Picking the Wrong Woman - (3 Parts)

[doggo]

This fic is has been inspired by the world of Hong Kong action movies - which I love!

This fic has horrible messyness, some violence, and the second chapter is wicked. I mean it; it's the most wicked thing I have probably ever written.

The lyrics quoted belong to Eurythmics.

And major thanks for Vetinari again, for her expert help in medical details and music.

--

Part I

She is in a hurry. She flits in and out of his view, frantically gathering her stuff; then she suddenly stops to yawn by the window, scratching the smooth skin underneath the waistband of her panties. Fifteen minutes later, she is out of on the street, gesticulating wildly in the effort of getting a cab. Then she disappears.

…

It's not actually the kind of job you would jauntily brag about when you meet your old classmates. It's not the kind of job you would like to chat about with the parents of your sweetheart when they're meeting their future son-in-law. It's definitely not the kind of job you would wish your kids to have. But if you have no wish to start a family and wouldn't mind landing a shot or dozen on your childhood friend if he happens to recognize you in the wrong situation, it's not that bad. You get paid well, you can work on your own, and your boss treats you with respect because he's way too smart to get on your bad side. And you won't run out of work easily if you have the knack for it, as there are always people some other people are desperate to get rid of.

He took a comb from a spotless glass shelf and smoothed the strands of his ebony hair with careful, precise movements, never catching a single strand twice between the needle-sharp spikes. The gaze of his equally black eyes shot him right back from the mirror, cool, hard, and indifferent. His lips were slightly parted, a strongly curved cupid's bow lending ever-present defiance to his expression. He stretched his hand a bit further once more, the muscles of his arm tensing visibly, and gave his hair the final brush. With the comb still in his hand, he glanced at his bare torso, like every morning, not for narcissism but to asses any possible changes in his form. Nothing new. Perfectly muscular, yet not an inch beyond the economy of movement.

He placed the comb back on the shelf.

Meet Jamie Loong, age 36, high-class contract killer. And this is Hong Kong, year 2015.

…

But he frowned slightly when his gaze drifted up onto his face. Slowly the frowning intensified into squinting, and after a short but intense fight he turned swiftly to his left side, burying his face in the crook of his arm. "HE'knght!" That was the fourth one this morning; one just after waking up, a double while he was shaving, and now this. It was obvious; he had noticed that everything wasn't right a while ago already. Day -2, sore and ticklish throat; mild headache by bedtime. Day -1, still sore throat, especially painful around epipharynx; sneezing, five times all in all; fatigue; lack of appetite. And now, on the morning of day 0, the very day of the hit – fatigue; swollen glands; frequent sneezing; nasal congestion and dripping. By some mocking twist of fate, he had gone and caught himself a cold – and a proper head cold, no less – on the worst possible timing.

"Hi… knghxt-eh!" He took some toilet paper and cleared his nose. He hated the sound of it with passion; he found it disgusting, in others and in himself. And he could feel the warm moisture through the paper too. Clenching his teeth he threw the bundle of paper into the bin, and proceeded to wash his hands. He looked at his face again. Yes, still pale, eyes looking irritated, almost teary after the sneezes. A disgruntled scowl met him in the mirror.

It's not like he couldn't handle the job. But difficulties like this shouldn't be belittled either; it was not so many years ago a hostage situation was resolved and the criminal caught thanks to the sharp-eared inspector paying attention to the sniffles of the offender while he was making demands on the phone. You never know what sort of a catastrophe the smallest things can lead into. Thus he had tried to take it easy and snatch a little bit more sleep when he could and cut himself a little slack here and there; anything that wouldn't interfere with his daily routine. Because it didn't only provide his pedant character some additional peace of mind; it was essential to not make breaks from the routine just before and after a hit. If something would go wrong, little breaches like that would raise suspicion. And suspicion, no matter how small, should always be avoided at all costs. Conscious of this, he buttoned down his hand-made design shirt that looked like any well-fitting, light shirt except considerably better, took his tight, black leather jacket and his bag, and left for the gym.

The weather was pleasantly cool, although errant gusts of wind, not awfully strong but still unpleasant, made him wrap the jacket tighter around him. His target would be the young wife of a yellow press mogul, who was also an aspiring politician. Why he wanted to rid himself of her this way was not anyone else's business. Failing was completely out of question, and the timing was tight. So precisely according to the plan, target's husband was on a conference trip in Bangkok, surrounded by witnesses all the time. Due to some arrangements by the outfit Jamie's boss had friendly business relations to, someone had just lost a great deal of money to her; the young lady was quite fond of gambling, which made this easy to set up. All the signs would point to the poor bastard, who by midnight would be happily on a plane, travelling under a wrong name and a passport and with all his debts forgiven – and considerably more comfortable with being on the black list of the police than of the outfit; although it wasn't like he wouldn't be taken care of as well, eventually. Everything had gone perfectly so far; wasting the chance because of mere sniffles was simply impossible.

…

"Excuse me, Mr Loong, are you feeling all right?"

