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Chapter 7 - The Set Up

CHAPTER SEVEN

CRISTOBAL'S POV

My father had always told me that the first time you kill a man, the feeling never really goes away. You just get better at ditching the sight of that person far into the extremities of your memory---like a gaping pit... and then if you are someone like me (Or a straight up psycho), that depth continues growing, paving way for the piling trails of lives that stack up, but never truly reach the edge, never truly unearth to shock you with the echoes of their existence that were once taken away by your own hands.

It's a dark analogy, but hey, who says anything about it not being true? To say that was even the least of my problems would be farfetched, but it was...because looming over my head were ominous-looking men, the same trio from the speakeasy last week.

They stood by the edge of a crescent overlook built above another identical pair. And, their faces were tinted grey by the radiance flickering from the dance floor below.

A coloured effect which made them more menacing than they were...All, except for one. Mr. Danger.

The damn dude who had it in for me at the bar. The very person who had handed me this delicate assignment. The handwriting, curt and emotionless, like the message it carried

TAKE CARE OF MR. SANTIAGO

It was a shame to be honest. Of course, I should have known it was going to be some shit like this. My luck always had a way of muddling through most of my plans. I mean just walk this road with me for a second...

Here, standing before me was the most lit-up clubhouse New York City could offer, a masterpiece of rectangular symmetry where strings of upbeat music strobed in perfect alignment with the ecstatic flickers of violet scattered around the entire area.

Then there was the crowd in the middle, each person dancing their heart out to the rhythm of the beat. It was a mess, but it was my favourite kind: One that always involved that chaotic mesh of bodies slamming without choreography, limbs flailing with little coordination, and yet, their moves still synced with the electric pulse booming across.

And yet, instead of immersing myself to the adrenaline rush of the booming music, probably with two other babes by my side, having the time of our lives until the night grew tired------ Here I was, sulking like a kid in elementary school .... scheming on how I could bring myself to killing a person who had probably watched me when I was in diapers.

"Fuck me..... Just fuck my life!". It was a mental utterance of straight-up frustration. My innards squeezed in reluctance as the last swig of hot beer brushed past my lips, God knows I could use even more liquid courage .... Especially since I didn't want to continue feeling like a torn-up rookie doing this for the first time.

Besides, an assignment was given. Still, my feet dragged along to the bar section, giving out nonchalant nods to anyone unfortunate to recognise me.

Like an itch pestering my neck, I could feel their eyes watching from above, scanning to make sure my every move was being captured... like they didn't trust me or something.

The path to the bar, however, thankfully, curls off their line of vision. I strutted fast, curving my stride towards the bus stop brimming with overzealous customers, all leaning forward, elbows resting against the sleek obsidian countertop, which bent at either end into stretches that bordered the sides.

Like clockwork, my neck craned, eyes searching over flailing hands and waving dollar bills for a spot beyond the crowd. They were steady until I saw what I needed. A spot remaining vacant. My favourite.

Most people usually got less attention staying there, but I wasn't most People. The solitude was much needed. A moment alone to gather my thoughts wasn't so bad juxtaposed with the latter actions I was to carry out.

However, my relief was short-lived because once I was about to wholly surrender my body to the high-backed stools of my choice, a commanding figure walked halfway around the right corner of the uppermost overlook.

 His stride was steady and composed, even when he had stilled his gait. His neck, the only part that moved next, leaned forward now to unmask his foreboding identity as the sweeping headlights intersected over his face, revealing the smug glint glittering inside those stupid irises. We caught eyes. It was brief because one look was enough for me.

Oh.... if only I could just wipe that arrogant look off that idiotic face.

Yep! Seeing him was that repulsive. I gnashed my teeth for forgetting that the overlooks were circular. Was this a minor annoyance, probably, but right now, anybody could sneeze in front of me, and I might lose it.

Besides, paying him attention was going to give him the edge over me, so I didn't. My attention was too exclusive anyway, might as well hand it to the hustling set of bartenders catering to the numerous hands stretched out at once, beckoning for the liquid commodity only a handful had in front of them.

Amateurs..... All I ever did to get mine was to drop my head, cock a spying eyebrow over to any bartender aside from me, and with a glistened wink, the job was done.

My daily dose, tossed in a glass slid along the moon-washed surface—spinning wild until the glass slowed, and then, snugged right into my crescent grip like it was a practiced catch.

If only I could enjoy this properly. I mean, all I ever asked was for at least a nice drink, but of course... With the luck that I had, that was proving rather impossible, because as soon as I brought my drink to my famished lips, a dull likeness of two figures careened onto my glass, one of them being the main target--- Santiago. And the other just so happened to be my partner in crime.

They had strolled out from behind, sharing a uniform laughter--- Bodies intermingled as velvet ropes parted behind their flirtatious countenance. For a while, they remained close to the secluded booth from which they came, bathing in each other's presence like newlyweds.

Even her dress seemed like it was made with nuptial considerations. A bridesmaid, maybe. Or more appropriately.... A femme fatale dressed for a clandestine murder.

Her sleek silhouette worked every inch of the misty fabric, which clung to every morsel of skin except her back, exposing it like an audacious statement.

The dress parted off her at the cusp of her knees, leaving behind a flourish of violet petals which circled the hem.

Her essence barged into my thoughts and refused to depart from it, making me marvel at the speed she was grasping the complexities of the mission we had embarked on.

I was so lost by her elegance that I didn't realise the mirrored image had drifted to the side. Their reflection fraying at the edges until they were no more.

Well, that was my cue anyway. I pulled out of my seat and started after them. Fully aware of the vid, onlookers are now gathering around to sneak a look at Ava.

But I guess I couldn't allow myself that luxury.

I knew the others above had already taken note of their appearance, so it meant they would be stalking with me as well. A few more footsteps away from me, but still---No time to spare.

They sauntered down the unspoken parts of the club where muffled voices and barely lit corners stretched across this portion of the building. Santiago's ignorant bliss shone across his face as she expertly guided him down a stairway that led to lower tiers of the building.

"The Designated rooms". As they called it

Tucked underneath for special meetings like this. Appointments that usually led to money being made, or debts being paid—Whether it is with your credit card or your life... Or both. They usually went down like that.

I made sure to keep my distance, cushioning my footsteps with every sharp bend down —A good thing I wore my stake-out sneakers.

Each drop of my feet fizzled to a squished hiss. Stalking their every motion like the trained assassin the boss had built me up to be.

And yet, the sneaking part sucked regardless, hence my snatched breath once they eventually stopped by the second level, their bodies moving in tandem with the door of their choice as she pushed open, their bolstering laughter already filling the space of a room previously void of human presence.

I bided my time, half squatting while I crept beneath the shadows that slanted across the armrest of the steel banister.

It wasn't a long wait, but damn, my right arm had started to tingle from the jagged handrails pressed against my side. How I wish Santi could see how his belly-laughter made me feel--

How it had me hoping, anticipating for the moment when Ava would finally close the door, and when she was about to ... I slid through the gap, then brandished my revolver towards him.

"Hands up motherfucker!!"

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