The Madam Of Suburbia Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Dinner with Satan

For the first time in a month, I finally got a day off. It felt like that every fucking night someone needed to either get a friendly reminder upside their skull, or needed a permanent vacation. Needless to say I can use some damn relaxation. My hands are sore from delivering memos to people who forget where their loyalty and wallets lie. Also, I'm beyond tired of doing laundry every night I come home. It's not like I can take my shirts to be cleaned. I don't think saying I spilled merlot won't lead to cops knocking on my door. So, tonight, it's a turkey sandwich and Turkey night.

However, as I get a text, I realize that this city never fucking sleeps. I look at it and all it says is to be ready in an hour, and to wear a nice suit per Madam's request. I almost throw my phone against the wall at the mention of her name, but the fact she wants me in a suit has me totally confused. I hope this is not their subtle way of telling me that it will be what I'll be buried in. Then again, if she wanted me dead, I would have already been buried in the swamps along with some of my handy work. I look at the bottle of Turkey, and sigh in defeat that it will have to wait another night. The last fucking thing I want to do is show up shitfaced while dealing with her.

An hour later, Gus drops me off behind the most expensive restaurant in town next to the kitchen entrance. As I smoke a cigarette in the alleyway before heading in, I realize I've never been here because I keep hearing that the damn salads alone are fucking twenty dollars. I can get a large pizza and a pitcher of beer at my dive bar for that kind of cash. There's no way I'm going to spend that kind of cash on rabbit food. As I puff away to calm my nerves, I check my wallet only to discover I'm only carrying about fifty bucks. I pray that I'm not footing the bill tonight because I don't think I can even afford drinks.

I finish my cigarette, and knock on the door. A minute later, the door opens as a fucking giant of a man in an all-black suit stands in the entrance. His entire frame fills up the doorway to the point he probably will have to duck and turn sideways to get out if he needs to leave. He makes me feel I'm nothing more than a mere child as I stand there in front of him even though I'm 6'5". He stares at me with cold gray eyes almost concealed by his red hair. I wonder what medieval Scottish battleground Madam got this fucker from, but I damn well know he's been eating his fucking Wheaties. I also find myself questioning what tent maker made his suit. Either way, I'm not cracking any jokes around "Tiny" because one hit from his massive fist would be like getting a sledge hammer upside my head.

"Follow me," he says.

I follow him down the hallway wishing I could see where the fuck I'm going because his massive frame blocks me from seeing anything in front of me. A minute later, he turns to his side in front of a set of black, windowless double doors, and pulls one open.

"Madam is inside waiting," he says in a thick German accent.

I head inside only to walk into a dark room save one light over a table set up with one chair and dinnerware for one. I sit down and notice there's a glass of whiskey waiting for me.

"I hope you don't mind that I ordered you a drink," says Madam from the back of the room. "Plus, I don't want to drink alone."

"Not at all," I reply before taking a sip. I smile as it's a very nice single malt scotch that feels like velvet on my tongue, and leaves a nice smoky aftertaste. She might be demented, but I can appreciate her taste in liquor. I take another sip as Tiny brings me over a shrimp cocktail.

"Oh, by the way, Jimmy. I see you met our newest associate, Riese," Madam states. "Riese, this is Jimmy. He's becoming my favorite problem solver."

"Nice to meet you," Riese says. "I hope one day we can work together."

"One day," I reply as I think that I hope I'm never have to fight Riese. If I do, I'm bringing a damn bazooka because I'm imagining he eats 9mm slugs for breakfast.

"Riese, be a dear and check on dinner for us," orders Madam.

"Yes, Madam," he replies as he leaves the room.

"So, Jimmy. Enjoying Curva so far?" Madam asks.

"Besides the rain, so far, it's been good," I reply. I'm honestly confused. She is calling me her favorite, and is being nice. As I take another sip of scotch, I begin to wonder if I died and ending up in Hell. I'm still a little creeped out that the only light in the room is over my table as she sits in total darkness. I begin to wonder if she's even in the room with me. Right now, the best plan is to be sociable, and make the most of this dinner.

