ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟɪᴇsᴛ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ (weaponizing) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-01-12 20:44:00 |
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Murder – revenge killings, if one wanted to get technical – was what had gotten Dan into his current line of work. Interestingly enough, murder was not something he did all that often. Oh, sure, he’d blackmailed a fair number of people on the behest of a client. He’d extorted people. Intimidated them. Threatened them. Manipulated them so that his client got what they wanted in the end. But it took a certain sort of person to hire someone they didn’t know to actually kill a person they did know. It took a certain type of hate of that individual to want them dead, and a certain type of vanity to not want to get your own hands dirty doing it. Murder could be tricky. Dan didn’t have many morals or scruples when it came to his work. As long as he got paid, he didn’t honestly give a damn what he was asked to do. Children were strictly off the table. Dan never went after anyone under the age of 13. There had been a few occasions in which he’d been asked to and one extremely disturbing matter in which someone had once asked him to kidnap an 8-year-old. In all those instances Dan had taken the down payments and then had promptly turned over the recorded phone calls to the local police department. Anonymously, of course, though the would be client’s arrest sent a message to other. Dan reserved the right to refuse other jobs he particularly didn’t want to do. Pregnant women were another touchy subject, as were people in the armed forces and those who were on the force. Mostly. Crooked cops were fair game. They were the bad apples that spoiled the barrel, so to speak and deserved to get taken out. Also fair game? The dude that occupied a third floor apartment of a particular apartment building. Dan had his picture, knew his schedule and heard the story behind why a seemingly random woman two towns away wanted him dead. Even though Dan outright told his clients he didn’t need – or want – to know the reasons why they needed done what they needed done, most of them felt the need to tell him anyway. In this particular case it was the oh-so-common story of a woman scorned. Dude had dated her, made all kinds of promises (at least according to the client) only to break those promises and the woman’s heart when she discovered he was fucking her bestie, now no longer her bestie, as well as several other women. She’d loaned him money to the tune of $2,500 and that along with his alleged infidelity was reason enough for him to die. Sure it was. What did Dan care? Dan had followed the guy for the past week. People were creatures of habit, whether they knew it or not. This afternoon was the best opportunity Dan had. At 17:00, dude came home from work and took the elevator up to his apartment. At 17:30 he ordered take-out, as he always did. He had no idea that tonight he wouldn’t have the chance to enjoy it. Dan lurked in one of the maintenance shafts. Apartment buildings were full of these things and their tenants were mostly unaware for them. From here, he could hear everything going on in the floors above. He heard his mark place his order with the same pizza place he did every Tuesday and then call his girlfriend du jour. From his stake-out spot in the maintenance shaft, Dan dialed the pizza place and muffling his voice just enough to not be recognized later, cancelled the order. It would never do for the pizza boy to show up mid-way through. Then he waited, ticking off the 30-minutes-or-it’s-free time limit before donning a cap and jacket similar to the one the delivery boy wore. Then, pizza box in hand, made his way to the elevator. Space was a dark blanket, dotted with stars in an intricate pattern. Galaxies upon galaxies, endless unfolding in the cosmos - Gamora had dreamed of this, she’d dreamed of traveling far beyond the planet where she originated. A place called Zen-Whoberi, where the residents resembled Earthlings (or terrans, she should say) somewhat and were peaceful, devoted to their religion. Then the massacre happened. Then Thanos happened. The parallels between the life she knew and one she was remembering rattled her down to her very bones, and she didn’t understand what the point was or how she was supposed to...deal. If that’s indeed what she should be doing. So she put it off for another day, and would concern herself with it later. There was work to be done. Returning home one evening, she pressed the button for the elevator and was silently left alone with her thoughts during the ascent to her floor. Her feet felt somewhat achy since she’d been on them all day making her rounds at Stark, and she’d be grateful to get out of her boots. She was armed and dangerous, but in need of a hot bath and a glass of wine, then ding. The elevator door split open to pick up someone else who had hit the button. Someone whom she knew. “Dan?” Her puzzlement was genuine - and Gamora was a difficult person to surprise. “I did not know you...delivered pizza.” What. The actual. Fuck? Of all the apartment buildings in the whole of Orange Fucking