Had he been spacing out? Yes, he had. Unforgivable, even if it was only for a short moment, a matter of seconds. Stepping back to give way to a gentleman who regularly visited the place around the same times as him, Jamie clenched his teeth together to suppress a soft, yet irritating cough. He was barely midway of his training routine, yet he felt exhausted.

"I couldn't help noticing, Mr Loong. You have an unhealthy colour on your face."

Without even thinking about it, Jamie raised his hand to his face. It felt very cool and clammy to his fingers. Murmuring a silent excuse me, he made his way to the changing room. It was no use to try to push it further. Better to get a quick shower, and head for a lunch.

It took a while for him to stop shivering, even if the shower was blissfully warm. But when the goose bumps eventually disappeared, the softly massaging touch of the water felt good enough to make him almost sleepy. Oh how heavenly the mere thought of a warm bed with covers and pillows felt to him. He kept sniffling every few seconds; the steam had loosened some of the accumulated congestion. Damn, how was he to clean his nose now? The option of letting it run freely with the water felt tempting, yet repellent. "Hu… HEssscht! IFSCT!" Apparently his nose had made the decision already without consulting him; the sudden, wet double had triggered a gush out of his both nostrils. Shuddering with disgust, he kept his head still obediently down, as there was more to come. "He'kngcht! Hg… He… HESSCH-ah!" He moaned softly and washed the mess off his face. He had always disliked profoundly being around people who sniffled and sneezed; having such a runny nose himself felt absolutely sickening to him.

Of course he could tell his boss to call for his back-up to do the job. Actually he should have done so, probably yesterday already. Truth to be said, he was completely conscious of the fact that it would have been his duty to do so. But not only did the thought of mentioning such a minor ailment to his boss feel mortifying; he was not very fond of his back up either. This kid, this Choi, was obviously very eager to climb the ladder and, Jamie could have sworn, had his greedy, ambitious gaze fixed on Jamie's place. Giving that brat this opportunity to prove himself was simply out of question.

Even if the air wasn't cold, it made a violent shudder run through him upon hitting his damp skin. Right after stepping out from the warm embrace of the shower his nose had felt comparatively clear; but the itch crept back soon enough, overwhelming him while he was drying his hair and making him sneeze a restrained, almost painful double to the folds of his towel. Ugh. With what exactly was he to dry his skin with now? With considerable trouble, he repressed his initial disgust and, having turned the towel over, hastily swept himself dry.

…

When approaching her home door after a day's work running a little advertising agency, her steps maybe hurried a bit by a wish to have time to change into something "comfortable" and fix her hair a bit before receiving the promised video-call from her beloved husband, Cheung Mei, or Angela Cheung like the media liked to call her, would be killed on her doorstep by a single shot of a Barret 0.50 calibre sniping rifle. The shot would be fired from the rooftop of a nearby hotel.

This hadn't happened yet though, and still wouldn't for a couple of hours. But it would. After eating, or picking on, a lunch, a visit to a shooting range, buying and reading newspapers, jaywalking and just plain loitering like any wealthy city dweller with too much time on his hands, Jamie had reserved himself a moment to indulge his true guilty pleasure before leaving for the future crime scene. It was his way to relax, or to make a prayer for luck and protection, by for once more truly enjoying life just before leaving it all behind until the job was done.

"Hello, Mr Loong! How good that you are stopping by – there's something that arrived just yesterday that made me instantly think of you."

Mr Hau, who ran a sleazy looking but surprisingly high-grade Hi-Fi store Jamie was a regular customer to, seemed to really think that he cared about the widgets themselves. Well, due to his sharp ears, he did enjoy a good quality of sound. But in the end that was always secondary; for some reason there was no place in this world where he could let himself to sink into the music as casually and whole-heartedly as in the little back-room of this store.

Jamie nodded lightly, an absentminded smile hovering around the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, Mr Hau. I would gladly see that."

Hau was already preoccupied with plugging the new amplifier he was obviously very proud of to the LP player. This was also one of the reasons the music simply never sounded the same anywhere else: for some reason Jamie never bothered to listen to anything but CDs even when back at his own place, when he had a chance to stay there. One by one he had brought all his favourite vinyls here so he could always come to listen to them no matter where he was staying – a weird curiosity Hau was happy to overlook if it would let him keep the best and most loyal customer one could hope for in his profession.

"Knchst! …uh… Hnngscht!" Jamie had turned around, and kept breathing heavily with his face buried into his arm. Hau stopped to give him a look of slight concern. "Huh… HESS'kghn!"

"Bless you, Mr Loong! I hope you're not coming down with something!"

Jamie shook his head and shuffled to the sofa placed in the middle of the room, barely fitting in the midst of cardboard boxes, loudspeakers, and all sorts of electronic junk. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, trying to fight the urge to sniffle too much; he didn't feel like answering any further questions.

"I see. I trust that you want to try one of your own records… how about this?" Hau had picked The Miracle of Love single, by Eurythmics. Jamie nodded wearily; one could see from his expression that he was really minding company right now. Upon noticing this, Hau placed the little vinyl swiftly on the turntable, gave it a couple of sweeps with a nylon brush, and lowered the needle. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he sneaked back to the store, closing the door behind him.

