The Silent Assassin
Warnings, legal junk, etc.: This story is fictional and contains violence, foul language, and death. This story contains absolutely no yiff. Anyone offended by any of the mentioned content should not read this, and anyone who reads it and is offended by it should kindly shut it as you were fairly warned. As for everyone else, please enjoy this work of fiction.
The Silent Assassin: Chapter 1
Written by David "Rally" Reynolds
A dark figure made his way through the dimly lit hall, carrying a large briefcase and frequently checking his wrist device. He was a tawny-colored fox with black eyes, most uncommon indeed. He stood at 5'9 and was dressed in all black with a black bandana over half his face to prevent anyone from seeing who he was. His name was Miles Tanner, known throughout the world as the Silent Assassin. He had not been caught once in 15 years, a task no other assassin could accomplish, and tonight he would try to keep that history going.
He came to a door on the left, checked his wrist device again, then looked around for anyone who might see him before entering the room and shutting the door. The room was quite small, about 5 feet wide in either direction, and very dark. The only lighting came in through a small grate near the floor on the wall opposite the door. Miles leaned down and looked through, seeing a large crowd below and a couple of furres on a stage. One of the furres on stage was a slightly overweight raccoon, who was also the president of the Roytech Corporation, the most successful company in the city. This was Miles' target.
He set his briefcase on the floor and opened it, revealing a fairly large gun in many pieces. He carefully took each piece out and assembled the gun. He lined up the sight on the end of his M-Tech rifle, a hybrid rifle he had stolen on his last assassination mission, and looked again through the grate. The raccoon had taken his place at the podium and began speaking to the crowd. Miles quietly (or as quietly as possible, anyway) took the grate out of the wall and laid it aside. He picked up his gun and took aim.
No one heard it when he squeezed the trigger and fired a plasma shot, hitting the raccoon in the chest, killing him instantly. A few others on the stage ran to the raccoon's side, but it was too late. Miles smiled evilly to himself and stood to exit. He walked out into the hall, looking around for anyone that might be nearby. He knew that he couldn't go downstairs because they would definitely be waiting for him, so he headed down the other way towards the roof, guided by the device on his wrist. He kept his gun in his right hand and in front of him, just in case he ran into any opposition. As he turned a corner, he heard someone yell "Freeze!" before a shot rang out. He didn't have time to react as he was hit in the right shoulder by a lead bullet, very outdated for the time period, but still very effective.
His M-Tech rifle dropped to the ground as he ducked back around the corner and pressed himself against the wall. He instantly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small switchblade knife and prepared to use it. Just then, he heard two other voices from another direction coming closer, and he was now ill-prepared for a multi-furre attack. He looked around for anything he could use, but found nothing, so he ran across the hall and into another room, locking the door behind him. He then looked at the wound in his shoulder, blood staining his outfit.
"Good thing he just nicked me," Miles thought to himself as he plunged the knife into his shoulder, moving it around. The sick scraping of metal against bone was hard to bear, but eventually he found his target. Pressing his thumb to the bottom side of the wound, he slowly pried the bullet from his flesh and threw it on the ground and put the knife away.
Miles was a regular smoker, and he pulled his lighter out of another pocket, lighting it up and putting it against his wound. He did his best not to yell out from the pain, as that would give his position away. He heard voices outside, obviously confused as to where he disappeared to. He put his lighter away, the skin and fur on his shoulder now melted together to close the wound. He looked around for an escape, still hearing the voices outside the door. No other doors, no air vents, nothing. He saw a window on the other side of the room. He was three stories up with nothing but concrete and asphalt below. Did he want to risk breaking his legs? He heard the doorknob wiggle, then someone pound themself against the door. He definitely wanted to risk it.
He ran to the window and jumped through, glass going everywhere and cutting his flesh. He hit the ground on his back with a sickening "thwack" and lay there motionless, the wind having been severely knocked out of him. He struggled to turn himself over and realized he was not on the street, but in a side alley. He dragged himself over to the side, hiding himself in the shadows as best he could. When he heard police squad vehicles closing in, he hid his face with both arms.