County, Gamora - the beautiful woman who liked to drink negronis - just had to live in this one. Why? Why all of a sudden did the universe decide to now dick with him. “Well, hello there, Gamora.” Despite the calmness of his greeting as he stepped onto the elevator, Dan was screaming on the inside. Throwing a right tantrum. On the outside, though, his mouth slid into an easy smile full of charm and confidence. “I’ve got many talents, darlin’,” he said, “be a shame fer them t’ go to waste.” She seemed genuinely surprised to see him, the type of surprise that could not easily be faked. Well, hell, he could use that. He’d picked the pizza delivery disguise to gain access to his mark’s apartment. No reason Gamora should think he was anything but that. “And I could use the extra dough.” Assessment was one of Gamora’s specialties - she was trained to think quickly, and act quickly, and her brain processed new situations and potential threats like a computer would. All that categorizing and analyzing - but she did this in the interest of safety for clients, so it was just something she was used to. In a matter of seconds, she’d taken what she’d seen, filed it, and picked out a few nuances. Tempting to press the big red button - you know, that red button, the emergency stop button - but she didn’t want to draw building security (a joke, admittedly, at least to her standards) to anything amiss in the elevator. So she let it continue to climb higher. “Do you always deliver firearms with your deep dish?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. Not like it was asked very accusingly. In fact, she flashed a grin right after. “I thought that was a good joke.” Good on her! By comparison, Dan was a more roll-with-the-punches kind of guy. He relied on instinct, picking out little bits here and there without even pausing to think. His father had been the same way, but Dan Smith Sr., had never had any ambitions to put those innate skills of his to use at a detective’s desk. Nah, leave that to his son. ”My boy’s got talent.” Initially he was shocked - bowled over really - that Gamora had noticed the gun. He’d done this gimmick a hundred times before and it had always worked. He’d fooled doormen, security officers, fuck, he’d even fooled an off duty detective with the get-up. But Gamora? She’d taken one look at him and knew there was a gun on him? Who are you, lady?! Under any other circumstance, Dan would have found this talent of her’s hot as fucking hell. Oh. Yeah. He’d have been all over that. But he was on the clock now. A very strict time table. No time to fuck around. A dark brow quirked slightly when she flashed him a grin. A joke. Sure, he’d play along. He grinned right back at her and laughed. “Y’know how often pizza delivery guys get jumped?” He said. “Like. All the time.” “All the time,” she agreed with a wink and then with no warning or care for modesty (you could see more skin if she wore a bikini, so who cared anyway), lifted her blouse from the bottom - revealing not only a flat-as-a-board abdomen, but the butt of a gun peeking out from its holster, which was right there in her bra. In the valley between soft lady pillows. Sure, these types of holsters were often advised against just because some stupid woman shot herself in the eye while adjusting boobage but Gamora was no amateur. Don’t worry, she also had a taser in her handbag, ready to pull out and fire off a shocking jolt at a moment’s notice. And ‘boot knives’ in her leather footwear, and also she could snap a man’s neck with her thighs. So there was all that too. “So do interior design assistants.” Mostly Gamora was waiting for Dan to explain why he was carrying a gun in his pizza box and wearing gloves; if she had to guess she would assume he was also packing heat elsewhere, but this game of ping-pong was fun so why spoil it all at once. Danger and sexiness. Two of Dan’s favorite things. His blood started to pump hot. Again, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was on a job… He let his eyes linger on Gamora’s display, silently letting her know he appreciated her letting him in on her little secret - as well as allowing him a bit of a view. He couldn’t return the favor. The male body wasn’t as artistic as the female body. Besides, where his second sidearm was hidden wasn’t anywhere near as alluring. Armpits. No one found those sexy. Well...maybe a few people. Everyone had their fetish. “I ‘ad no idea that interior design could be so dangerous,” Dan smirked once Gamora had lowered her shirt again. “Sounds very exciting.” He glanced up as the floors ticked by. His stop was next. Well, fuck. “Maybe ya could tell me about it, sometime. Soon.” And he meant that. Really, he did. Gamora was a rare woman. It’d be a crime to not get to know her better. The elevator dinged and the doors opened, but Dan didn’t step out of the elevator just yet. He threw a warm smile back at Gamora. “See ya at the bar sometime, yeah?” “Certainly,” Gamora replied, and even someone with her awkwardness at social interactions could tell that he was trying to give her the brushoff so he could go back to...whatever he was doing. But she wasn’t so easily dissuaded. So she let him go first, and then got off at the same floor