Jamie drew from his pocket what was the last tissue of a travel pack he had purchased earlier, and had a lengthy blow, making a thick, wet sound that was at least as crackly as the beginning of the track. A soft cough escaped him while he folded the tissue again, and frowning with dissatisfaction, continued blowing. "He'ESSCHT!" A sudden sneeze threw him forward, and as if to scare its friends away, he blew harder. When he suspected the tissue wouldn't hold out much longer, he threw it into a trash bin, leaning back and letting out a weary sigh. He felt god-awful. But the music pouring out from the loudspeakers, powerful enough to overwhelm but not enough to hurt, covered the sounds of his silent coughing and sniffling.

Eurythmics. And Jennifer Rush, Foreigner, Europe… and nothing but shamelessly sentimental 1980's ballads. There's a reason for why it was, indeed, a guilty pleasure.

It was the music he could remember from the times when the most innocent of childhood had just passed; the music he would hear while sitting in a car speeding steadily through the nightly outskirts of the city, steered by the iron grip of his father – a true lover of imported music, no matter how hot Cantonese pop had became by that time. It was this music that had gave him a glimpse to a hidden side to this silent, angry and incredibly demanding figure he had feared and looked up to more than anyone; it was the only wordless way to reach past all the cool, frigid asperity. It had been the only thing that made him feel connected to that man, now passed away long time ago already, and still the only thing that could connect him to the fragility of childhood, equally long since passed.

Cruel is the night

That covers up your fears.

Tender is the one

That wipes away your tears.

There must be a bitter breeze

To make you sting so viciously -

They say the greatest coward

Can hurt the most ferociously.

But Ill show you something good.

Oh Ill show you something good.

If you open your heart

You can make a new start

When your crumbling world falls apart.

He felt like he was floating somewhere so near to sleep he could almost touch it, but still conscious of the time irretrievably ticking away. Sunken deep into the time-worn sofa with his head lolled back, he let his eyes flutter half shut. Breathing lightly through his parted lips he, for once again, enjoyed the almost unbearably sweet and bitter taste of life.

TBC

[littlesneezer18]

OH MY GOSH! !!!! AMAZING!!!!!!

[doggo]

Thank you, littlesneezer18!

--

Now, this part is wicked. Because there is a scene with torture. Oh yeah, and more mess, of course.

--

PART II

It had been all made really quite easy to him. There hadn’t been any need to observe her long to find out that apart from keeping her working hours fixed tightly to 8-6 running her own company, her ways were simply chaotic. She ate when and where she happened to feel like, she seemed to abhor making plans and fond of changing them in the last minute. She stayed up late and slept too long in the mornings. While her husband was away, they made daily, tiresome video-calls. The call scheduled for today was her husband’s idea; she tried to resist and would have preferred to be called later, bus he insisted. She didn’t have affairs. But she liked to gamble. Sometimes she drank too much.

The wind was much stronger 21 storeys from the ground, and he couldn’t help shuddering a bit every now and then. He had been waiting here for about twenty minutes – 18 and half, to be accurate – and was starting to feel really chilly.

“HNNGSCHT!” He pressed his hand on his mouth, and tried to desperately keep his eyes cracked open. “Heh… Hngg-scht!” He sniffled liquidly, glancing at his hand with deep disgust before clamping it over his mouth again, and hunched forward with another sneeze. “HNNGXT-eh!” Pressing his forefinger under his nose and tilting his head back a bit in the hopes of turning the tide inside his head, he went through his pockets for something to blow into, squinting and snivelling. “He… …ah. He… Hnngxt-ah! He… HESS-CHAW!” Oh god, that one was nasty. Doubled over and with his left hand still inside a pocket and keeping one eye on the street, he pinched his nose shut, grimacing with disgust. It felt sore and wet inside and out. Ugh. Every person catches a cold every now and then, but he couldn’t remember having such a ridiculously runny nose since perhaps early childhood. Lucky he always carried a handkerchief with him (handy for wiping off fingerprints and such). After a lengthy blow he had tried to make as silent as he could manage, he took an experimental sniff to assess the situation. Nasal passages itchy and swollen, congested sinuses, left nostril blocked for good, right one running. He couldn’t really hope breathe through his nose anymore beyond unsatisfying, watery sniffling that gave him little air. Pathetic. Besides, he could swear he was having a bit temperature. What an utterly wretched cold. And right now, of all moments. This was not good.

Was that her? A familiar looking figure was crossing the street only maybe 50-60 steps from the door. He took a look through the scope. Yes, that was her. Thank god, this would be soon over with. He followed her, targeting carefully her forehead. Just a little bit closer… She was wearing her hair up. Looked good on her. She should have done that more often.

