side in some sort of den, full of furniture to weave around.

Arkady moves slowly and softly, testing his footing with each step to make sure the floorboards won’t creak. He isn’t sure where the staircase is, but he knows he needs to get to the upstairs bedroom.

He slips through the threshold into a dining room. There’s two options from there, and he’s pretty sure one leads to the kitchen. The other, he’s not so sure about, so he picks that doorway first.

And it’s a lucky pick, leading him right into the front hallway. The staircase runs alongside it and he has to restrain himself just to keep moving carefully.

Honestly, he forgot exactly how exhilarating this job is. How much it makes him feel alive, even with his heart beating out of his chest.

Arkady reaches the end of the hallway, rounding the corner to the staircase. The first step is always the hardest, you can’t tell if it’ll whine under your feet until you step on it. 

But, it holds his weight, so he takes another slow, measured step up.

The gun is cool, heavy, in his hands.

Each stair brings him just a bit closer to his targets.

It’s second nature by now, as easy as breathing. 

He doesn’t touch the banister as he reaches the upper level, just keeps his gun ready as he slinks down the hallway.

The master bedroom isn’t too hard to find, considering that it’s got double goddamn doors. Which is why he always wears gloves, doesn’t want to leave fingerprints behind when he slowly turns the handle.

Once it’s turned, he pauses a second, listening for any signs of movement in the bedroom.

But, there’s nothing more than the sound of a man snoring, so he cracks the door open just a little.

If there’s one thing to be said about well off targets, it’s that their door hinges are always oiled so they move soundlessly, floorboards never loose enough to creak. The place already sounds like a house for the dead.

The bedroom is carpeted, so he doesn’t have to move as quietly. And the sleeping shadows of his two targets are lit up ever so slightly by a few stray streaks of moonlight slipping through their bougie decorative curtains.

The woman’s sleeping closest to the door. There’s a satin face mask covering her eyes and her mouth is screwed up in some kind of sneer even while she’s asleep. 

She’s probably the kind of person he’d hate, but there’s nothing personal in this line of work. It’s just a job.

Arkady doesn’t have much time once he gets to her side. A lot of people can tell when someone’s hovering over them, even when they’re out cold, and he doesn’t want to risk her waking up.

He presses the barrel of his gun, silencer and all, right dead center in her forehead and pulls the trigger.

The pillow catches most of the viscera, keeps it contained.

It’s not silent, but it’s muffled.

And the man next to her stirs ever so slightly before settling back into snoring.

Arkady stalks around the bed to the other side. He probably should’ve taken the man out first, since it’d be easier to fight against some upper-class soccer mom than this tank of a man when it really comes down to it.

Still, he’s pretty sure nothing would wake this guy up if a gunshot next to him couldn’t do it.

When Arkady puts the gun to his head–in the same place as his wife–his eyes flutter open for just a second.

There’s not enough time for him to react before Arkady pulls the trigger, not when he’s still hungover from deep sleep.

Neither of them would’ve survived a point blank shot like that, but he hangs around a bit just to make sure none of them are still breathing.

The whole place is as silent as the grave. 

Which is why he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears it. 

The crackly, mangled sound of crying over the shitty speakers of a baby monitor.

Nobody said anything about a baby.

Arkady darts out of the bedroom, not worrying about being quiet anymore now that the heads of the household are dead. He can hear the crying out in the hallway, and he follows it like it’s drawing him along.

At the end of the hall, he finds the nursery.

The entire room is themed, no doubt carefully coordinated by some interior designer. Everything matches, from the walls, to the curtains, to the toys, to the crib with a stupid little canopy overtop.

And the poor little thing is crying her tiny eyes out, shrieking at the top of her lungs.

“I can’t leave you here,” he murmurs, looking down at her in the crib that probably cost more than it did to kill her parents, “They’d just put you in foster care, and, I mean, look where that got me.”