he did - it was a floor below hers, but she knew a few of the neighbors here. Some sleazy man, most notably, who always looked thirsty - like he was undressing her with his eyes. Gamora wouldn’t interfere or draw attention to herself or Dan, but she wanted to watch - she could keep out of the way, in the shadows, for the moment. Yes, she was stalking an assassin. But they were one in the same, weren’t they? Dan had very good situational awareness, especially when he was working. However, he was now working distracted. The image of Gamora’s tight mid-drift and the butt of a gun poking out from under her intimates and everything that could possibly mean (interior design, riiight) lingered in the forefront of his mind. Watch yourself, Danny Boy, or you just might end up dead in the gutter yourself. The image was pushed aside and by the time he reached the apartment door, Dan’s mind was once again focused on the task at hand. Blood pumping cool through his veins once more. The shadow that had trailed him off the elevator, however, remained unnoticed. For now. There were no video surveillance cameras in the communal hallways. Dan had been sure of that when he’d first started stalking his prey. Cameras always complicated matters. Dan pulled the bill of the cap low over his face so that the only thing that could be seen through the door’s peephole was the pizza parlor’s logo and the bottom part of his jaw, lightly covered in manly stubble. He knocked firmly and waited for his mark to answer. It wasn’t long before the door opened and the man, shirtless, greeted him. “Thank gawd! I’m starving. How much, man?” The mark didn’t realize, or didn’t care, that Dan was very obviously not the usual delivery boy. But who really paid attention to that kind of thing? Delivery people, taxi drivers, mail carriers – the droves nameless faceless personnel in the service industry were a virtually invisible society. Seen once and then immediately forgotten about and, most importantly, implicitly trusted. “Sixteen-fifty.” Dan answered. “Yeah. Hang on, just a sec.” The mark stepped back inside his apartment, leaving his door wide open. Dan smirked under the bill of the cap and stepped inside, using his foot to pull the door softly shut behind him. The mark had his back to him as he pulled a few bills out of his wallet, completely unaware that a killer was in his home. The report from his gun – the one that had traveled in the pizza box – was heavily muffled due to the modified silencer attached to the barrel. Zot! Zot! Zot! Followed by the sound of a body thumping to the floor. One more round to the back of the head and the job was done. Easy. Gamora had seen Dan go inside, and when she was by the door she knew she heard the sound of a body hitting the floor - it was pretty telltale, and she could pick it out from anywhere. Human meatbags just fell the same way, the sacks of potatoes they were, especially when a gunshot was involved. Kudos to him for the silencer, though she had a feeling he was a veteran at this sort of thing. What had even happened? He must have been sent to kill the man - it was the only explanation, given Dan’s appearance and the firearm in place of a stuffed crust pie. Still, she didn’t want to disturb the scene inside if he was on a job so she waited outside the door, watching it - her arms folded across her chest. As soon as he stepped out, he’d be face to face with her. She was curious, sure, but also wanted to see if he needed help taking care of the body. They were...sort of friends, weren’t they? And didn’t friends help friends dispose of bodies? It was several moments after the sound of the mark’s body hitting the floor before Dan ventured from the apartment. He made sure the apartment was devoid of any indication the’d been there, including picking up the four spent shell casings from the floor. He pocketed them, retrieved the empty pizza box where it had landed when he’d pulled the gun free. Satisfied no clues had been left behind, Dan exited the apartment. The last thing he expected was to find Gamora standing directly on the other side of the door. She actually gave him a start. It wasn’t likely that she’d gone to her floor and then came back down again just to wait for little ol’ Danny Boy to finish his delivery. The gun she had and the location where it was tucked away hinted at a life in which murder was not uncommon. Dan wondered if she was a reason to worry, but quickly dismissed the notion for the moment. “Couldn’ wait t’ see me again, darlin’?” He asked with a crooked smile. People always missed the shell casings (or should she say, amateurs missed the shell casings) - that was what got the gun identified, which traced back to the person, and then they were screwed. She’d have been impressed about cleaning those up. But in all actuality, she was a little impressed overall anyway. “No, I could not,” she replied, her words all serious business - but she smirked a little, head cocked slightly. “Do you need any help with that? I have enough acid if necessary.” Don’t ask how, or why. Her apartment was basically a doomsday preparation zone and then some. Dissolving a body in the bathtub, after removing the teeth and cutting off the fingers, what, no big deal. “Or