"Everything good in your apartment?"

"It's very nice, and there's always whiskey there, so it works for me."

"If there's any issues, let Blue know," she replies.

I'm about to reply when Riese comes back into the room, and starts setting plates in front of me. The first plate is covered by a huge slice of rare prime rib, the second one has a monster lobster tail as well as a baked potato, and he finally sets down a basket of rolls. He sets down another scotch for me, and disappears back behind the door. I sit there wondering why all the special treatment today, but if I do fucking die, at least I'm being served a proper last meal.

"Ah, excellent. I see your dinner has been served. After we eat, I got some special entertainment planned," Madam says. "Bon appetit."

For the next thirty minutes, we actually manage to make small talk. I still think she's the fucking Devil, but tonight, she's showing that she's actual a human. I'm just glad it mostly focused on movies and music. I'm also beginning to think she's around my age based on the bands and genres we both like. However, movies we're Ying and Yang: she only prefers romantic comedies while I prefer horror. I almost chuckled as I pictured a woman crying over a movie while ripping someone's heart out with a butter knife. I swear they're spiking the scotch with something because this night has me more scared than the night of the human voodoo doll.

As I finish off a piece of the most amazing cheesecake, she states, "Now, the entertainment."

Another light comes on, and in the middle of the room is a man as well as woman wearing black hoods while chained to heavy metal chairs. I can see dried blood on their clothes as muffled screams escape from the hoods. They're in a large plastic pool, and plastic sheets cover the white walls and marble floors between me and the black screen hiding Madam once more in the very rear of the room.

"Riese, remove the hood of the man first," orders Madam.

Riese walks over, and lifts up the man's hood. My jaw drops as I see it's Donnie. His right eye is swollen shut, and blood slowly dribbles off his chin. As he tries to scream, I find myself swallowing back my expensive dinner as my mind says to fucking run, but my legs refuse to move like they're made out of concrete. I sit there trying to figure out what I'm about to witness, and what the fuck did Donnie do to end up in this situation.

"Tonight, we're going to watch Riese extermination some fucking rats," explains Madam. "Donnie is really Detective Stephen Monaldo, a fucking narcotics cop. The girl, which out of respect will remained hooded, is Stephen's partner."

I sit there dumbfounded as I find it out hard to believe Donnie is a fucking cop. He took care of disposing that deputy I executed. There's no way a legit cop would watch another cop be gunned down in cold blood. This has to be another one of Madam's fucking mind games. I'm more pissed at the fact the only fucker in this damn cartel I consider a friend is going to be murdered right in front of my own eyes. If I had a fucking gun, I would empty a clip into the fucking screen as well as another clip into Riese's skull. However, I feel powerless as I see tears rolling down Donnie's cheeks as Riese stands over him because if I move, I'm dead well.

"Riese, show Jimmy here your special skills," orders Madam.

I watch as Riese pulls out two small sledge hammers from under his coat, and places one each on both sides of Donnie's head. With one massive backswing, Riese slams the hammers into Donnie's skull with a sickening thud. I almost puke as I watch Donnie's left eye pop out of his skull and fly against the wall. With one more swing, Donnie's head turns into a mess of blood and bone as I hear a metallic ting as the hammers strike each other. Riese smiles as he takes one hammer and pounds it down onto Donnie's chest. I almost pass out as I have to wash down the sick taste of bile in my mouth with the scotch as I hear the sound of ribs breaking.

"Now, the girl," Madam says. "Be gentle with her though."

Riese smirks as he places one hand on her forehead and one of the back of her skull, and with one swift motion, cracks her neck. I feel nauseous as I watch Riese unchain the lifeless bodies, and pushes them to the floor. He looks at me grinning as he moves the chairs out of the way, and stacks Donnie and the woman on top of each other like they're nothing more than fucking firewood. He begins to whistle as he wraps them up in the plastic sheets like he's wrapping a Christmas gift. I almost begin to cry as I feel a warm sensation in my pants as I piss my Goddamn self at this horrific display.

