The Final Mistake

Part 2

From the roof top I watch the street below. A few dim street lights catch the trash strewn about the pavement. Dark clouds obscure the moonlight, I won't be seen from up here. An icy wind whips around me, I turn my collar up but my gaze stays fixed on the entrance to an old apartment building, long abandoned. This whole block is run down and decaying, a perfect hiding place for such a slime.

I've learned how meticulous you are. How professional. You run like clockwork and therein lies your exploit; predictability. I've been waiting for thirty minutes and you are due any second. A car pulls in, its headlight off. I don't recognise the license plate but I don't expect to, you never use the same vehicle twice. A man gets out, his identity obscured by a long coat and wide brimmed hat. In his hand, a silver suit case. Her silver suitcase. Your mistake. You just had to have a trophy. I never thought you would have such arrogance. Well I would recognise it anywhere and it has led me straight to you.

You enter the building and as soon as the door shuts I jump down to street level on a zip line. My handgun is pointed squarely at the door as I approach. I take a breath and slowly open the entrance. There you are at the far side of the room, your back to me. It isn't honourable but I am taking no chances. I squeeze the trigger, the silencer muffles the shot, you drop to the ground.

I got you, you son of a bitch.

My heart is thumping in my chest. A sense of relief begins to wash over me. It's over and so quickly, so smoothly. But I have to make sure. My gun is trained on your head as I slowly and deliberately step towards you, watching for any signs of movement. The only sound is my heels as they echo through the otherwise empty room. Your left arm lies upwards still holding her case, your right arm lies underneath you. I approach round by your right side. I watch you for a few moments. With my foot I flip you onto your back.

Oh fuck. It's not you.

I hear a gun hammer being pulled back behind me. I'm dead.

I'm frozen to the spot, my eyes are screwed tightly closed, I wait for the impact of a bullet.

"Hold your arms out in front of you."

I don't-

"Now."

I do it.

"Drop the gun."

The gun drops onto the corpse in front of me.

"Very slowly remove the coat."

I comply. I undo the buttons down my trench coat and begin to slide it off. When it gets to my elbows you stop me.

"Hold it there. Slip one arm out, bring the coat to your front and then throw it forward."

I do it. The other gun I had in my pocket is out of reach now.

"Your holster. Undo it, then hold it out in your left hand."

I unclip it and hold it out as you say.

"Throw it forward."

There goes my knife and my other gun. I am defenceless now.

"Put you hands behind your head. Interlock your fingers"

I do as I am told.

"Now, walk in an arc to your right and face the other corner of the room."

I sense you keep exactly behind me, giving me absolutely to chance of escape or attack.

"Get down on your knees."

I hesitate.

"Down on your knees now."

I hate myself, I breathe out in frustration but I comply.

"Cross your ankles."

I hear you slowly approach me. It would be foolish to try and jump up from this position. You are a professional and I'd be dead in a split second.

"Lower your hands slowly behind you back."

You place something cold and metallic into my hands.

"Handcuff your arms behind you back."

If I do this I'm done for but if I can only-

"Do it now."

You give me no time to think. One metallic click and another. My hands are trapped behind me now.

"Do not move one solitary muscle. If you do you will die"

You step silently away from me. I won't test your threat. I don't move. The situation has time to dawn on me, you have plans for me. You could have handcuffed me yourself quite easily; you wanted me to do it. You wanted me to immobilise myself, to submit myself to your will. I'm not going anywhere. I have to wait and allow you to play out whatever it is want to do to me. But you'll blink Caviera. You're good, but I'm better. You'll blink and then you're mine.

A dull thud behind me lets me know you have returned.

"I am going to pull you by your hair onto this chair. If you resist or otherwise move in a way I don't like you will die."

You grip me by a clump full of hair on the top of my head and wench me onto the chair making sure my arms drop behind the chairs back. In an instant the cuffs are linked to the chairs metal frame. My right foot is pulled into a restraint and it is clicked shut around my ankle. The other soon follows.

I hear a dry scraping sound above my head and then behind me as you adjust something. You put it around my neck and pull it tight. A noose, hanging from the ceiling pulled taut around my throat. A further restraint to stop me knocking over the chair, it forces me to sit bolt upright.

Silence now.

I can feel you scanning me, checking for any imperfections in your work. Unfortunately it is faultless. My arms are completely trapped behind my back unable to move even slightly. My legs are spread apart and fixed firmly in place. The rope around my neck means that I cannot lean forwards or sideways. I am trapped rigidly in this chair just as you wanted, just as you planned. You walk around to face me, a satisfied expression has you look over your prize. You've played me Caviera and now I'm yours.