As he lay there in the alley, he thought of what would happen if he were caught. Assassination, evading police, possession of illegal weaponry... That could get him life without possibility of parole, probably even death. He knew he couldn't stay there for long. He tried getting up, but the pain shot through him and made him lay back down. He wondered if he had broken his back, pain coursing through his entire body. After a short time, the pain became too much and he passed out.
When he came to, he found himself not in a dark alleyway, but in a fairly comfortable bed. As he tried to sit up, he found he couldn't, wide bandaging wrapped around his exposed chest and midsection, a thin but stiff board held against his back. He also found that his bandana was no longer over his face, and thin bandaging had been wrapped around his right shoulder. Several other small bandages applied with adhesive covered the many cuts he'd gotten from the shattered glass. He had no idea where he was or how he got there. Suddenly he heard a voice from his left, speaking with a mild British accent.
"I'd try not to move around so much just yet. Your injuries will take a while to heal."
He turned his head to find the source, but could see no one. He bared his teeth and snarled, "Who are you?! Show yourself!"
A tall figure stepped into Miles' view. He was a black wolf of about 23, 6 feet tall, and dressed in very nice attire. Black dress pants, highly polished brown dress shoes, a long-sleeved button-up white silk shirt with a wide collar, and a black overcoat. In his right paw he held a wine glass, half-filled with a pink liquid. He took a sip from the glass and set it down on a table.
"Now that's certainly no way to show appreciation to the man who saved your hide two nights ago. However, since you asked, my name is Leonard Braucht."
"Two nights ago," thought Miles. "Has it really been that long?"
Miles looked over at Leonard with a scowl.
"Where am I, and how did I get here? Why did you bring me here?"
Leonard smiled softly, replying, "I would gladly answer your questions, but I know not who you are, yet you know who I am. Please, lend me your name so that I know with whom I am speaking."
"My name is of no importance to you, wolf," Miles growled.
A wide grin came across Leonard's face.
"If that is true, then you will get no answers from me, nor will you know whether or not I have phoned the authorities. After all, they are still looking for you."
Miles growled again. He was still in pain, and there was no way he could attempt an escape in his condition.
"My name is Miles."
"Miles? Miles what? Surely you have a surname."
"Miles Tanner. Now answer my questions."
Leonard retrieved his glass of wine and sat down in a nearby leather chair, taking a short sip from his glass.
"Ah yes, your questions. Well first I must tell you that I have not informed the authorities of your being here. I am too big a fan of your work to do that, Silent Assassin. Where you are is my home, a large estate on the outskirts of the city. I brought you here the night of your mishap. I was walking down the sidewalk when I heard a window break, and saw you plummet to the ground. A few police officers asked me if I had seen anyone run by dressed in black, and I lied, telling them that you had run off in the other direction. They sure are a gullible bunch. After they had all cleared, I brought my car around and put you in it, seeing that you had passed out by then. I also covered you in a blanket to keep anyone from seeing you as I drove back here. As to why.. as I said earlier, I admire your handiwork, and I have a few jobs that I need done. I thought, who better to procure than the best assassin in the world?"
"And just what makes you think I'll help you? I've got an employer already."
Leonard again set his glass down, leaning back in his chair.
"I won't force you to do anything, but I figured you could do this for me seeing as I saved you from being put behind bars, or worse. Cleaning and tending to your wounds was no easy task, after all."
The sound of a ringing phone interrupted their conversation, Miles looking down at his feet.
"Could you get the phone from my shoe? I can't exactly bend in the middle with this board in my back."
"Certainly," said Leonard, getting up from his chair and removing one of Miles' shoes, retrieving the ringing cell phone and handing it to the fox. Miles answered the phone, but said nothing. A raspy voice came through the speaker, a growl in its tone.