Just a little bit…

“Hngkt!” He managed stifle the abrupt sneeze into almost perfect silence, but nevertheless it had disoriented him. He blinked his eyes frantically to rid them of tears the effort had squeezed out, and took aim again. Shit, already on the door! But she still needed to swipe her key fob to get it open, and her keys were always buried on the bottom of her bag. There was still a chance…

… or wasn’t. Jamie put the rifle down, now free to succumb to the demands of his sinuses. “Hess-ghnh! He’ESSFT-ghn!” Fuck, fuck damn FUCK! He hunkered down and drew the handkerchief to his nose with one hand, wiping and squeezing his sore, dripping nostrils, and took apart and packed the gun with another. “HNSSSCH!” God damn, how blocked his head was getting. “HE’NNGSH!” And now he needed to go after her, into her apartment.

…

“Could you get me a hotel room?” Jamie cleared his throat and placed the phone better between his jaw and shoulder, loading his handgun. “A hotel room, and three women.”

After a short pause, a distrustful voice answered him “I am not in the business. Pester someone else.”

“A hotel room and three women. Immediately.” He cut the call and got up.

The gun was in the hotel room. Three women – no shots fired. Someone would be sent to pick it up right away.

…

He rushed up the fire escape staircase, leaping two or three stairs at time, soundlessly like a cat. But by reaching the fifth floor he had to settle for two or one, and when he reached the seventh, her floor, he was already panting, a sheen of sweat covering his face. He leaned his shoulder to the heavy the fire door leading to the corridor, wiping his nose with the sodden handkerchief, and let his breathing calm down. Definitely fever. What also worried him was that his head was stuffy enough for it to affect his hearing. Only minimally, but in this sort of business, even the smallest sounds count. “Hngkch-uhhhhh…” The sneezing didn’t help either. And his nose kept dripping, the ticklish, watery stream teasing the irritated skin under his nostrils, making him twitch his nose and lips to chase the itch away.

“He… NNngscht!” He kept his eyes squeezed shut and his face buried in the crook of his arm, grabbing his shoulder and holding the elbow with the other hand, and drew shuddering, liquid sniffs. “Huh… HNGXT!” Ouch. That one really hurt. Useless. He really needed to gather his act.

The hinges of the fire door were well oiled, not making much of a sound, and letting him sneak comfortably inside. Her door was in the far end of the dimly lit corridor. The deep blue carpeting felt almost too soft under his feet. The lock was electronic; lucky he had taken the time to find out what model it was and the handiest way to override it, just in case. A couple of twists with a customized SOG knife to get the thing connected to his palmtop, and the job was done within seconds. When he cracked the door open, he could hear the sound of the shower. Good.

There wasn’t really anything new about the apartment, it’s shape, and simple décor in the spirit of European 1950’s functionalism that had been obviously picked by a professional; he had watched it closely for long enough, and he also had an exceptional talent for visualizing spaces he had only limited information about in his mind. Maybe he should have become an architect instead of a contract killer. Well, no use crying over spilt blood.

While carefully keeping eye on his surroundings and holding his gun up, he approached the bathroom door that was only a little further down the hallway, on the left, just before an opening into a spacey living room. He slid the handle down, carefully, and opened.

Two things took him by surprise. First – she wasn’t there; only a corny, over-the-top ornamental tub being filled. Second – the steam filling the room, upon hitting his face and being sucked inside his lungs, was enough to let loose a surge from his sinuses, overwhelming him and making his eyes and nose stream. His head bobbed down with soundless sneezes, making his ears pop and a tear or two run down his cheeks, until a couple of them escaped him. “Knght! Hngxt!”

What a horrible mistake – he should have held his breath at least. He was just about to straighten up, when he felt something hard and heavy hit the back of his head, sending the world spinning with a flash of white pain. He dropped on his knees, his gaze unable to focus on anything, and then it all went black.

…

His first thought after waking up into hammering ache in the back of his head was: How the HELL couldn’t I hear her footsteps?!

She had apparently secured his hands behind his back with cable ties, and then into the chair, as well as his ankles. She had done a fine job tying him up; he could barely as much as to budge. The thick gurgle of a thoroughly congested sniffle answered his question from before. Just great. He really needed to blow; the state of his nose reminded a full bathtub with a badly leaking plug, ready to give in any moment. Bathtub. How the hell didn’t he take that into account? It must have been the slowly climbing temperature fogging his brain. If he had guessed it might get bad enough to cause him fever, he would have taken something for that earlier. What a farce.

And she was there too, right before him. She grabbed his chin with her hand and tilted his head up, looking him firmly into the eye. Her lips were pale and her hand was trembling – frightened out of her wits. Can’t blame her though.

“You’ve picked the wrong woman to fuck with.”

Oh, she liked to talk too. How tiresome.

She showed a handgun under his ear, making him cough. “I could blast your brains on the wall right now if I wanted, and heavens know I do, but I know there would be another scumbag like you after me soon. I can tell you’re a pro, it’s written all over your revolting face. I need to know who they are. I need to know who wants me dead. So better to spill the beans, you sorry fucker.”