With the bodies now wrapped, Madam laughs, "Well, that's one way to get rid of fucking vermin. Riese, be a dear, and show Jimmy the door so the boys can clean up the mess."

"With pleasure, Madam," Riese says before going back to his whistling.

I sit there as he strolls over to me, and gently moves the table out of the way. I'm too scared to move as he stands right in front of me, Donnie's blood still fresh on his hands.

"By the way, Jimmy. Nothing personal," cackles Madam.

I try to say something when Riese lifts up his left arm. The last thing I see is his fist slamming me on the top of my head.

The Madam Of Suburbia Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Beer, Brawn, and Brains

I honestly don't know how the idea got fucking started, but right now, it's a damn good idea. Donnie and I are walking back to his place since it's near the bar we were kicked out of at two in the morning. As we manage to score a case of beer at the gas station, we see a perfectly good couch outside of an apartment complex about a block away from his house. So, here we are carrying a couch with a case of beer on top of it down the street at three in the morning drunk off our asses. I'm silently praying we make it to his yard before a cop rolls around. It wouldn't be my first trip to jail, but it would be the funniest reason why I end up behind bars.

We finally stumble onto his yard, and set the couch down right below his front windows. He stumbles inside, and brings out a coffee table. As he sets it down, he runs back in to bring out a set of coasters.

"The misses would fucking kill us if we got rings on her table, so you better use them," he orders before cracking open a beer.

"So, the fact it's outside won't upset her, but rings will?" I chuckle.

He looks at the table and sighs, "Fuck. Let me grab one of the patio tables."

As he disappears back into the house, I grab a beer and look up at the stars. It's strange that early tonight I took a man's life while I'm out here enjoying my own life. I begin to wonder when Karma is going to sneak up behind me to slap me upside my thick fucking skull with a baseball bat. Then again, life is a fucking cruel mistress. One day, you're the king of the world, and the next, you're left in a back alley bleeding to death because one word was said to the wrong person. I always thought life is nothing more than a shit cake covered in frosting made out of pure bullshit. It looks good in theory, but in the end, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. However, tonight, I'm appreciating the sweet taste of surviving another day on this fucked up planet.           

As I finish my beer, the old man's last words popped into my head. I've been trying to numb my brain so I can erase them forever, but it seems Karma has swung. I grab another bottle, and chug it down. I know the whole smoke and mirrors when dealing with Madam has been a thorn in my side, but I'm not stupid enough to open that can of fucking worms. The voodoo doll hanging from the rafters has been burned into my fucking brain and I don't want to be the next one she makes. Right now, my role is to take lives, not commit suicide. I chug down the beer as I try my hardest to wipe his death bed confession from my head. I don't even know what he did to Madam, and I don't care. I do what I'm told so I can see the sun rise every morning.

Donnie finally makes it back to the couch with a plastic table. As he sets it down, he says, "Sorry. All this beer is catching up with me."

"It's fine," I lie as I try to forget everything tonight, and numb my brain. I want to erase this evening so I won't say something stupid. I rather live in pure ignorance than become curious, and become Madam's next twisted torture victim. They pay my bills, provide me what I need, and I do their cleaning up of loose ends. It's a perfect barter system, and by even remember those words will throw it out of fucking whack. I need to let them go, and focus on my future.

"Jimmy, what's going on in that head of yours?" Donnie inquires while heading me a new beer.

"Thinking about something," I reply.

"Want a little tip?"

"Sure.”

"We're not paid to think, just react," he says. "So, do whatever it fucking takes, and stop. Ideas will get you killed."

"Trust me, Donnie. I’ve seen Madam's work," I reply before killing off the beer in one gulp. "It's something my..."

"Again, I don't want to know, and don't fucking care." he interrupts. "Forget about it, and be the muscle you're paid to be. Brains are not our department."