"I saw the news report this morning, Miles. You may have gotten your target, but your escape was pathetic. You're getting too sloppy, fox, and I can't afford a screw-up from you. The police are crawling all over the city now thanks to you. Consider your employment with me officially over."
A sharp click came through the receiver as the other party hung up, followed by a dial tone. Miles clutched the phone in his hand hard enough to crack the outer shell before throwing it to the ground next to the bed. The screen cracked and the battery pack popped out, sliding on the floor and stopping next to Leonard's foot.
"Shame, that. I take it that was your 'employer', then?"
Miles shot an angry look at Leonard.
"Mr. Tanner, may I ask the name of your employer?"
"What's it matter to you?"
"Come now, some hospitality wouldn't kill you, would it? A simple question is all I ask."
"My former employer's name is Gregory Printle."
Leonard simply chuckled.
"And what is so funny?"
"You are so naïve, Mr. Tanner."
"Don't call me that."
"As you wish, Miles. Anyhow, the reason I found amusement is because Mr. Printle and I used to be associates, until we had differing opinions. You see, I had progressive plans for his business, but he was so set in his ways that he dismissed me, but not before I had secretly stolen over fifty million dollars of his money. To say the least, he was not very pleased. He went as far as to send one of his assassins after me, but I was expecting it, so his assassin became the assassinated. I must say, I'm a little surprised he didn't send you after me. After that little incident, I went into hiding for about a year before building this estate. Unfortunately, I cannot rest while he lives. It seems that now you may have something to gain from this as well. I will pay you handsomely for your services if you agree. If not, you are free to leave as soon as your wounds have healed."
Miles thought a moment before saying, "If I do this job for you, it will be at my price."
"Name it, fox."
"Five hundred thou."
"Half a million? Seems a bit steep for a single hit. Is that your normal price?"
"No, it's ten times my standard fee, but this is no standard target. You have no idea how hard it will be to get into his territory, let alone carry out the job. Plus, after losing my M-Tech, I'll need a new weapon."
"This is true. Tell you what, I'll pay you three hundred up-front, and the last two hundred once you return to me with proof of the deed."
Miles arched an eyebrow at this.
"Proof? What sort of proof?"
An evil grin crossed the wolf's muzzle.
"Simple, my dear Miles. I want a photographic identification card of his, but also something else. I want you to chop off his ears and attach them to the card by whatever means you wish to use. Oh, and attach them to the back, so that the name and photo are not obscured."
Miles now had a slightly confused look about him.
"What's the matter, fox? Not feeling up to it?"
"It isn't that, it's just... a sort of bizarre request. I kill, I don't mutilate."
"If you want the money, you will. Now, after working with him, I know he has a distinctive scar on his left ear. This will be the proof that you hit your real target."
"You do know how difficult this will be, right? I usually kill and then leave immediately. You're asking me to kill, and then delay my escape to look for an ID and then chop off his ears. This guy is guarded constantly, even when he goes to the bathroom!"
"I'm sure you will be able to accomplish it. After all, you're the best the world has ever known, are you not?"
Miles laid his head back on the bed and sighed.
"Okay, I'll do it, but don't expect it to be a one-night deal. I've got to prepare for this, and plan it out perfectly. I've only been inside his mansion once, and that's all I've got to go off of."
"I understand, Miles. Now get some rest, you're going to need it. Also, please don't leave this room without my okay. My little brother lives here with me, and I don't want him knowing that I'm harboring an assassin."
Leonard walked out of the room, securely shutting the large double doors behind him. Miles rubbed his eyes with his left paw.
"How the fuck am I going to pull this one off," he asked himself.
A few hours later, the doors to the large room opened again, Leonard entering carrying a small tray of food.
"I thought you could use some sustenance, seeing as though it's been at least two days since you've eaten," he said, setting the tray across Miles' lap.
