Kill for Me

For the Right Price

He never brought his clients with him while taking out a mark. It was a personal rule as well as just common sense. Clients made the kill personal, making it too much easier to get caught. Pope avoided detection through years of experience and careful practices. And he never broke his own rules.

That should have been Peter Blake's first clue that his day was about to take a turn. Unfortunately, the local drug lord of what was a glorified hick town knew nothing of Pope's personal code of conduct. All he knew was Pope was the man to turn to when you needed someone gone. And Veronica had been a thorn in his side for too long. Being invited to witness her demise felt like Christmas in July. So Peter accompanied the hitman, following him deep into the woods and in what was considered the middle of nowhere, even in the that neck of the woods.

"What the fuck is she doing all the way out here?" he asked, the beginnings of suspicion starting to prickle the back of his neck. "Probably been hiding right? Bitch knew someone would be waiting at home so she came out here?"

Pope said nothing, keeping his eyes ahead as they moved to the sounds of crushing dead leaves. Peter eyed the glock tucked securely in the back of the hitman's pants and thought of his own piece strapped to his hip. Once it was over, he had decided, he had a few holes he would like to put in the girl himself.

They finally stepped into a clearing and Pope came to a stop, silently pointing ahead to a figure sitting with her back leaned against a tree. Peter had almost expected to find her tied up and bloodied, unable to fight or run anymore. He expected a frightened expression on her face the moment she saw them coming at the very least. Instead she simply sat in a relaxed pose on the forest floor, the cherry on the end of her cigarette glowing brightly as she took a slow, steady drag.

"You should have kept running, bitch!" Peter called out to her. Despite the bizarre circumstances sitting in front of him, it did nothing to quell the arrogance that shaped the core of his being. It did not matter that she could jump to her feet and run at any second or that she could have a weapon on herself that neither of them could see. There was no way she was making it to the end of the day alive. Of this, Peter was certain.

Veronica said nothing but continued to smoke, staying put when Pope began to move again, causing Peter to follow suit. They walked slowly towards her, Pope's hand beginning to reach behind himself for his gun. Peter's own weapon was forgotten as he began to feel nervous. The woman had not said a word or so much as stood up, and the closer they drew, the more irritated he became at her lack of a reaction.

"You know why we're here, don't you?" Peter growled. "End of the line! End of the fucking line for you!" Veronica hardly regarded him, keeping her eyes on Pope who now had his weapon drawn in front of him, not yet taking aim. "Got anything you wanna say to me, girl?" Peter snarled, desperate to assert his dominance on her though it never seemed to stick. Veronica's eyes lazily met Peter's and she took another puff from her cigarette.

"Just that I'm surprised you actually coughed up the money to have me killed." She snuffed out her cigarette and flicked the butt away into the leaves. "Back when I worked for you, you were too much of a tight-ass to afford those kind of luxuries."

Peter scoffed at her. "Well... gotta treat yourself sometimes right? And this here's a real treat for me."

"Yeah, I bet it is," she sighed, turning her eyes back to Pope, the only one who had yet to say a single word. "How much did he pay you? Something like this can't possibly be cheap."

"He paid exactly what it costs," Pope answered flatly.

"Not gonna give me a figure? Or a ballpark?" she inquired.

"Never you mind the particulars," he replied. "If you're trying to find out how much your life is worth, I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you so you may as well forget about it."

Veronica nodded, letting out a slow breath. For a moment she finally looked deflated, Peter grinning at the sight as his fingers began to itch for the firearm he now remembered he was carrying. If Pope did not hurry things along, Peter knew he may end up just doing it himself even if it meant washing his money down the drain.

When Veronica's gaze snapped back up to Pope's, Peter's confidence began to wane. "Actually, sir," she addressed the hitman. "I only ask so as to not insult you..." She rose to her feet slowly, making Peter shift uncomfortably, but Pope remained still, watching Veronica as she reached around to the other side of the tree she had been leaning against. Its trunk had been wide enough to hide the duffel bag she'd placed behind it, but when it came into view, Peter's eyes furrowed in confusion. She hoisted it up with a grunt, then took a step towards them, causing Pope to aim his gun at her face in warning.

"Easy there," she stated coolly, swinging the duffel bag backwards to give her arm enough momentum to toss it at their feet. It landed with a loud crunch on the forest floor, and Pope glanced down briefly, never changing his aim on her. "Go ahead," Veronica encouraged, holding out her empty hands for them to see. "I'm not armed."

"Open it," Pope instructed, keeping his focus on the girl. Peter looked at him, his mouth slightly agape in confusion, but when the hitman's eyes twisted to give him a sidelong glare, he knelt down and tugged open the zipper.

The sight of the stacks of bills made his body tense, and he jumped up with a gasp of, "Jesus Christ almighty..."

"Now," Veronica spoke up to Pope, ignoring Peter entirely. "I respect that you won't discuss particulars with me, but I'm willing to wager what's in this bag is three... maybe four times what that rat paid you. Just a guess." Pope's eyes wandered to the open bag, unable to count all the stacks that lay inside from where he stood, but Peter's increasingly fidgety demeanor confirmed Veronica's words for the three of them. It was far more than his typical fee, let alone what he had actually charged the coward.

Far more than the coward was actually capable of paying in his lifetime.

"To be clear," the woman continued, resuming her seat against the tree. "I ain't paying you just to let me live." Her eyes shifted to Peter, watching the color drain from his face. "Bye, Peter," she crooned in a mocking voice and the man took a step backwards, fumbling for his weapon.

"Pope!" he shouted, but the gunshot that followed cut him off. Pope stood still, smoke lightly rising from the barrel of his gun, and the drug lord dropped with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, never to move again.

Veronica drew another cigarette from her pack and watched the hitman kneel over the duffel bag, sifting through the stacks of bills in an attempt to form a reasonable estimate of what she had just tossed at his feet. "Care to join me?" she called to him after letting him count for a few moments.

Pope slowly looked up at her, watching her light her cigarette and smoke away as if it were just another lazy Sunday afternoon. No duffel bag of cash. No openly bleeding corpse on a bed of leaves. No hitman watching her with suspicion and curiosity. His instincts would have normally warned him that this was a bad idea, but he was filled with too many questions to ignore her. Straightening up, he made his way to her, drawing out his own pack before taking his place against the tree, standing catty corner to her.