if you have it covered, maybe we could go somewhere. Like to my place. For pizza.” He must be hungry. That was not what Dan expected to hear. Dark brows arched upwards under the bill of the cap at Gamora’s offer. She’d obviously seen through him in the elevator earlier and considering she seemed to live an equally interesting life, Dan could accept the fact she hadn’t attempted to put a stop to his violent errand. Now she was offering to help and with acid no less! Dan was very curious about just how interesting Gamora’s life really was. “I love a woman who's prepared,” Dan smiled at her. “But there’ll be no need fer that t’day. That bein’ said, I would love t’ go back t’ yer place.” He was aware that it could be a trap. For all Dan knew Gamora was a cop or FBI, but she was fascinating enough (not to mention fucking beautiful) that Dan was willing to take that chance. A life worth living was one full of risks. Besides, it would be downright rude of him to turn her down. Especially after she had so graciously offered to help. “Maybe I could even show you my piece,” he winked, “since you were so nice enough to show me yours.” “Yes, show me your piece,” she chuckled. “Sweet of you to offer.” Then she turned and lead the way, though it wasn’t a long trek to her place. Just a quick trip up the elevator to the required floor and there they were, with her fishing in her handbag (bypassing the taser) for her keys. She let them inside, flipping a light for a glow to the room - warmth, not harshness. One might think her apartment would be as cold and vacant as her gaze could be sometimes, but that wasn’t so. The living room was contemporary for the most part, black and white with brown and grey accents. As the only contrast to the modern aspects, there were antique Indonesian rain drums that doubled as side tables. Her bedroom was more Bohemian in style, and her bathroom was pineapple-themed. Sort of a nod to Hawaii. She toed out of her boots, eager for the relief of not walking around in uncomfortable footwear. “How about a drink too? Want anything? Make yourself at home, by the way.” Gamora’s apartment was very comfortable and leagues above the tiny space Dan occupied over his bar. He liked his little two room apartment. It wasn’t fancy, no contemporary or bohemian styles. As long as Dan had a hook to hang his coat and a pillow to rest his head on, he was fine. Oh, and a fridge for beer. Can’t forget the necessities. However, he could appreciate a finely furnished apartment such as this and he followed her instructions and did make himself at home, first by following her lead and leaving his shoes at the door. He wasn’t so uncouth as to track the outside all over her clean carpet. “Sure, somethin’ t’ drink sounds nice, darlin’, thanks. I’ll have whatever yer offering.” Then he wandered into her living room. He was curious to venture further and sneak a peek at where this tantalizing woman felt comfortable enough to sleep, but did not dare make a move for that door. He was many things, but his father had at least attempted to raise him right and some of those lessons had stuck with him all these years later. He took the baseball cap off and shrugged out of the matching jacket, revealing a brown leather holster that gripped his shoulders and crossed his back. Tucked underneath his right arm was the butt of his own gun. He set the pizza box containing the actual murder weapon down on Gamora’s coffee table and placed his coat and cap over the back of one of the chairs. Then he made himself comfortable on her couch. “These’re nice,” he commented, running his fingers over the antique drums. “D’ye do a lotta travelin’?” At the small bar she had adjacent to her living room, Gamora looked back over her shoulder with a smile. “Thank you, I like them too,” she said about her drums doubling as tables - it was a clever use of them, she thought. “I do traveling for work sometimes - or I did, until I decided to settle here. Wherever my father sent me.” Similar to the dreams too, with Thanos also sending her across the galaxy to kill for him and track down this Orb he wanted. So far, the missing Orb remained at large. She returned with two tulip-shaped glasses of fine scotch, mixed with a little water. It best brought out the flavor that way, in her opinion - though everyone had one, when it came to drinks. Not like she let anyone tell her how to best enjoy them either. It was a personal preference. “So you are a...bar owner, doubling as an assassin?” she asked, settling next to Dan on the sofa, handing him his drink. “Or an assassin doubling as a bar owner?” Dan had traveled all over the U.S., but the opportunity to actually do a job overseas had never actually presented itself. Crying shame, that. Dan would have liked to someday go to Ireland, see his ancestral home, maybe meet a few family members that, allegedly, still lived there. But, work was never done. Someone somewhere always had some underhanded chore they needed to have done. And let’s be honest, Dan lived for that kind of shit. He leaned up from the couch to accept the offered glass. Nice to have someone serving him a drink for a change. He sipped the scotch slowly. Very tasty. Gamora knew her drinks. The water did bring out the