It would be dangerous to sneeze now; it might startle her and really make her pull the trigger. And of course, nothing is as likely to make one’s nose itch as a thought like that. Jamie heaved a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. On no, there was really one on its way. His nostrils twitched and flared, a shiver running up his spine, gathering momentum on its way for a sinus-ravaging explosion. His nose had already dribbled on his lip, burning and itching madly. He cracked his eyes open a bit, unable to suppress a moan, and could catch a glimpse of her expression, which looked strangely intrigued. “He… Ah! Huh… hu-! HESSCh-gh-ah!”

He couldn’t feel the cool touch of the muzzle anymore; she had pulled the gun away. He tried fiercely to sniffle through the thick stream of congestion, with less than complete success. His cheeks flushed with shame and disgust.

But her reaction was nothing like one would expect. She was smiling. Viciously. Surprised, startled but… almost like she was pleased. He could swear there was some sort of twisted fascination in her expression when she examined his face carefully, the pale, sweaty glow of it, the reddened nostrils, the shiny eyes. She slowly placed the gun on a table, her hand still trembling a bit, and reached for the back of her head, pulling out a hairpin.

“I’m sorry, my bad. I should have perhaps said… sorry, sick fucker.” With careful, precise movements, she leaned forward, still holding his head tilted back with her fingers, almost embracing it, and ran the pin around the rim of his right nostril.

“HNGXT!”

“Oh you bad boy.” She cooed. “Don’t you know you can burst an eardrum doing that?”

Was she trying to humiliate him to show him that he had not control over the situation? That’s a logical way to treat a captive for sure, but it was almost like she enjoyed it. Oh joy, maybe he had been caught by someone with psychopathic tendencies. They are the worst. What as sick wench. But he was in control. He had to keep this in mind; this was only temporary. He was in control.

She used the pin again, this time twirling it along the rim of his left nostril, sweeping lightly the moist inside. Not much stimulation was needed

“HNNGISSH! Huh… HISSCHAWH!” The last one did it. His face was officially a mess now. His eyes were streaming, his nose beyond the control any of his useless tries to sniffle. She let his head from her grasp and disappeared from his sight. He felt so stuffed, like his whole head was flooded with something that was spilling over as tears and mucus. And he tasted salt - a realization that made him shudder with disgust and cough convulsively.

He wasn’t looking, but she announced her being back with a sound that was somewhat alarming to him. A sound he recognized all too well – from the times of his reckless youth, when tricks like that were quite appealing to him. Rough, efficient, undignified, yet still elegant in it’s simplicity. A roll of duct-tape.

“Let’s see if you can find a better way to make your mouth useful after managing without it for a while.” She had a devilish glimmer in her eyes, yet something about her expression signalled uncertainty. She was obviously a bad girl, but how bad exactly?

In the worst case… choking into his own mucus. Laryngospasm. Lung damage. Dry drowning. Maybe even heart attack or stroke. She would let him most likely breathe before he passed out, and then do it again. It would hurt like damn, that’s for sure; possibly lead to serious damage, maybe even death. Of the most ridiculous kind on top of that.

She didn’t seem like the type who would knowingly cause any permanent damage. But she was obviously inexperienced, and that in itself was dangerous; that might cost him his life. What about if she panicked seeing his eyes roll over as he was writhing in pain, and run away, too frightened to ever come back, leaving him to choke slowly to death? He could feel how blood had fallen back from his cheeks, giving him away no matter how collected he tried to appear. Rule number one – never show them your fear. He felt the tape stick into his skin. And then… the hairpin.

“Mhh… KNGX!” A wave of pressure flashed through his sinuses, forcing out a wet strand of congestion. His whole body shuddered violently as he fought for air, his abused nostrils flaring as wide as they could ever manage as another sneeze forced it’s way though. “Knght!” The sneeze had cleared his left nostril enough to let a short sniff pass through, making a whistling sound – but this also served to fan the burning itch to even fiercer flames. “Mhhgh… HKNNGGXH!” He felt how his nose flowed over onto his face, and on the inside down his throat, suffocating, while his sinuses sealed shut. He couldn’t breathe anymore; his ears had popped too, and he could barely hear the thick gurgle that disappeared and came back in lengthy intervals, signalling a lost fight for a breath of air. He was convulsing to break free even if he knew it was impossible, his chest making erratic movements even if there was nothing to breathe, smothered cries of pain and contained coughs rising from his throat. Tears were spilling from his eyes. His vision grew dim.

Lucky for him, he had been right. With a swift movement she ripped the piece of tape off, and while taking the first greedy gasp, he felt how his nose dribbled down the broken skin of his lips. He coughed to the point of retching, shuddering, shaking, and gasping.

A cool hand met his forehead, a touch that felt almost caressing on his sweaty, glowing brow, as she gently tilted his head back. He cracked his eyes open, still shivering, gasping and coughing. His breath was wheezing. He felt how his nose and lips were mopped roughly with a paper towel; from the feel of it, the combination of a miserably wet head cold and duct tape had really torn the skin under his nostrils. He couldn’t figure out why the courtesy, but was, indeed, incredibly thankful nevertheless.