But it’s not gonna be easy to get her out of here. He can’t let anyone see him walking around with a baby, not when he’s coming from a crime scene.

There’s so much bullshit in the nursery that there has to be something he can hide her in. 

When she finally starts to settle back down, he turns away from the crib and starts looking.

The best option seems like the gaudy, quilted bag lying on the floor near the crib. So, he gathers up a couple blankets and a few stuffed animals, lays them out in the bottom to keep her comfortable.

Then, Arkady tucks the gun back into his waistband and picks her up.

She hiccups once, twice, but she doesn’t start crying again.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re coming with me,” he whispers, smiles crookedly.

And he lays her down in the bag, leaves it unzipped so he can keep an eye on her. It might not be the safest way to transport her, but it’s the most inconspicuous way at the moment.

She smiles up at him, eyes screwed shut. Babbles a bit when he picks the bag up, but that’s better than crying any day.

Now that he doesn’t have to worry about being quiet, it barely takes five minutes to get back downstairs and over to the window he came in through.

Arkady sets the bag down on the floor and climbs out. Then, after he’s safely out in the yard, he reaches back in and grabs the bag.

“Shhh,” he brings one finger up to his lips, “Don’t you go blowing our cover, kid.”

She just waves her chubby little arms and kicks her chubby little legs, like she’s got the message loud and clear.

It’s the first time he’s ever taken anything from one of his contracts’ houses.

Taking something just sticks out too much, makes it easier to try and figure out his mindset and follow each of his little quirks and tells, all the way back to him. But he couldn’t just leave her.

Arkady avoids the streetlights as best as he can on the way to the car. Usually, he’d just rely on confidence, walking like he’s supposed to be there so nobody questions a thing, but that really doesn’t work when he’s got a baby with him. 

Deep down, he’s pretty sure this might just be the thing that gets him caught. 

But he doesn’t regret it, not at all.

Back at the car, he sets the bag down on the floor of the passenger’s side. She’s already asleep again, apparently soothed by the walk. 

He’ll drive carefully. 

He’ll get them out of town. 

Then he’ll figure out what to do.

–

Once Arkady makes it a few hours down the road, it really starts to sink in what he’s done.

He’s only a few hours away from making this a federal kidnapping case. Not that kidnapping’s any worse than anything else he’s done.

But he also broke the one and only rule he’s ever had since getting into this line of work. 

It’s not like he did it for something stupid, not like he’s suddenly decided to start taking trophies or some shit. And when he steals a look at her out of the corner of his eyes, he’s still pretty sure it’s worth it. Poor little kid would get eaten alive by the system.

If he’s keeping her–well, what is he kidding? He made up his mind as soon as he picked her up–he’ll need to get something better to carry her in. The godawful diaper bag is bound to get people’s attention, especially if he’s the one lugging it around.

She’ll be hungry once she wakes up. 

And he’ll need diapers for her. 

And clothes, and toys, and everything else a baby calls for.

“Jesus Christ, what am I thinking?” Arkady mutters, runs a hand through his hair.

Worse than anything else, he can’t help wondering if she’ll wake up in the dead of night, haunted by the memory of that night and of him. 

But for now, she just needs someone to take care of her. Someone who knows what it’s like, someone who’ll actually give a shit about her, not just the perfect little doll they want her to be.

Besides, she’s gotta be easier to raise than he ever was.

Every time he looks at her, there’s a little twinge in his heart. Maybe he’s getting soft, maybe he’s out of his goddamn mind. Still, he figures he’s all she’s got right now.

Arkady turns into the parking lot for a dingy little 24 hour convenience store. This town is barely even a blip on the map, a few hours away from his last hit. 

The sun’s beginning to rise, but it’s still pretty damn early, not quite five in the morning. There aren’t many people around to see him and god knows the person manning the counter won’t remember him once he’s gone.

He leaves the windows rolled down partially to let in the cool morning air. It can’t hurt to leave her in the car for just a few minutes. All he’s planning on doing is grabbing some essentials, then they’ll put some more miles between them and the scene of the crime. 

