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Pitch Black is the second arc of The Underground series

Chapter 22 of 22

Loose Ends

The Underground was ironic in the most unusual ways. Both males and females died every day and no one even raised an eyebrow. Someone could be dead in an alleyway for hours, possibly days on end before someone would find them. What made this even more astounding is the lack of care given when one was found dead. Death was such a mundane issue that walked around with everyone, it desensitized people to the point of apathy. It was quite different from the world of light that most chose to live in. And it was this irony that kept a hitman in business.

He would consider StormRaven Security his day job. Something he did so he could fill out his tax papers and be unnoticed. But there was time in between jobs; time that he could be doing other things. So he sought out other methods of employment. He soon came to find that his services were well sought after in the shady recesses of cities like Palamont and Arcadia. Much like they were tonight.

Pulling his expensive, black, luxury car into an ancient parking structure Reece Shackley squinted his eyes, scanning the darkness for his contact. The Doberman found it odd that he was meeting again about the same target. Usually, the contact only met once. The deal was made, and there was no going back. Most contacts wanted as little interaction as possible, but when he received the phone call requesting another meeting due to new information vital to the success of his mission why wouldn't he go?

It was actually Rainy who got him involve in contract killing. Reece and Rainy had been friends for years in SRS, and when Reece hit financial difficulties due to his excessive gambling issues, he needed the work. Unfortunately, Rainy had met his demise a few days ago on a hit that had gone south. After his death, Reece was contracted by the same greasy banker who had hired Rainy. He wanted Reece to finish the job, with an additional target; the son of a bitch who killed Rainy. Shackley didn't know much about his friend's murderer, only that he was a black fox who was probably some kind of assassin or mercenary himself. After tapping into his sources to find out anything he could, he drew blanks from everyone. Rainy had been caught off guard by this fox, and Reece would be damned if he would do the same. If this client had something for him, then Reece would take it. Especially if it brought him one step closer to Rainy's killer.

His car came to a slow stop in the darkened structure opposite another black sedan. Although Reece wasn't sure of the make he could tell it had wealth written all over it. Taking a deep breath, the Doberman exited his car, the sound of his door shutting echoed off the crumbling concrete walls.

The only illumination came from their combined headlights. The rest of their environment was shrouded in darkness. The blinding blue halogen lights made Shackley squint as he walked over to the other car.

"Did you arrive alone as instructed?" A deep voice asked in a placid tone.

Reece stopped, and looked at the figure outlined by the light. This wasn't who he had spoken to earlier "Yeah, of course." Reece replied, slightly confused. He looked behind him, then back to his contact. "You're not who I spoke to earlier. Where's Plasowisk Preston?"

"Ah, of course." His contact replied, calm as ever. "Mr. Preston has met an unfortunate fate at the paws of your newest target."

"Has he?" The Doberman asked skeptically, folding his arms.

The contact stepped forward, holding out a newspaper. "See for yourself."

Reece accepted the paper, which was already folded to what his contact wanted him to see. It was the obituaries, and the weasel who hired him was the first listing. Murdered by a robber.

Reece scoffed and handed the paper back to his contact. "Robbery my ass." He spat. "It was that fox, wasn't it?"

"You are very perceptive." The contact replied. "Do you still plan on going through with your assigned task?"

The Doberman laughed, as if that was even a question. Getting paid to kill this fox was just a nice benefit. The fact was, he would go after the first two targets first, let that fucker squirm in agony as he hunted him down.

"The deal was cash up front, then the hit." Reece shrugged, as if it mattered little to him. "I've got the cash. I'll see it through. I don't know about you, but I don't like loose ends."

"I could not agree more, Mister..." The contact extended is paw indicating to Reece that he was to fill in the blank.

"You can call me Mr. Sandman." Reece replied. "I'll put them all to sleep."

"Of course you will, Mr. Sandman." He extended his arm once more, this time a manila folder was in his paw. "Of this, I have little doubt in your aptitude as a contract killer. I believe this will aid you in your venture."

Reece grabbed the folder. "What is it?" He asked, scowling.

"Let us just say that I have known of your mark for some time now. We used to share a mutually beneficial business relationship."

"I'm guessing that came to a close?" Reece asked, looking at the folder, thick with papers.

"Come now, Mr. Sandman." The contact chided in his polite, calm way. "I have just as much desire to see your target terminated as you do." He got quiet for a moment before continuing. "I am regretful that Mr. Rainy met the end he did. I am here to see that history does not repeat itself."

Reece's eyes shot up. "How do you know about Rainy?" He snarled through gritted teeth.

"Please," His contact quieted, "I have done my homework. After Mr. Preston's death, can you blame me?"

Reece considered this and let down his guard slightly. "So, I'm guessing you already know who I am then?"

"Of course." His contact confirmed, but in a way that sounded as if that meant little to him. "Mr. Shackley, or Sandman, I needed to be sure you could be trusted. Your personal vendetta against your target makes you the prime candidate to both pursue and terminate him. I am guessing that regardless of payment, you would arrange to kill the targets, yes?"

Reece was taken aback by his contact's insight. He had called him out on everything, and he knew that because of the look on his face, his contact already knew he was correct in his assumptions.

"What of it?" Reece asked, resentfully.

"I need to know," His contact asked, "is there anything that can dissuade you from completing your task?"

Reece shook his head, jaw set. "Not in a thousand years."

His contact nodded. "I was hoping you would say such things." He nodded to the folder. "Open it."

Reece's attention went to the folder, which he opened and turned to the light his car provided. As his eyes scanned over the information, he scowled. He was expecting police reports, federal files, something that would let him know how this fox got the drop on Rainy. However, none of the above was included in this folder.

Scowling in disgust, the Doberman shook his head.

"What is this? Bills for dry-cleaning, bank transcripts? How is this going to help any-"

The sound of a thunderclap echoed throughout the structure. However, this was an artificial thunder. This was one that was manufactured along with millions of others like it. The gunshot echoed off the concrete walls, the sound directed at Reece himself. The force of the lead slug slammed against Reece, that alone causing him to flop backwards onto his back.

A cold, disconnected feeling seeped into his limbs as he lay there on the unforgiving concrete surface. There was a burning in his mid section where his paw went instinctively. His eyes scanned his paws through his failing vision, the dark sticky liquid dripping from them. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he could hardly think. He was aware of the pain that reverberated throughout his body, however was unable to comprehend it. He no longer saw in colors, but rather his world had faded to a black and white around him, focused now on his contact who stood before him, holding a smoking pistol at his side.

Reece tried to speak, his own blood pooling in his throat, blocking needed air. He tried to scream at this bastard, ordering his muscles to attack, but he could not. He tried to at least curse at the stallion who stepped forward into the light. However, his body betrayed him, and he could do nothing.

"I am sorry, Mr. Shackley, but I cannot let you proceed with your vendetta." His electric blue mane was combed over with the greatest of care. His expensive suit was neatly pressed, lacking any wrinkles and the pleats were crisp in their structure. "I wish that I did not have to stoop to these levels, although you left me no choice in the matter. What you and your Shadow Player do not understand is that Alias is much more valuable than you realize, and for this, I apologize."

Those were the last words Xen Hets, former CEO of The Lazarus Institute, said before he pulled the trigger. Two things went through Reece's mind: every curse that was in the book, followed promptly by the .50 AE hollow-tipped slug that exploded from the end of the barrel, ending his life.

There was a reason I chose you, did I ever tell you that? I saw something inside of you that somehow put the breath of life back into me.

I saw hope.