“You’re fucking disgusting, you know that?”

Curiously, there really was a touch of gentleness in her voice too. Maybe after the second time he could find an opening. If he would talk, she would have no reason to keep him alive anymore; and if not her, his own would get him. Although, whether or not he talked, nothing he could say would ever matter, if anyone would find out about this. No-one would believe him, or at least not many enough. Letting himself get captured practically meant ending up on a death list. But if he somehow managed to swindle out of it, and kill her before anyone would find out… there wasn’t much time left either. Goddamn.

“Now, prince – who hired you?”

“We are dot tol… do… HESscht!”

“Not told??! Don’t you dare to give me that bullshit!”

Oh well, he hadn’t really assumed she would have taken the bait. But there’s always a chance… He could hear the tape roll again. Oh god, here we go again. He moved involuntarily his head away, in a vain attempt to avoid her grasp; no matter how cool his mind was, his body remembered too well.

It was that moment when the phone rang.

She froze. Not letting her eyes off him, she backed slowly a few steps to grab the phone, and answered.

“Darling? Oh listen, you have to listen to me darling. There’s a man in there. Yes. A man. He came to kill me! I’m ok darling, I’m just so scared! Should I call the police? I managed to tie him up and am trying to make him tell me who hired him, he’s not very smart. I think he’s breaking… but maybe I should call the police anyway? I don’t like doing this, honey. It’s horrible. I don’t think I can manage. I think I’ll call the police.”

She held a long pause. Something flashed in her eyes.

“What do you mean I shouldn’t tell the police? I could go somewhere; they could protect me until it’s over.”

“What do you mean? You’ll send someone?”

“Why I shouldn’t leave?”

“Darling?”

For a while her lips were moving, without making a sound. “I… ok. I will wait here, darling. Bye bye.” Her voice sounded hollow, almost mechanic. She stood there, startled, letting her hand drop slowly to her side, the phone slipping off her grasp and falling on the floor.

“It’s him.”

Slowly her mouth twisted open, her chin so tense it trembled, and a solitary tear appeared in the corner of her left eye. “That… fucking… asshole!” She grabbed her head and marched back and forth, stopping to curse every few steps. “That sorry fucking asshole. You know… you know what? That biggest tabloid of his is going to be declared bankrupt soon. Bad for politics. You know I refused to sell my company to help him out but… fuck!”

Game over. There was no chance whatsoever for him to keep his job anymore. Time to think things over.

“They will send over my backup. You’re out of luck, missy.”

She turned around swiftly, smooth, black strands of her hair whipping the air. Wearing her hair up looked good on her, but it looked even better with her cheeks flushed, eyes lit up by fighting spirit yet lips tense with fright, and errant wisps of hair hanging loose around her face.

“That’s just fine. I have a hostage.”

He couldn’t help laughing a bit, still chuckling softly to himself when the laughter had been subjugated by coughs. Eventually the smile died on his face. He cleared his throat.

“Like I said, you’re out of luck. Choi wants me dead.”

TBC

[Selene]

Yay for wickedness, I'd say! ^^

I wasn't sure where this story would lead me but.. well.. curious as I am, I followed nevertheless and came to a point where I was gnawing my fingernails due to almost unbearable suspense... So if you don't want me to lose all my fingernails, I hope you'll continue, soon!

Thanks for writing this. Didn't believe I would take a shine to something like this but.. well.. I actually do (and quite a lot so xD )

[Vetinari]

I'd take a shine to Shinyness!

Brilliant, naughty, messy....

And the fic is good too!

[wishiwassneezy]

Yay for tourture sneezing!

[RandomNumber]

your writing style is interesting to say the least! :3

very nice

[Dye]

MOREMOREMOREMOREMOREPLZ!!!

[scent]

Yay for tourture sneezing!

Oh that poor guy. I really feel for him.

[doggo]

Ok ok, more comes!

Thank you for the all kind comments. They really made my day. Several of them, actually!

And sorry it took so long to get the last part. But here comes!

--

PART III

“What?”

“Choi wan… mh” He bit his upper lip in frustration, his sore, red nostrils flaring and twitching with the urge to sneeze. “He…HESsh-ghn!” He sniffled thickly and grimaced. “wandts be dead.”

“Hold on. I can’t understand a damn word.” She reached for another paper towel, cupped his chin with her hand and wiped his nose carefully. She was frowning. “Damn, what a cold. You look like you’d been punched in the face, and it’s not all my doing either you know. And you’re burning up too. Don’t you bad guys know how to take a sick day?”

He heaved a weary sigh, letting his eyes stay closed. It felt so good, the way she touched his face. What the hell was this? Some weird schizo version of good-cop-bad-cop? He couldn’t wander further this trail of thought though, as sinuses were in revolt again. “Huh…” Upon noticing how his breath was hitching, and the frantic movement of his wet, raw nostrils, she clamped the towel over his nose. ”Hi… huh… HESSCHAW!” The cable ties were biting into his skin as he threw himself forward. He held his eyes shut and brow tightly knit as she pinched his nose lightly, squeezing some liquid out, folded the towel and brought it back to his nose.

