Licensed Murder

[ 13-1 ] .---- ...--

I sincerely apologize for the ridiculously and outrageously late update XD Anyways, this chapter is dedicated to the fabulous author and friend @RadheyaJ for just being awesome :P Please check out his story 'H1D3 AND S33K' or 'Countdown', it's so freaking scary but so cool at the same time :)

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Smoke rose up from the tyres as they screeched to a halt. Signalling to the rider my whereabouts, I stepped out from my shelter under the McDonalds building.

Kicking the motorcycle’s stand out with her foot, she began making her way towards me, sliding her helmet off and shaking her long blonde hair out.

“Iris Row?” she questioned. What is with everyone knowing my name today?

“That’s correct… Cyanide Agency?”

“Correct.” The blonde nodded slightly. “Your reply, if you please”

Shit. “Wanna nugget?” I asked, holding out my 6-pack of McNuggets.

“Your answer, Miss Row” No nonsense gal, aye? Two can play that game.

“I’ll be there… but before you go, please, take a nugget. I insist” I asked again with an eyebrow raised.

She bit her lip and looked around as if some secret assassin were watching her. Oh the bloody irony. “Might as well, I guess”

She munched on it silently while making her way back to her motorbike, where she then started up the engine before weaving her way through the car-park towards the exit.

Slowly, her grip on the handles became weaker and weaker until the whole bike along with herself, toppled over.

Smiling, I walked towards her, ditching the remaining nuggets in the bin. “Yeah sorry about that,” I said as I removed the helmet off her head and shoved it onto mine “but there’s no way in hell I’m taking the bus”

***

“Oh come on Jones, It’s just one night…” I was practically on my knees at this point.

“No Iris. I’m not going. I’m staying the hell away from that bloody agency and if you know what’s good for you, you will too”

“Aw man, then who will I go with…? I know you and Thames didn’t really get along with each other, but you have to be slightly curious about his murderer, right?”

He thought about this for a moment before letting out a deep sigh. “I’ll call Mr. Alkine and set him up as your date, happy?”

My mouth formed an involuntary ‘o’ shape. “Wait, what?” Bloody Jones.

***

Well, it was D-Day and I somehow ended up having a slightly annoyed mafia-boy standing next to me as we lined up to have our invitations inspected. And I say invitations because strangely mafia-boy had received one too and had agreed to be my partner so as to ‘further his business partnership safely’.

‘Further his business partnership safely’ my ass, more like ‘I’m sad, lonely and dateless’.

Anyway, I had decided to defy social norm yet again and rock up in a nice suit instead of a (shudders) dress. But it didn’t seem to please the well-dressed blithering idiot beside me, though.

“Why the hell are you dressed like that? Do you have any idea how weird that makes me look?”” he ‘yell-whispered’ in my ear.

I shrugged as I pointed out, “I am here for your ‘safety’-“ (I quoted with exaggerated bunny ears) “not as your date”

“Well you could have at least worn a skirt or something.”

“I think my outfit comes under the ‘or something’ and besides, comfort over fashion any day mate.” I said proudly.

“Mate?” He raised his eyebrows.

I coughed. “Ah, sir”

Suddenly I sensed an uncomfortable pair of eyes on us. My head swivelled around doing a 180 before landing on the figure of a familiar woman in the distance.

“What is it?”

“Isn’t that your secretary?” I asked, identifying the upturned nose and sharp eyes.

She stood under a tree alone in a low-cut, pale lavender dress, her eyes scanning the queue before stopping at the sight of mafia-boy and I. A tall dark figure approached from behind and began talking to her so she whipped around, facing her back towards us. That’s when I saw it. A skull tattooed on her back.

 A skull with a bottle of cyanide.