"And how am I supposed to eat if I can't even sit up?"
Leonard merely leaned over and pressed a small button on the side of the bed, the half near the headboard tilting upward while the other half moved toward it, bending at the fox's waist to avoid bending his back. Miles scowled at Leonard.
"Smartass."
"I like to think so," the wolf stated with a grin. "Now eat up, and I'll not hear any lip about not liking it."
He turned and left the room, again shutting the large doors behind him. As Leonard turned away from the doors, he saw a much smaller black wolf standing before him, about 14 years old.
"Who are you talking to, brother?"
Leonard smiled at his younger brother.
"No one, Richard. Now do me a favor and stay away from this room, okay?"
"Why?"
"Now, now. You shouldn't question your older brother. Besides, if you do what I say, I'll introduce you to some of my friends when you're older."
Richard grinned and raised a fist with his pinkie extended.
"Pinkie promise!"
Leonard hooked his pinkie with his brother's.
"Indeed. Now, off with you. You have to bathe and ready yourself for bed. It's almost nine O'clock."
About a week later, Miles had mostly recovered from his injuries and was busying himself by taking all of the bandaging off of his body, clumping it all together in a pile by the bed. He finished by removing the bandaging from his chest and mid-section, slipping the board from behind his back and resting it on top of the pile of bandaging. He stood, bent over and twisted from side to side a few times, stretching out the muscles and noting that he felt a few pinches here and there, but no real pain. He leaned down and put his shoe back on that had been taken off the week prior. His pants had cuts in the fabric where the glass from the window had sliced through. Several large scabs had formed, the fabric caught in a few places. Miles was secretly thankful that Leonard hadn't tended to those wounds. He got up from the bed and found his blood-stained shirt folded up on the floor near the foot of the bed, some small bits of glass still wedged in it. He shook his head a bit just as Leonard entered the room from the hall, Miles turning towards him after hearing the doors open.
"I see you're feeling better. I'll retrieve some fresh clothing for you."
The wolf picked up the pile of bloody bandages and the backboard before walking out again to discard them. He returned a few minutes later with a simple pair of dress pants and a cotton button-up T-shirt. He laid them on the bed before walking towards the doors again. Before leaving, he turned his head to address Miles.
"I trust you will still be here when I return. If so, I shall pay you to begin your first job."
With that he left again. Miles stripped off his torn pants and pulled on the dress pants, followed by the shirt. He wasn't too familiar with the button-up style and had to pull his fur out from between the button and the fabric a few times to keep it from getting ripped out. As he examined himself in a body-length mirror, he had to admit that his tawny fur complimented the white and black outfit he now wore. The normal red and orange fur that foxes usually had would look somewhat tacky in contrast. Miles also had no black or white markings on his tail or ears. His monotone fur definitely set him apart from other foxes. The room's doors opened again as Leonard entered, carrying a small case. Miles turned to face him as he set the case down on a table and opened it.
"Count it if you wish, but I assure you that it's three hundred thousand, as we agreed on. The rest will be given to you when you return with my proof."
Miles closed the case.
"If you can trust me to not betray you, I can trust your math skills."
Leonard grinned and walked over to a very large sliding glass door that led out onto a balcony, opening it fully.
"This door will remain unlocked so that you can get in and out as needed. As I said before, I'd prefer you not to venture further into my home."
Miles walked out onto the balcony and looked over the edge, noticing that they were on the second floor, and that the lawn of the home was absolutely enormous.
"You sure seem to be fairly well off for being so young, wolf."
"Yes, well, the fifty million I stole from Mr. Printle wasn't the only good money I've acquired. I have my own business now, and was left a fair amount in the will after my parents died. That's why my brother and I live together here."
"Car accident?"
"No, they were actually shot dead in the streets. I've missed them terribly since, as has little Richard, but to this day we haven't learned the identity of who was responsible."
A cool breeze ruffled their clothing and exposed fur.