“Go ahead, you can blow if you want to. I have to understand what you talk,” she muttered.

She was blushing a bit, and he followed her example. Too desperate to rid himself at least of some of the suffocating congestion, he parted from his pride and tried to blow softly. But a half-hearted try like that didn't do him much good. Pitiful. Just pitiful.

“You’re that badly stuffed? No wonder you couldn’t… yeah.” She swallowed, and turned her face away. “Try harder. I won’t mind.” She blushed even more.

Even if the humiliation made him grit his teeth, he took the offer, and gave a thick, hard blow that rendered the towel useless, leaving him breathless. He straightened up and took a tentative sniff or two. Heavenly; a modest amount of air could pass through for a while. He cleared his throat.

“Choi wants me dead. He’s my backup for now, but having me dead equals a promotion to him. You couldn’t have a more useless hostage than me.” He coughed into his shoulder. “Besides… they will never let you go. Never.”

She glanced him, eyes full of mistrust, watching and gauging like a cornered stray cat with it's claws out and back arched but still not ready to move to either direction.

“Suppose... that I let you go. Would you help me out?”

“I would have to run too, you can tag along. Whatever happens to you doesn’t concern me anymore. They know already, and they would never believe that I didn’t talk.”

“But... what if you’re lying and and…”

He srugged. “You can keep me at gunpoint.”

She pinched her mouth shut, and with her most serious expression, nodded slowly. “Ok. If you promise to help me out, I will let you go. It’s not like I really trust you though.”

“Yes, yes, of course you don’t. But hurry up!”

She drew her fingers to her lips, and nibbled her nails. One of them snapped. “Would you kill that no-good husband of mine for me?”

“Thirty-five thousand.”

“Ugh! You’re just sickening! I can’t believe you thought I was serious!”

He rolled his eyes. “Now. Look. Some people fight wars. And some others fight gang-wars, and there are always those who fight one-man-wars. But all of them sometimes hire soldiers.”

She nodded slowly, pretending really hard to be convinced. It was no use thinking about that now, and she knew it.

“Now, for the sake of your own skin… would you please let me go, if you’re going to?”

…

It suprised him how thoroughly she had searched him, moving every single hidden blade and gadget to make sure he couldn't try anything. And she really had taken his advice and was pointing a gun at him while he slid the door open, carefully peeking in the corridor. Although when turning around to gesture her to follow him, he noticed the irritated, almost insulted expression on her face – maybe how little he seemed to care about her threat hurt her pride. Behind the mask of his face which was showing only concentration, he couldn't help smiling at that a little.

The moment the elevator doors opened, he caught a glimpse of Choi stepping into the corridor. He pushed Angela inside before him, firing a couple of shots at Choi’s general direction from the crack of the closing doors. He could hear Choi answering the fire, and then rushing footsteps. The elevator took off.

“We'll go to the basement and get my my husband’s car. It's faster than mine. Besides, that will really fuck him off.”

He was holding his steepled hands over his nose, nodding hastily a couple of times. “Ye… HESSCHH! Kngxt! Hkng-ISSCH! Uhh… yes.”

She placed her hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing a caressing circle. “Hey, you really shouldn’t do that. You’ll burst an eardrum, or give yourself sinusitis or something.”

He nodded again, blinking his eyes and sniffling wetly. “Hu… HESSCHAW! Ugh…” He managed to find his handkerchief, wiped his nose and concentrated on checking through his pockets to find out how much bullets he had left. Plenty enough, luckily.

“Why… why are you doing this? Why are you helping me out?”

He looked at her, frowning, are you an idiot written all over his face with far less than refined brushstrokes. “You cut the ties off and set me free.”

“But I tied you there in the first place!” she cried.

“Yes, but I came there to kill you.”

“Yes! Yes you did!” She shakily raised the gun she had already forgotten to keep pointed at him. “And I don’t trust you!”

Her last words came out as a high-pitched shriek as he grabbed her hand and rushed out, dragging her with him.

…

“Keep your head down!” he hissed, and crept swiftly in between the cars. ”Now... where is it?”

”I'll show the way!” she whispered, and started tiptoeing her way to the far side of the gigantic hall filled with elegant, newly waxed cars, that reflected their mirror images in a way that made Jamie uneasy. He didn't like her going first either, she was too reckless.

Later on, if he would have tried to think about it, he couldn't still most likely tell what made him do it. Maybe he heard a sound, like fabrick of a sleeve rattling. Maybe he saw a reflection. Sixth sense. Or just plain old paranoia paired with luck. But for a reason or another, he suddenly grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, just before she was about to once again step out from the cover offered by a line of parked cars. And just before they both could hear a gunshot.

Answering the fire he could see a glimse of Choi pulling back behind a concrete column, dressed in one of those ridiculous black suits, with sunglasses and all.

”Hn... Hngxt!” A sudden sneeze led Jamie's concentration astray in the middle of exchanging shots. He tried to straighten his back, only to be taken over by another one. ”Hn'kgxth!” he pinched his nose shut and hunkered down. ”Hngkht! He' kngh! H'kngxft!”

