Looking over his shoulder to survey the scene, Joplin Paddox slipped two fingers in his inner jacket pocket; he turned back to face the door, because he was satisfied with his work. He withdrew a card containing a series of numbers and letters. The Panic Room Security System was bio-activated but as a backup, a key panel had been installed. He walked over to the sealed door, then he pressed an area that looked like a light switch. Actually, it was a functioning light switch but it also disguised the key panel. When he pushed it, the panel revealed itself. Joplin entered the code...the computer said...
“System disengaged. Locking mechanism deactivated.”
Then the solid door slid open.
“What took you so long?”
Dashiell was cleaning his weapon. Joplin also noted crumbs in the creases of his mouth. Stupid idiot. He’d been eating on the job. Joplin stepped over Holly, then he said...
“She wasn’t a part of the contract.
“Oh well.”
Joplin showed little emotion when he said...
“You could have knocked her out--then I could have drugged her.”
“Collateral damage.” Dashiell said and he looked too happy given that he’d just killed an innocent bystander.
Dashiell was backtracking, retracing his route, while looking over his shoulder when he said...
“Come on mate...we’re done. If we leave now, we’ll have just enough time to shower and change before this nights all over and the New Year begins.”
Dashiell swayed, pretending to dance, while saying...
“There’s a pretty little lady waiting for me--and I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s got an invite to the Gustafson’s party. Lately, she and Fawn Gustafson’s have become pretty chummy.”
Joplin couldn’t picture Dashiell fitting in at a Gustafson’s party. In his estimation, the Gustafson’s were an enigma best left unsolved but he’d be the last person to say that out loud. Especially to young, impressionable Dashiell.
“First things first Dash...”
“All right--first things first.” he sighed.
Joplin and Dashiell had made one reprisal kill and one kill that wasn’t a part of their contract. They could justify her murder, or they could remove her body. When the decision had been made, Joplin went to work. This wasn’t his first unsanctioned kill and he knew better than Dashiell how to fool the local authorities as well as places to dispose of bodies. As for Tollin--thanks to Joplin’s handy work, based on the scene, the police would think that Tollin had committed suicide. The death of Amy Randolph had been big news, and the court case had been widely televised. It wasn’t a stretch to suggest that Tollin had been under tremendous stress; especially after his breakup with Eliza Pendleton. But if the cops didn’t buy his ruse, there wasn’t a shortage of suspects. Over the years, Tollin had stepped on more than a few toes, and Joplin was surprised that a hit had not been put out on the man sooner than now. In other words, he and his accomplice were in the clear. As for the woman--unfortunately, due to her line of work, more than likely, her murder would be found in a dead case file, for years to come, because after Joplin was finished with her; how and why she died would remain a mystery.
They were walking down the back stairwell, after dumping Holly in the disposal. In his line of work, the end of the year meant many things; and settling scores was one of the dangers.
“Twenty minutes until Midnight. Do you wanna wait it out here? I mean...I ain’t got no enemies on this side of town...but what about you?”
Dashiell had raised the question. Joplin wasn’t sure how to answer because he killed for a living and by definition, that should make him a target. On the other hand, only a few people knew about this side of his life. As a matter of fact, most of the year, he worked for a security firm, installing Panic Rooms--just like the room in Tollin’s penthouse. In fact--two months ago, he’d sold Tollin on the Deluxe Series Sentinel System. He sighed because--this business of killing was getting to easy. Joplin considered their choices, then he thought about the party Dashiell had planned to attend to celebrate New Year’s Day. He raised his watch, then glided his finger over the timepiece, programming it to alarm when twenty minutes had expired.
“We’ll wait here.” He said.
“Good... And thanks for the tag along.” Dash pumped his gun in the air while saying... “Ever since I bought this little darlin...I’ve been wanting to pop off a few rounds--and I don’t mean that target practice bullshit.” His grin was a toothy one when he said... “And thanks to you...I busted the cherry on this badass gun.” Dash holstered his weapon, then he said...
”You did me a solid...I owe you one.”
Joplin said...
“Don’t mention it.”
Dash nodded, when he said...
“I got your back man...so, I’ll take watch.”
“You do that...” Joplin muttered. Dashiell was two steps ahead of him, when suddenly the narrow hall echoed a small ‘pop’.
“Yep--this is getting to easy.”
Joplin stepped over his dead naive colleague. The man had not been his mark and his eagerness was to blame for his murder. Joplin thought ahead, mapping out exits and places to dump a body. When he’d been assigned to the Special Forces, Uncle Sam had foot the bill, and back then, for eight years, he’d killed for a living. It felt good feeling the jerk of the gun, and then there was always the pop. This explosive motion fulfilled his fixation to kill. When he’d been asked to take care of Tollin, he’d checked his bases before plotting out the job. Then, when he’d called up Dash, enlisting his help as a lookout; the foolish man wouldn’t leave well enough alone. He’d whimpered like a two year old on a playground, begging for his turn to pull the trigger. Dash had never killed anyone, and instead of doing the job that Joplin had paid him to do; the young man had placed himself beneath the wings of a trained killer. The sad part about this scenario was that, Joplin didn’t feel any pity for Dash. In his brain, it had been Dash who’d placed himself in harms way because he should have remained outdoors, covering his ass while he dealt with Tollin. When he’d been in the Special Forces, he’d been trained to make his mark. This time had been no different, and he’d spun his web months ago, setting his Tollin trap. When Tollin made a call inquiring about a new security system; Joplin had been monitoring his outgoing calls. Joplin had played his role to perfection and after installing Tollin’s Panic room, Joplin had thrown in the security doors as a special offer. Tollin had been extremely grateful. He’d even given Joplin a tip, and told him he’d be sure to recommend his service to his friends. Like so many rich people who think money can buy them whatever they want; Tollin had been over trusting and he didn’t employ an outside company to inspect Joplin’s work. Had he taken this precaution, the security expert might have found the override code, hidden in the security system. The same code that had allowed Joplin and Dashiell easy access--gaining entry inside of his penthouse. Joplin had entered through the front, and Dash had come in up the rear. Killing Tollin had been a part of his plan--but Dashiell--his death had been a necessary evil. Before arriving at the apartment building across from Tollin’s building; Dashiell’s role had been as clear as ice. Joplin had employed this man for one reason and only one reason. Joplin needed a reliable lookout. He’d worked on a few security jobs with Dashiell and he seemed to be loyal and the dependable type. From the beginning, Joplin had never explained that he’d been on a mission to kill Tollin. In spite of this, it had been Dash’s insistent prodding and probing that led to an outcome that could have been avoided. At one point, Dash had outright said, that he knew Joplin had been sent to kill someone. Joplin didn’t know if Dashiell had been guessing or fishing for information and in the end, it really didn’t matter because his suspicions had sealed his fate. In other words, Dashiell had asked one too many questions. One thing he’d learned during his years in service was that, intelligent soldiers don’t take chances. If an enemy combatant threatens the mission; there could be only one outcome. That combatant would be as good as dead. Joplin stepped over Dashiell Wrightly’s body, leaving his combatant in the stairwell. His timepiece beeped five times, signaling the midnight hour. Like clockwork, even though he was still in doors, he could hear Midtown Holy Cathedral when its bells began to chime. This noise was followed by the computer generated bells blaring from the Samaritan Conclave’s outdoor speakers. The New Year had officially begun.