"I can assure you that I'm not the one who did it."
"I know, Miles. Now, I expect you to leave tonight after dark to avoid being spotted by anyone. Have you devised a plan yet?"
"Sort of. I have a special weapon in mind that's a bit unconventional."
"How so," asked Leonard, his curiosity piqued. Miles wore a sly grin.
"Let's just say this weapon is a tad more organic than a gun."
"Out with it, Miles. Tell me what you have planned for this dirt bag. I want to be sure his end will be suitable."
"It's a powder, a special blend I spent the better part of five years perfecting. When inhaled, it instantly attacks the nervous system and the respiratory system. The victim can't move or breathe, and they die silently within a minute. I figured this would be best to avoid the attention of the guards."
"I see. I suppose that will suffice, but I'd like to ask something else of you. When you kill him, be sure the last thing he sees is your face, and the last thing he hears is that his old associate sent you."
"That will negate the silence factor, but I'll see what I can do."
Just after 10:00 that night, Miles walked out onto the balcony and grabbed onto a metal pipe that went up the side of the building. He slid down to the ground and crept across the large lawn. After reaching the road, he remained in the shadows as he headed toward the outskirts of the city. Eventually he came upon a small run-down shack. He looked around for anyone that might see him before heading inside. The interior of the shack was completely dark, and the only furnishing was a small table, tilted against the ground due to one of legs being broken off. Miles went over to the table and lifted the raised portion of the table, part of the floor coming up with it to reveal a dark stairway down into the ground. As he descended the stairs, he pulled the floor panel back down into place. Down below was a small room with a table in the center and several large glass cases around the edges. Most of the cases were filled with guns and other weaponry, while others contained different types of clothing. One case, however, contained only several small black pouches.
Miles went over to one case full of clothing and opened the doors. He stripped from the clothing he had been wearing and put on a skin-tight black shirt, black pants that were just as tight, and black cloth shoes with cloth soles. He then retrieved a can from the case and opened it, revealing a tarry substance. He used this to cover all of his exposed fur so that he looked completely black. After putting the can way, he pulled out a small plastic case. From this, he took a set of special contacts, which, once put in, blocked all the reflectivity of his eyes. He closed the clothing case and walked over to another. He browsed through the selection of weaponry before opening the case and grabbing a small serrated blade with no handle. He spent a few seconds slipping this into his shoe and positioning it so that it wouldn't stab into his own foot. After closing this case, he walked over to the one with the black pouches in it. Grabbing three, he tied them securely to the waist of his pants. He glanced at the dingy old clock on the wall of the room. It read 10:48. If he left now, he would arrive at Gregory Printle's mansion shortly after midnight.
As he left the shack, he again checked in all directions to make sure he would not be spotted. Entering the city, he stuck to the shadows of the buildings, mostly walking through the pitch-black alleyways in between. A blaring police siren caused him to duck down behind a dumpster, waiting until the flashing lights had faded from view before continuing on. Shortly after midnight, just as he had predicted, he arrived at the Printle mansion, situated in the middle of a fairly small lawn, considering the size of the building itself. The border was surrounded by a fence made of two-inch thick bars of iron spaced roughly eight inches apart. The top of the fencing was lined with pressure-sensitive electronic alarms, so climbing over was definitely out. Miles took a deep breath and exhaled before taking in another and holding it. Turning sideways, he compressed his body as much as he could, tilting his head upward and turning it to the side. By doing this, he was able to squeeze between two of the iron bars and onto the lawn of the mansion, quietly releasing his breath before looking toward the large building before him.
