Putting my college degree to work sometimes felt useless when I made enough money elsewhere. I had enjoyed education; I loved to read, and I was good at remembering the information so I had excelled even though no one took enough time to notice. I truly preferred it that way, though. I slithered through school without too much attention, which had been good for me. I'd graduated in three years instead of the typical four which gave me time to enlist in the army, and serve for a brief period of time. Not to mention having a side job at the "armory", while putting my... skills to use in numerous ways.




I made well over what any reasonable man my age should have. Fuck it; I made enough money by simply fashioning precious stones. I could have had enough, ... it should have been enough.




Money doesn't fix everything, so I guess that's why I kept working. Then again, everything does have it's price...




I knew several languages as a product of my upbringing, but also my education. This had proved useful on multiple occasions, especially in the army and in finding me a job. Politics weren't truly my thing, but knowing about them and being able to translate what one catty politician said to another came easily. He said this, she said that, blah, blah, blah. Fortunately, the mundane was often laced by special requests. They weren't always easy, no... Emotionally, physically... Frankly, I was phenomenal at hiding a body. Accomplished, right? The man who I had been working for had somehow knew this, through either the Madame who owned the shop or through another source; the source was definitely a witch who had known me. He had pulled me aside, his eyes glazed over with a clouded kind of guilt. Did he really feel bad? I wondered if he kissed his wife on the cheek before he left in the mornings, or if he had a mistress that he saw when he went into the office. Guilt was often contagious, and I had found that it often bred in the offices of these kinds of people.




The job wasn't supposed to be difficult. He didn't want a trace to him, even though I assured him there wouldn't be one. It was insulting, really, that he thought I'd leave more than dust behind. Fingerprints? No, I was too good at this. Power could often be traced, so I assured him I'd leave that out, too. Weapons were out, which meant a certain kind of other attempt would be necessary. I assured him of that, too.




And the job itself? Hold the laughter, but it was the man I was translating to for him! So it seemed to go with this bunch of mother fuckers.




It had been tedious, talking about where they'd want to go for dinner and how I was supposed to join because good God, how else would they figure each other out? My newest employer had looked panicked when my target almost declined dinner. It was easy to persuade him, though. I even suggested that there could be a driver to pick him up from his hotel and bring him straight to the restaurant! Score. However tedious, I was anxious to get out of the building and the confines of the metro which had dumped me out downtown.




I had a particular destination in mind, and with a cigarette between my lips I headed straight for a shop I hadn't been to before, but had been recommended to me through the grapevine. With my coat's collar turned up against the wind, I proceeded down the side walk, happy that it was less crowded than I'd expected at this hour. The shop drew close quickly, and I dropped my cigarette without stubbing it under the sole of my fairly expensive shoes.




... At least I can appreciate them, right?




A soft bell rang, announcing my presence. I had dressed sharply for my job in dress pants complemented by a white shirt under a blue sportcoat, but as I was desperate to be free from the confines that it often brought, I raised a hand to loosen my the burgundy tie around my neck, and unbutton my coat. That hand raised again to rub my jaw which was aching from clenching all day.




Was there anyone even here...? Weren't things supposed to be tidy, employees attentive? Fuck it.




"Patience is a virtue I don't have. Any chance someone might be able to help me before it's tomorrow?"




My voice was darker than I wanted it to be, marred by a growing foul mood and accented much heavier than I'd intended.




"It'll be worth your time, I can assure you that."