After that, he’ll shell out for a motel. He needs somewhere to clear his head, to get his shit together. And she needs somewhere safer to sleep than a diaper bag on the floor of a car hurtling down the highway.

She blinks her eyes blearily when the car stops, even yawns a little too, but she falls right back asleep. She’s a quiet little thing, and Arkady doesn’t know enough about kids to figure out if that’s weird or not.

Just in case, he locks the doors. Even though the parking lot is empty, ‘cos he’s the kind of thing that goes bump in the night, hired gun that he is. At least she’ll be pretty damn safe with him. He knows how to handle himself.

Anyway, he slinks into the store, half hiding in his jacket, mostly because it’s cold up here in the early morning. The little bell on the front door rings and it makes the sleep deprived clerk look up, giving him a silent nod of acknowledgement.

The only TV in the store is a little busted, playing some garbled version of an early morning news program. But it settles Arkady’s nerves a little. It’s always worse trying to work in silence; it makes him feel like he’s being watched.

He weaves through the aisles, scanning them to see if anything seems necessary. Normally, he’d take his time, try and act like any other weary traveller driving through, but tonight he’s in a hurry.

She probably doesn’t need any diapers yet considering he brought the whole diaper bag along. She’ll definitely need formula, though. She looks too little to be able to eat anything else.

Arkady ends up crouched in front of the shelf entirely dedicated to formula, trying to puzzle out what kind to get. She’s not a newborn, he’s pretty sure of that much. But he doesn’t know if she has any allergies, or what brand is the best, or if she’s a particularly picky baby.

He’s debating just buying them all when he manages to overhear part of the busted little TV’s blown out audio.

“–In other news, a CEO and his wife were found shot dead this morning. Their six month old daughter was missing from the household. More as this develops–“

It makes his blood run cold, makes his heart almost stop.

Arkady quickly pockets the can of formula he was already holding. Sure, he was supposed to be examining it, but he couldn’t tell you a single word on the packaging. Everything else tuned out once he realized what was being said.

They’ll definitely have to hole up somewhere until this blows over a bit.

And he can’t let the clerk here know that he’s got a baby with him. At least not currently. 

It doesn’t matter if the guy figures out he stole formula and checks the cameras hours down the line. He’s sure plenty of people steal it for a thousand different reasons. But it’s one hell of a different situation if he sees Arkady with the formula right after that headline.

But just so he doesn’t leave too suddenly, he also grabs a couple little things. Some chips, a bag of granola, a few water bottles. All completely normal, all things that won’t raise any questions even though it’s barely five in the morning. And he’s still got the formula tucked away in his coat for the baby.

In all his time as a gun for hire, he’s never felt so close to being found out and locked away forever. It feels like there’s a sign hanging over his head, reading: IT’S ME! I STOLE THAT BABY! 

The cashier doesn’t say anything, though. Everything goes on like normal. 

Arkady pays and slips through the front door, ringing the little bell on his way out. It takes everything in him not to run straight for the car, but he still has to play it off like everything’s fine. Everything’s right as fucking rain.

When he sits back in the driver’s seat, he looks over at the diaper bag. He knows she’s still safe and sound, but he has to make sure.

She’s awake now, chewing on the edge of the little blanket he stuffed in the bag to keep her comfortable. Her eyes are so damn big and she waves her hand when she notices him staring at her.

Arkady never, not in a million years, would’ve described himself as paternal. But he figures there’s a first time for everything, since he obviously already made up his mind about her as soon as he saw her.

“We’re in a lot of trouble, kid,” he sighs and starts the car, “But I think we can get out of it if we’re careful.”

He’s gonna have to name her. He can’t just keep calling her kid. 

Still, that’s a hard step to take. It means he’s really in this for the long haul.

“Guess it’s just you and me now,” he laughs, turning back onto the highway, “Us against the whole wide world.”

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