The building was four stories high and made of brick with a completely flat roof. Because of this, there were gutters and drainage pipes around the perimeter of the building. Miles could see no lights on except for a few exterior security lights. He cautiously approached the mansion, constantly looking out for guards. When he reached the side of the building, he grabbed onto one of the drainage pipes leading up to the roof and began to slowly climb up, using only his forepaws. He let his legs, tail, and lower body hang completely limp. Anyone that would've passed by would have merely thought a shadow was passing over the wall from some unknown source. When he reached the roof, he glanced around, eventually spotting a large yellow letter H in the center of a large yellow circle. This was the helicopter pad he was looking for. Heading over to it, he found a metal tile at his feet and knelt to pull it up slowly. Miles now looked down at a long ladder leading down into darkness. As he slowly descended the ladder, he pulled the metal panel back into place. When he reached the bottom, he found himself in a small metal room with another ladder on the other side, but this one was much shorter, only going about seven feet up and ending at a door in the ceiling of the room. Gregory had told him about this room once, it was an emergency escape in case anyone attacked his home. This meant that he was now directly below Gregory's bed chamber.
Miles climbed to the top of the ladder and tried to slowly open the door, but he barely got it open an inch before the hinge emitted a short squeak. He let the door back down carefully and shut his eyes, listening for any signs of stirring from above. When he heard nothing, he pressed his arm against the door, deciding that slow would make more noise. He quickly flung the door upward and fully opened it, stopping the door with his hand just before it hit against the floor of the room. He glanced around quickly in the dark, looking for any guards. He spotted the door leading into the room from a hall and saw a light coming in through the gap underneath it, two shadows blocking some of the light.
"He must keep his guards stationed outside the room," Miles thought to himself. "Makes my job easier tonight."
Miles climbed out of the underground room and onto the soft carpeting of the bed chamber. A large bed was situated against the far wall. As Miles approached the bed, he saw a lone figure sleeping in the center of it, a black panther. To the side of the bed was a nightstand with a lamp, a clock, and a leather billfold on top of it. Miles grabbed the billfold and opened it, finding an ID card in one of the slots and pulling it out. He strained his eyes in the dark to read what it said. The name on the card read "Gregory R. Printle", and the date of birth indicated that he was now 57 years old. Miles turned to inspect the panther in the bed, comparing his face to that in the ID's photo. Everything seemed to match up, and the left ear had a very deep scar across it, visible even in the almost pitch-black room.
Miles slipped the card into one of his pants pockets and removed one of the black pouches from his waist and opened it. In a flash, Miles had grabbed the panther's muzzle in his free paw and gripped it tightly as he began to poor the powdery substance from the pouch directly into his victim's nose. The sudden force and odd sensation in his nose caused Gregory to wake suddenly, but could do nothing as the powder took effect, preventing all movement and breathing. His eyes widened as he recognized the face of the fox leaning over him. Miles retrieved the blade from his shoe and leaned over to whisper into Gregory's ear.
"Since you're going to die shortly, I feel I should tell you that your old associate, Leonard Braucht sent me to finish you off."
As soon as he had finished his sentence, he grabbed Gregory's left ear and used the blade to slice it off in a single quick swipe, blood spraying onto the pillows of the bed. The pain caused Gregory's eyes to widen further, tears forming and rolling down the fur of his face. Miles grabbed the right ear and sliced it off in the same manner as the left one. He stuffed the ears into the now-empty powder pouch and tied it shut before putting it into his pocket next to the ID card. By now the tears had stopped flowing from Gregory's open eyes, Miles taking this to mean that he had suffocated just as planned. He wiped his blade clean on the blanket of the bed before slipping it carefully back into his shoe.
Quietly climbing back down into the underground room, Miles decided to leave the door open. It would alert anyone who came in as to which direction he had gone, but the noise of closing the door would certainly draw more attention sooner. After climbing the long ladder back up to the roof, he slid the metal panel out of his way and again stood on the helicopter pad. He approached the side of the roof and looked over, scanning the darkness for guards. Seeing none, he carefully lowered himself over the edge and grabbed onto a drainage pipe, gripping it loosely so that he could slide down quickly, gripping tightly to stop himself just before hitting the ground. Crossing the lawn, he left just as he had entered, squeezing his body through the small opening between iron bars. He again headed to the inner city, hiding in the shadows and alleyways as he made his way back toward Leonard's estate. He climbed onto the balcony of the wolf's home just after 2:00. As he opened the glass door and walked in, the light came on, startling the fox. Leonard stood on the other side of the room, looking perplexed.
