Codename: Blackheart Chapter Five

After a relaxing journey, the pilot announces we’ll be landing soon, so I get up, open another cabinet drawer, pull out the sleek black case and open it using fingerprint ID. Nestled safely inside is my old reliable, Wilson Combat EDC X9. I love this gun. My father still maintains his gun of choice is far better, but whatever. This is the gun for me.

I take out my beauty and start loading it. Once ready to go, I strap my gun holster to my thigh and strap in my gun. I grab Crimson who is now clean as a whistle and strap her on the other side of the holster, then adjust my skirt. When I place the burner phones in my black handbag, I am ready for action.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Marcel asks with a concerned frown.

“Yes. What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask curiously, looking myself over.

“Nothing, it’s just so pretty and you’re probably going to ruin it with blood stains,” he says disappointedly.

“They’re just clothes, Marcel, I can buy new ones,” I say with amusement. Another reason why I love this man. I’m off to go kill people and he’s worried about stains on my clothes. How priceless is that?

It’s 10 pm when we land, and as soon as I’m off the jet I order myself a cab and have it take me to a dilapidated warehouse in Cologne. I enter the filthy, wide-open warehouse and the first smell that hits my nose is wet earth permeating the interior. I scouted this place a week ago. The windows are twenty-three feet off the ground and the only high access point was the fire escape which just so happened to have a terrible collapse a week ago. Whoopsie. All other exits of the building I welded shut while I was here, so the only way in or out is through the front door. If these men show up alone as instructed then all my precautions will have been unnecessary, which I don’t mind. I’d much rather be over-prepared than caught by surprise. That’s how I got the scar on my left calf.

While waiting, I remove my gun from its holster and take the safety off, tucking it into the back of my skirt. I wait patiently, facing the door, when fifteen minutes later I hear a car pull up outside, its headlights shining through the high windows of this dark and dank building. I listen to the sound of a car door closing and then the sound of another car pulling up. The silence is filled with anticipation as another car door closes before voices begin filtering in from outside as they converse in German.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” a man’s deep voice asks in confusion.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” comes the voice of another man who sounds like he smokes two packs a day. I smirk to myself and then quickly compose my face into its usual icy mask. Show time.

Both men walk in looking at each other in suspicion. They glance around the open space until their eyes land on me, shock and confusion flittering across their faces. Elmar and Jannik Schröder: smugglers who specialise in drugs and electronics. Elmar is forty-two, 6’3”, scrawny as hell, and dresses pretty casual for a smuggler. Jannik, on the other hand, is forty-four, 6’1” and likes to dress semi-casual. He tries to look impressive only to succeed in the exact opposite.

“Gentleman. Glad you could make it,” I greet them impassively in German.

“What the fuck is this? The whole point of me hiring you was so I wouldn’t have to be involved,” says Jannik in irritation causing Elmar to look at him wide-eyed.

“I’ll admit having you both reach out to me for contracts wasn’t shocking. Having you both reach out for contracts on each other, however… well, now that was an amusing surprise,” I inform them with no hint of amusement in my voice but believe me, I’m laughing on the inside. Marcel is going to love this. Elmar and Jannik turn to each other in absolute shock and fury and immediately reach for their guns, but I’m a step ahead. I pull out my gun from behind me and point it at them. “Hands where I can see them, or you both get a bullet in the head,” I threaten them calmly. They each hesitate before raising their hands in surrender.

“You put a hit on me? You fucking filthy traitor,” spits Jannik.

“Me?! You put a hit on me too you fucking low life!” yells Elmar.

“You were shit at this business; you would have ruined us! I had to do it. But why the fuck did you put a hit out on me?” questions Jannik.

Really? He’s arguing whose hit is more valid?

“You screwed my fiancée!” Elmar shouts in response. I’m so glad I have perfected my cold exterior because I so badly want to erupt into a fit of laughter. These two are pathetic.

“I did you a favour. She wasn’t any good for you, and she was lousy in bed,” Jannik excuses.

“Favour? My own cousin screwing the woman I love is not doing me a favour you jackass!” Elmar says fuming.

“As entertaining as this is, gentleman, I do have a flight to catch. So if you would both be kind enough to hand over your guns I would appreciate that,” I instruct them apathetically. They hesitate, so I glare at each of them, prompting them to remove the guns from their waistbands and put them on the ground. “Good. Now take five steps back.” Not taking their eyes off each other they both take five steps backwards. I walk over, tuck my gun back into my skirt and pick up their guns. Taking one gun in each hand, with quick speed, I raise the guns shooting each of them in the left lung. They both fall, bleeding from their respective wounds as they struggle to breathe as blood slowly fills their lungs. I step back so I have a clear view of them both. “Now you understand why I made sure you both paid me in advance. Consider both contracts completed.”

“Fu… cking b… itch,” Jannik stutters, spitting up blood. I watch them struggle and even try to crawl away with little success, then wait patiently as the light leaves their eyes, death finally taking them as they drown in their own blood. I could hardly be expected to pick one contract over the other. It just made more sense to accept both. Plus, it will make for one hell of a story at the dinner table.

Grabbing a cloth from my handbag, I clean my prints off Elmar’s gun before placing the gun in his hand, firmly placing his prints around the barrel and trigger. I then repeat the process with Jannik’s gun. I check both their pockets, remove the burner phones I gave them, and place them in my handbag. I secure my gun back into its thigh holster with the safety back on before I call for a cab to take me back to my jet. Standing outside the warehouse, I pat myself on the back for another job well done. Now I can finally go home and see my family.