I fall silent because he's right. I wasn't hired to balance their books. I'm here to make people go silent, and make sure the rest pay back their debts so the actual brains department can keep me paid. I could have a damn PHD, and I still wouldn't be here to come up with ideas. As Donnie said, I'm nothing more than a hired gun. It's bad enough I'm already on Madam's speed dial. I would hate to see what she would do if I try to show any signs of smarts outside of my current position. Also, the whole idea of even making any attempt at learning Madam's true identity is a fucking suicide mission.

"Look, Jimmy. Here's the truth. Whatever we're told to do, we just do," he explains. "Even if they're asking for your opinion, keep your fucking mouth shut, but always keep your eyes and ears open."

"I got it, man," I reply. "The target was trying to fuck with me, and I let them. I'm forgetting about it, and moving on."

"Good. I don't want to lose you over bullshit. Now, let's finish this beer so we can get some sleep tonight."

We spend the next hour killing off the last of the beer shooting the breeze. The more I talk to Donnie, the more I feel he's the only friend I got here so far, but if I do anything to hurt the organization, he will slit my throat without a second thought. I do find it nice to see an actual face with the day to day, but I even feel he's hiding secrets from me. Then again, this entire industry is about secrets. You don't deal with the dark underbelly of the city without having a closet full of skeletons. The deadliest thing about our profession is our past. You don't make a living without breaking a few skulls, and when you break the wrong skull you could be next one getting your head bashed in.

I finish off my last beer, and see Donnie is passed out on the couch. I'm about to say something when I find myself slipping into sleep as well. I try to look up at the stars, but my eyelids feel like they're made out of lead. As I finally succumb to the alcohol induced sleep, I begin to think that the next time shit like this happens, don't let it get to my head. I can kill a man without remorse, but their parting words hang on me like stink hangs on to dog shit. As my eyes close for the night, I accept this truth: if they get in your mind, you're good as fucking dead where you stand. In other words, acting dumb as shit will keep me alive longer.

The Madam Of Suburbia Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Taker of Souls

Even though it's part of my business, I've never been a fan of night clubs. They are nothing more than a building filled with fucking annoying college kids popping and smoking whatever while listening to what sounds like shit smeared all over a CD backed by a bass track that makes me want to go homicidal. After you deal with all this bullshit, a damn beer will cost ten dollars so getting drunk is out of the damn question. The more I spend in clubs, the more I appreciate dive bars where the music is nothing more than background noise, and I can get a beer for a buck. However, dive bars aren't willing to pay for my services, so I deal with the cat screams blasting over the speakers and the expensive beer.

As I slowly sip on my ten-dollar beer for the last hour that taste like fucking warm urine, I begin to wonder why I've been summon here. It's been a month since the execution, and I haven't had any orders since then. I've been spending the last month mostly being muscle for Blue's bookie. This town loves to bet, and some people need a friendly reminder to pay back their debts. I thought my purpose was to be a street vendor, but I like being a hired goon. It's nice to knock people's skulls around instead of frying their fucking brains. Besides, dealers are a dime a dozen, and as Blue said, there's ice in my veins. I've been through too much shit to give a fuck anymore that if someone needs a knock upside their head, I'm their man.

As I try to drone out the music that honestly sounds like a bear ass-raping a cat, my phone goes off. I glance down and see I got a text saying to head out back. I finish off my beer to begin making my way through the maze of drugged up bodies tangled like a slinky inside a tornado to get out of the mess. I finally find a lane that leads right to the back door, like Moses himself parted the dance floor. Without chancing it, I jog through the opening before it closes up again, leaving me trapped amongst the sea of tantrix fueled dry humping in perfect rhythm with the shit blaring over the speakers.

I step out the door to find out as usual it's fucking rain. I wait under the awning when a limo pulls up next to me. The passenger door opens, and I get in. As I sit down, I look up and see Blue sitting across from me.

"Hello, James. It's been awhile," Blue says.

