Licensed Murder

[ 11-2 ] .---- .----

Yup, it's been ages since my last update and I have bashed my head against the wall for it... nuff said. XD Oh, btw, it's Iris on the side :) But it is merely only a guide, please feel free to use your own wonderful imaginations :P

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“Check the broth!”

“Yes Chef!” I replied as I hurriedly made my way to the large commercial stove upon which stood a freaking huge pot of broth simmering away that could probably be the cure for all the famines in Africa. Pfft, expensive restaurants. Why make so much when all you get on the plate is a 3cm by 3cm piece of god knows what?

I had always admired cooks due to the way they carried themselves; they walked with a purpose. I used the ladle to pour some of the clear-ish liquid into my palm and watched as the various figures in white aprons whizzed around the kitchen, each completely focused on their task at hand. All except one.

My mind flicked into hunter mode as I eyed my prey with narrowing eyes. A tall, slender woman of south-east Asian decent stood leaning against the commercial cooler-room door, checking out her nails. Huh, you can run, but you can’t hide.

I spied the Chef making his occasional rounds around the kitchen and I pretended to look busy stirring the broth. In the corner of my eye, I saw the woman still standing there, not having moved an inch. What? The chef passed and me and grunted in approval, I smiled as he walked by, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were locked on a figure leaning against the cooler-room door, beckoning him with a thin, slender finger.

He smiled at her in response and walked towards her as casually as he could. Oh no she didn’t. Her shiny black hair whipped around as she flicked at the ends in a seductive way. The Chef approached her more quickly now and as he came within her reach, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the corridor, to back storage rooms. Oh no she didn’t.

They were gone for a full twenty minutes before the woman resumed her position against the cooler-room door with the most annoying, smug look on her face that was caked with a mountain of make-up. She’s definitely the one.

Time to let the bubbles die. I turned the gas knob off on the stove and the broth slowly stopped simmering. I turned to face the cow that was still playing with her fingernails. Goddamn… Little beads of condensation from the broth on my hands were squished as I wiped my hand on my chef’s apron. My mind flashed back to document I received earlier in the week-

‘Sharni Silva. 23. Seduces victims then retrieves the vital information her clients want before killing them off. Usually covers up deaths as suicide.’

Ah, she could have done well in the agency, but I guess it’s all about the people you know. One foot in front of the other, I slowly made the same path as the chef towards the woman. My head flicking from side to side, I adjusted my cook’s shirt and tightened my apron. This is gonna get messy.

She glanced up, annoyed, just as I spoke. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Outstretching my arm towards the handle, I leaned in and opened the cool-room door. A wall of cold air hit my face. After pushing her roughly through the door, I followed her in and locked the door with my hand behind my back. Show-time.