"I did the deed, D.G. Now give me the money." I told the man in the dark swivel chair. He really did look like an evil villain. He kind of is. His office sure does look like one, with the black satin curtains blocking out all natural light, bookshelves on either side of the room, a small wooden chair right in front of his desk for guests, and a single spotlight over his desk. He even has a large, plush, black and red swivel chair with gold studs for him to sit in. The only thing that sets it apart from an evil layer is the large white office computer and neatly stacked files on his desk. Despite being the mastermind of many murders, he is a very clean person.
I refuse to sit down the pitiful wooden chair by his desk, so I stand by the doorway, dressed in the stupid uniform he requires for me to wear--a leather jacket, black leggings, sunglasses, and black high tops (my addition). I look like a girl from an 'effing James Bond movie, which can only draw attention to me. The outfit basically says that I am about to murder someone. Little does he know that I have a change of clothes in my duffel bag that I change into after I leave his office. He seemingly never leaves, so I don't have to worry. Though, I'm pretty sure he knows that I do it. I think he makes me wear it because I look hot in it. It's so sexist what I have to put up with. Really, he's the only one who ever sees me in those clothes.
D.G.'s chair turns so that he can face me. I am still shocked to see his well groomed brown hair, t-shirt and jeans. I get so dressed up, so you'd think he'd get dressed up in a tux or something, but no. He doesn't really care what I see him in. After all, I have known him for 5 years, we're basically family with all our training sessions and ordeals. I know him like family, too. I've met his wife and three children, Janet, Kenny, and Gavin. It's sad at how he lies to them about his job, telling them that he's a tutor. Let me tell you, that's a well paid tutor. "See, Ruthann, you didn't do the 'deed'." I can see his whole face now, his eyes are a dark gray, but I know it's just contacts, something not a lot of people know. I found out when I punched him in the eye once and when he rubbed it, his contact fell out. The punch gave him a very satisfying black eye, though I suggest you don't punch your boss. D.G and I have a special relationship.
"I did, I finished that case. The customer was happy."
He let out a guttural laugh. I think I've done something wrong at first. "You make it sound like a drug deal."
I roll my eyes. "Your sense of humor is childish."
"You're too tense, Ruthie. Loosen up."
"Just of you to tell me to loosen up. You still haven't given me the money."
He takes a deep breath. "Do you really need the money, Ruthann. You have a father that pays for the bills, buys food."
"Yeah, but I'm saving for college. Don't forget that I have a future still, unlike you."
"I'm not that old." He frowns, showing all of the wrinkles on his face.
I raise my eyebrows, annoyed with him already. "You're 63."
He shakes his head. "No, 62."
"Nope, your birthday was last month, remember that?"
He looks earnestly confused. "Oh yeah." He trails off. "About the money," he snaps back into reality. "The customer wasn't completely happy, so we haven't received it yet."
"Shut up, I talked to Jeb, he says that there was a new transaction last night." I slam my hand down on my desk for emphasis. I didn't talk to our personal hacker, Jeb, but I'm sure that D.G. got the money. Or I think so.
"Did you really?" He looks amused. It makes me angry.
"Yeah I really did." I say, my confidence wavering. Did he get the money? It has been a month. He should by now, but there is a chance that the man didn't complete all the payments yet.
"I don't believe you. All the payments aren't in yet, so just be patient. Meanwhile, to calm your fidgeting fingers." He motions to my fingers tapping on his desk. I remove them from the wooden desk. He wiggles a manila file full of papers from the large stack. "I have a new file for you to sort through."
He hands the file to me, returning back to something on his computer. I frown. "Again? I just had one. Can't Pete do it? He hasn't had a case for six months." I can't believe my life has come to whining about having to kill someone. I think I have the most strange life. My childhood was very interesting too.
"He specifically requested for you. Paying extra." He says, uninterested with the topic.
"Requested me, a 15 year old?" He doesn't look away from the screen. "It's a he too? Do you see a problem with this? I do."
He looks up, not as concerned as I am. "You know that you could kill that man if he ever made any advances on you. He'd be insane to try anything. Everyone knows your the best."
"How flattering. I am the best assassin. And everyone knows? How does he know about me in the first place?"
He returns back to the screen, the light illuminating his face and revealing some of his stubble. "Word gets around?"
"Word gets around? Oh, my gosh. He could be, like, an undercover cop or something. If word got around"
He only gives me a tired glance. "He's like 17 or 18. Give him a break."
"Great." I turn on my heel and head out the door, cradling the file agains my chest with one hand. "I have to deal with an emotional teen trying to kill his mother, which he will regret and turn himself in later." I call back.
"You'll get along, then. You have a lot in common. And you should give hims some credit. I read the file, it's a pretty elaborate plan." D.G. Says be hind me.
I don't get to hear the rest of what he says because I slam the door and head toward the exit. This is going to be a painful case. I hope it pays well.