"Indeed, Blue," I reply as I shudder at their creepy robotic voice. Even though it's pouring and muggy out there, Blue is once again wearing the all black outfit. I begin to wonder who is behind the biker's helmet. I wonder if Blue and Madam are the same person. Then again, I never want to be in the same room with Madam and Blue. If I do end up with the both of them in the same place, I hope it's to end my life quickly as possible. There’s no fucking way I can handle that much disturbance at once without wanting to put a bullet in my head myself.

"I got a special mission for you," Blue states as they hand me an envelope.

I open the envelope, and find a single key with an address on the paper.

"We need you to be very discreet, and needs to be done tonight," Blue explains.

"Sure thing," I reply as I shove the envelope into my pants.

Blue hands me a set of car keys and says, "It's the red truck in this lot. Once the job is done, leave the car here, and Donnie will get you lift back home."

"Consider it done," I state as I exit the limo. I see the truck, and dash over as the rain is still coming down like it's going to flood. I hop into the truck, and slam the door before the cabin gets soak, I wipe the rain off my face with my shirt sleeve, and look at the address one more time. I realize his is on the southern end of the islands where all the rick fucking yuppies live. I don't care why they are the target, but they really had to mess up for Blue to order the hit. I start up the truck, and head down there.

As I pull into the driveway of the house, I notice there is only one light on in the upper left side of the house. I look around to make sure the coast is clear as I put an empty syringe into my pocket. I get out, and head to the front door. As I'm about to put in the key into the lock, I notice the door slightly ajar. I place my hand around my pistol, and creep inside. Inside the foyer, there is an alarm panel, but it's disarmed. I begin to feel the sweat run down my back as this job almost feels like a setup. I take one deep breath, and head up the stairs.

When I reach the second floor, I see there's a door open at the end of the left hallway. I inch my way down the hallway as I can't help shake the feeling that this isn't a hit, but a trap. As I make near the door, I can see an elderly man sitting in a rocking chair with an almost empty bottle of whiskey in his hand staring towards the windows. He takes the final swig of the bottle, and tosses it against the wall.

"Death, I'm ready to leave this wretched shithole. Make it swift, Taker of Souls," he says before lighting up a cigarette.

I slip on my leather gloves, and pull out the syringe before I enter the door.  I sneak up behind the old man, and before I can jab the syringe into his neck, he starts rambling.

"I won't turn around to see my killer, but before you release my soul, there's something you should know," he says. "Madam is not what she seems. The reason for the secrecy is she's someone you see every day, but will never know it. She will do anything to keep her real business separate from the person she shows the world. Now, do what you're sent here to do."

Without a single word, I fill the syringe with air, and shove the needle into his neck filling his jugular artery with air. I stand behind him as he takes his last breaths. Five minutes later, he's dead. I put the syringe back into my pocket, and leave the house. On the drive home, I begin to wonder if his last words were the mutterings of a drunk man, or was there some truth behind him. If Madam is really a public figure, would explain all the smokes and mirrors dealing with her. I also begin to wonder who is behind the visor when I deal with Blue, and why they hid behind their voice changer.

As I drop the truck off, I dismiss them as nonsense being spouted from a drunk man ready to die. A minute later, Donnie pulls up. I hop in. On the drive back to my apartment, I can't shake the feeling that man wasn't talking pure bullshit, but since I enjoy breathing, I pretend it's nothing but conspiracy drivel from a man that wanted to die. I finally stop worrying about it and ask Donnie, “Do you really have to take me home, or can we go somewhere and bullshit over some decent beer?"

"Nope. I know of a place," Donnie says as he heads northward, "Besides, after the day I had, I can use a fucking beer."

As we drive towards the bar, I smile at the phrase Taker of Souls. I’ve taken four souls here, but when you hear from a man that wants to end the bullshit called life, it has a different tone to it. I lost all empathy for people, and tonight, I actually enjoyed watching the last winds exit a dead man's lungs. Besides, I shouldn't care who Blue and Madam really are. I do what they want, and they keep me alive. A life for a life is the price to pay when dealing with The Taker of Souls.