From the corner of his eye, he could see her. She was standing just straight enough to almost take a peek over the roof of the car, and raising her gun, just about to shoot. Damn that woman!

He slapped her hand down; the gun went off, without hitting anything but the floor.

“Hey, what did you do that for?!” She cried, irritated and scared.

“Have you ever taken a life?”

She shook her head. “No… not really.”

“You sleep well?” She opened her mouth, hesitantly for a change, but he went ahead and answered his own question, while getting up and firing. “Yes you do. And you sleep late too, and skip breakfast.” Ducking back behind the car, he loaded his gun. “And if you have drunk, you pass out on the sofa in your underwear, practically just waiting to catch a chill.”

She blushed fiercely. “You… you sick bastard!” she cried, infuriated, but he was too preoccupied with exchanging shots to mind. And he might have even agreed, had he paid it further thought.

“You… do you sleep well then?”

“Yes, I do as of late. It was different for the first six years though. But at some point your mind just adapts, of you get killed or caught.”

That shot didn't come this way. And there was a thump. A scream, hasty steps, sounded like two pairs of high heels. Another shot and a more screamng.

”Why do stupid bitches like you have to interrupt me while I'm working to get my fucking promotion?!” Choi's voice was was filled with cold rage. There were still steps, getting farther, and hysterical sobbing.

It hit Jamie once again how much Choi reminded him of himself when he was younger. Arrogant, self-righteous, flaunting his cruel, selfish indifference to fight the lingering remains of an ethical conflict. Simply put, still on the other side.

The moment Jamie heard the last shot, he straightened up to his full height, took aim and fired. He could see a woman, maybe in her late 20's, dropping down on his far left, and choi collapsing against the column, half hidden by it.

”Go get the car. I will go make sure he's gone.”

She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. ”I thought you could help me with that. I don't have the keys, I said it's my husband's car. But it's just so much faster! And don't you all start by stealing cars and stuff?”

Jamie couldn't help but to roll his eyes. ”Ok. You wait here then.”

…

”Hngxt!” Just great. Of course the stupid wind would make his nose run while driving. Keeping one hand on the wheel, Jamie pinched his nose with another.

”I said you should stop doing that!” she pulled his hand away. ”You want an ear infection?”

”Heh... He'kkscht! He'sscht! Heh.... HISSCHAW!” The last sneeze of the fit had bent him over the wheel, spraying the windshield.

“Hey! Careful! You should have let me drive.”

He sniffled thickly and twitched his nose. “I drive faster.”

“Well excuse me, Mr. Snotty. You haven’t seen me drive. When we’ve come clear and out of this shit, I’ll race you.”

“If we come.”

“When. I’ll race you and hand you your ass on a plate.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s a deal.”

“Deal.”

She leaned back and let her head sink between her shoulders. “And when you lose, you will have to subject to the hairpin again,” she muttered.

He couldn’t quite hear her. “What?”

“Nothing!”

She turned on the radio and surfed through channels. “What is this? They’re playing just shit!”

He recognized a familiar tune. “Hey, wait, put that back!”

“What?”

“That song… wait…” They both flinched a bit as their hands met; while he was searching for the right channel she, looking into another direction, stroked his hand with her fingertips once or twice. He kept his eyes nailed in the road.

The miracle of love

Will take away your pain

When the miracle of love

Comes your way again.

“What? This one?” She burst out laughing. “You like this? You like this kind of music?”

“Why yeah. I do.”

She was holding her stomach and cackling. “You like this sort of soppy, teary-eyed ballads? Like this song?”

As to demonstrate his point, he turned the volume all the way up. “I love it.”

The music and the wind swallowed his words; she could barely hear a sound.

“What?”

“I love it!”

THE END

[Vetinari]

Upon noticing how his breath was hitching, and the frantic movement of his wet, raw nostrils, she clamped the towel over his nose. "Hi… huh… HESSCHAW!" The cable ties were biting into his skin as he threw himself forward. He held his eyes shut and brow tightly knit as she pinched his nose lightly, squeezing some liquid out, folded the towel and brought it back to his nose.

Hngggg! Wow this is ludicrously hot, I love it.

And...

"Well excuse me, Mr. Snotty.

This was a definite LOL moment which is quite something just now.

Your writing is superb as ever.

[doggo]

Upon noticing how his breath was hitching, and the frantic movement of his wet, raw nostrils, she clamped the towel over his nose. "Hi… huh… HESSCHAW!" The cable ties were biting into his skin as he threw himself forward. He held his eyes shut and brow tightly knit as she pinched his nose lightly, squeezing some liquid out, folded the towel and brought it back to his nose.

Hngggg! Wow this is ludicrously hot, I love it.

And...

"Well excuse me, Mr. Snotty.

This was a definite LOL moment which is quite something just now.

Your writing is superb as ever.

Thank you, dear! It's always wonderful if someone takes the time to point out what they liked.