"Who are you? Identify yourself."
Miles was confused for a moment, but then looked down at himself, still covered in the black tarry substance.
"It's me, Leonard."
"Miles? I almost didn't recognize you. What the bloody hell happened to you?"
"It's part of my disguise. The more I blend in with the darkness, the less detectable I am."
"I see. Then I take it you've accomplished what I asked?"
Miles pulled the ID and black pouch from his pocket, opening the pouch and pulling out the ears.
"I hadn't had time to attach them just yet, but here's what you wanted."
He handed the items to Leonard, who looked at them carefully, comparing the scarred ear to the ID. Satisfied, he set them down on a table.
"I am pleased, Miles. Were you seen?"
"Only by Gregory after I poured the powder into his nose. I also told him you sent me shortly before he suffocated. He was even still alive when I lopped off his ears."
Leonard smiled widely.
"Wonderful. I can now rest easy. Why don't you shower up and meet me downstairs?"
Miles arched an eyebrow at Leonard.
"I thought you didn't want me to leave this room."
"It's the early morning, Miles, and my little brother is asleep. He won't wake for several hours yet, and I would like to speak with you in a more relaxed setting."
Leonard left the room as Miles walked over to a door to his right, opening it to reveal a small bathroom. Miles turned on the shower water as he stripped from his clothing, piling them on the floor. He stepped under the stream of hot water, black gunk and blood washing down the drain, his tawny fur showing through again. After finishing his shower, he dried himself with a towel, which he wrapped around his waist before walking back into the room that he had stayed in the past few weeks. He walked over to a large sliding wooden door and opened it, revealing a closet with several outfits that Leonard had lent him. He pulled on a gray shirt and a pair of blue slacks before leaving the room and walking out into the hallway. Having never been outside of the room, he had to look around to try to find his way.
He found the stairs that lead down and descended to the first floor. He walked through another hallway before spotting Leonard, sitting in a leather lounge chair in a den room. There were other chairs and a few sofas with several tables around the room. Leonard was smoking a cigarette as Miles entered, motioning him to sit on the sofa next to his chair. Miles sat down and Leonard offered him a cigarette, which he took. "Got a light, Leo?" "Please do not address me that way, Miles." Leonard handed him a book of matches. After lighting his cigarette, Miles set the matchbook down on the table between the sofa and Leonard's chair, then leaned back and took a drag off of the cigarette. It was the first cigarette he had smoked in weeks.
"So what did you want to talk to me about, wolf?"
"I wanted to inform you of your next job."
"Another hit already?"
"Is that a problem, fox?"
"Well, no, I don't guess so. I'm just used to getting a job once every few months. That's why I charge so much."
"Well this job will be slightly different, and it will require different skills, which I intend to teach you over the course of several weeks."
"Different skills? What are you talking about?"
"You will find out soon enough, Miles. For now, rest and ready yourself for what lies ahead."
"And what if I refuse the job?"
"Then I will inform the authorities of you being here. The hit on Mr. Printle was just to prove to me that you can do what I need you to, and also to get rid of the thorn in my side. You still owe me for saving your life."
"Geez, what do you want me to do, suck your dick or something?"
Leonard took a short drag from his cigarette.
"Tempting, fox, but no. As I said, rest for now. A few days from now, I will let you know what you need to do for your next job."
Leonard put his cigarette out in an ashtray before standing and walking out of the room, stopping to address Miles before he left.
"Don't stay up too late, now. I'll need you back in your room before my brother wakes."
Miles rolled his eyes as Leonard disappeared from view, leaning back and sighing, smoking his cigarette slowly.