scotch’s flavor, but she didn’t make the mistake of adding too much and watering it down. He licked his lips thoughtfully as he mulled over her question. Gamora had more or less caught him in the act and she had neither shot his ass or called the cops on him. She deserved a little bit of his trust, perhaps. Besides, if he expected to ever get to hear her story, it was tit for tat that he shared a little of his “I’m not an assassin, darlin’.” He started. “That’s too romantic soundin’ fer what I do. Ya might call me a hitman fer hire.” “Hitman for hire,” she repeated, sipping on the scotch and letting it slide down her throat. Her way of assessing things was especially strong since she had a few dreams. Honey and herbs. Caramel undertones. Like she was a computer, almost - it was perfectly natural. “I think it sounds a little romantic anyway. You seem to like what you do.” She touched the gun in his holster, fingertips stroking over the butt of it like she was caressing a beloved pet - but really, Gamora loved weapons. One must take care of their pieces, it was important. “Let me guess - the mark below me. Jilted lover wanted him dead?” He seemed like the type of guy to bring a new woman home every night. She was glad that he wasn’t above her, so she didn’t have to hear his escapades vibrating her ceiling. If that were the case, then she might have actually killed him herself. “Tale as old as time,” Dan nodded with a sigh. “He made her all sorts of pretty promises and then turned around and diddled her best friend. Before that he managed t’ get $2,500 out of her. So she told me. Not that I care. Not any o’ my business why a woman wants a man dead.” The holster was still around Dan’s shoulders. Gamora fascinated him, but he wasn’t about to leave both of his weapons just laying around out of reach. She was dangerous. That was what drew Dan to her, but his father had not raised a fool. With the way Gamora was fingering the gun’s butt, so close, it was getting harder for Dan to keep his wits. His blood was running hot again. Dark eyes flickered up towards Gamora. “Ye like ‘at, d’ya, darlin?” Alright, Seabiscuit, calm your dick. She liked Dan (that accent was killer, even a hardass like Gamora had to admit), but she wasn’t about to jump his bones. Though, also admittedly, shooting someone in cold blood was an aphrodisiac for someone like her. “Maybe,” she chuckled huskily. “I have an...affinity for weapons. It is strange - I had a few dreams, they seemed very clear and so real. In them, I traveled the galaxies at my father’s behest, doing whatever dirty business he needed done. Same with here. Until I finally decided to do something myself for once. The coincidence seemed astounding. I suppose I could have just been dreaming of myself in more of a space atmosphere. My father looked so different though.” She hadn’t reached that point in her dreams yet, though. However, she could tell the Gamora there was growing weary of Thanos’ penchant for destruction. He wanted some orb - as if the mad titan needed more power at his disposal. Knocking back the rest of her drink, she got up to pour herself a little more. “Maybe it will make more sense later.” Dreams again. The corners of Dan’s mouth twitched. He’d been warned about these crazy Dreams. Sort of warned. More like made gravely aware of them. But he’d had yet to experience any for himself and therefore was still inclined to believe those on that damn forum were all absolutely daft. Gamora, though, she seemed pretty sane. Or well, as sane as a potential killer could possibly be. All of them were a little touched in one way or another. This was the first time anyone had actually explained their experiences. It still seemed nuts, however. “A dream could be just a dream,” Dan said before downing the remainder in his own glass. “Yer out on yer own, away from home. Would make sense that ye’d dream of yer da. As fer’im lookin’ different, dreams rarely make any sense, do they?” But, ah, she had said the magic words: dirty business. At that the twitch of Dan’s mouth curled upwards. “What are ye hoping t’ do fer yerself now that yer here?” He asked. “The world is at yer feet. Ye could do anythin’.” Damn straight all of them were a little touched in one way or another. She definitely felt crazy, or she had been when she woke up - it was difficult to sort everything out, but at least she’d sort of heard of this whole thing so she kind of knew what it was when it happened. Mostly. “I don’t miss him,” she stated, about her father. No, Thanos was fine back where he was, with his Hawaiian hotel and shopping mall empire. Gamora was tired of doing his bidding. “I could do anything,” she agreed with a hum, settling back on the sofa with her drink. “For now, I will stick to bodyguarding. Making my own way. And will try not to interrupt any more of your pizza delivery jobs in the future.” Not that she regretted it, since making friends was on her agenda too - something that she’d not really ever had a chance to even do at all. But this was definitely a way to do it, and actually? It kind of worked. Dan gave her a playful, inviting smirk. “Feel free t’ interrupt my pizza jobs anytime, darlin,” he said. “May come a time I could use that acid o’ yers.” |