• The Crimson Twilight Special


    Nighttime had descended on the city as Aaron Stanton sat in his leather office chair, staring pensively at his cell phone. The lamp on his desk illuminated the large room, it’s light pouring over the soft green carpet and bouncing off of the finished surfaces of a few pieces of furniture. The corners of the room remained dark, the light failing to reach that far. His work hours had already passed by and the only other people remaining in the building were the janitors and the security guards. He had thought that the silence would make thinking easier, but it hadn’t. As a matter of fact, he had found the silence to be nearly deafening.

    The weight of his indecision rested on his shoulders like a lead weight as his troubled gaze traveled to the piece of paper on his desk. It had a phone number scrawled out on it, one that promised a solution to his problem, but was this or was this not the right way to go about it all? Letting out a heavy sigh he finally decided to follow through. He dialed the number and the phone rang quite a few times. Second thoughts bombarded his resolve during the short wait, but he finally got an answer before any of them could change his mind.

    “Hello, Twilight Jewelers, This is Lydia speaking, how may I help you?” a female voice inquired. She sounded slightly bored. Apparently business hadn’t been too fast.

    “Do you have room for any special orders?”

    She sounded a little more interested now. “Special? Which one?”

    “The Crimson Twilight Special, do you have room to work it in?”

    “I‘m not exactly sure it‘s such a time consuming order along with the others I have. Why don’t you come by? It’s easier when you can show me what you want.” the woman on the other side suggested. He couldn‘t pick out much in her tone . . . She seemed so casual about it all. “May I ask what the name of my customer is?”

    “Aaron Stanton.”

    “Mr. Stanton, huh? I’ve been told to expect a call from you.” the woman replied, still speaking as if this whole conversation could be taken at face value. “I look forward to doing business with you. Like I said, it’s easier when you can come by.”

    “Alright, what time?”

    “Why don’t you come by after hours? I’ll still be here to let you in and there won’t be anyone else here to be distracting. Is eleven too late? I still have things to do but if you’re willing to come in at that time I can at least get your order taken.”

    Aaron studied his watch for a moment. A few hours. He could wait that long. “Eleven it is then. I won’t be a second late.”

    “Good, I’ll see you then, you have a nice night, sir.”

    Aaron didn’t answer right away, not quite expecting the call to end quite like that. She so far seemed amiable enough. “Right, you too.” he managed to say before he hung up the phone.

    He let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair. He couldn’t help but to think that this all sounded like a bad movie plot. There he sat in his posh office at the top of a high-rise building. The president of a company, who after exhausting everything in trying to buy out his competition, had resorted to some underhanded and dirty tactic.

    The businessman’s gaze wandered to a picture on his desk. He stared at it for a moment, studying it. He remembered where it had been taken. It had been taken at a charity event a few years previous where he along with his friend, and competition, had been there to give millions. Those were times when they got along better. Times before they both fell on hard days and things between them got even more competitive and less friendly.

    Aaron ran his hand through his graying hair before turning the picture down flat, “I’m sorry old friend,” he said to no one in particular, “but you haven’t given me much of a choice . . . I regret it, I really do.”

    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Time passed a bit faster than Aaron had anticipated and he headed out the door in what seemed like no time at all. He drove down the still busy, downtown streets, soon finding himself on a darker side of the city where the small jewelry shop was located.

    As he arrived he noted that the place seemed deserted except for a jet-black Mercury Cougar. He pulled his own car between two white lines on the pavement, parking it only one space away. A light came on near the back of the store and the shadowy, slim figure of a woman came to the door, unlocking and opening it as he got out of his car. “Prompt businessman aren’t you?” The woman inquired from the entrance, looking to her watch, “It’s eleven on the dot.”

    “So since you’re here I take it that you’re considering taking the job?” Aaron questioned, ignoring her earlier statement. He didn’t get an answer from her. She seemed occupied with searching their surroundings, deciding after a good moment or two that danger didn‘t seem to be present. Then her eyes rested on his car. He didn’t have any doubts that she was summing him up, taking guesses at how much money he could offer her.

    Aaron frowned before attempting to get her attention, “Are you ready to discuss?” he questioned loudly.

    She managed to tear her attention away from his pricy, luxury car. “Hm?”

    “The job.”

    “Oh, right.” Lydia gave him a sheepish grin and cleared the doorway, “So, let’s sit down and discuss this over some coffee maybe. Sound good to you?”

    “Fine.”

    Aaron didn’t have the best of feelings about all of this. Something about the way she seemed so nonchalant had him unnerved. It just didn’t feel right. He silently followed as she walked toward the back of her shop where she had a small lounge and the smell of fresh coffee floated through the air.

    This place hadn’t been at all what Aaron had expected. It looked deceivingly cozy even . . . Like a normal, small, specialized jeweler shop. A staircase hid in the back, just beyond the lounge that he assumed led to a living space upstairs. He had seen places like these before. They were a bit cramped, but most didn’t mind them at all when living alone. It certainly didn’t seem to be bothering Lydia.

    His attention was caught by a small TV in the lounge, turned to the eleven o’clock news. A pretty blonde reporter thanked the weatherman for his report as the picture of a now infamous cat figurine appeared beside her on the screen and her breaking story started.

    “And now for some breaking news. It seems that our area’s infamous serial killer has struck yet again. As with every other time this predator has struck, the victim received this small figurine of a cat. Something that has so far, been a death sentence.”

    The TV abruptly shut off before the report could finish. “We don’t need that thing on. The news is just depressing now days anyway.” Lydia commented, setting the remote back down on the small coffee table in the middle of the room. Now the only sound present was the gurgling of the coffee pot as it finished it’s brewing.

    “You can sit wherever you like you know.” she stated after a moment.

    “Oh, of course.” he said quickly after realizing that he still stood. He picked a chair not unlike a lounger that he had back at his place, settling himself down in it. He nodded his thanks to her as she handed him a Styrofoam cup full of coffee.

    In the brighter light Aaron could see her appearance more clearly. She, while being pretty in his opinion, seemed so average. Except for her eyes. They were the oddest shade of green he had ever seen and didn’t seem to match her black hair or her tanned complexion. Must be contacts. He thought to himself.

    She sat down lightly on the couch across from him, crossing her legs in a most lady-like manner. She made even her small movements look graceful. “So, first off, who’s this special for?”

    Aaron hesitated a moment, “Gerald Johnson.” he answered.
    The jeweler’s eyebrows went up at the mention of the name. “Eliminating the competition I see, Mr. Stanton.”

    He looked to the cup in his hand a bit troubled now. Had it been a few years ago, he could have never seen himself planning an old friend’s death . . . and so casually. He tried to beat back the uneasy churning in his stomach and continued to fix his coffee the way he liked it, almost missing the cup with the creamer in the process. He didn’t reply, mostly out of guilt of what he had stooped to, but it had to happen for his company to survive.

    “Sounds like a big job. No doubt there’ll be a lot of security; very difficult.”

    “Are you saying that you won’t do it?” Aaron questioned, some part of him hoping that she would say just that.

    “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” she replied, “It just might take a little more preparing than I’ve had to do in a while.”

    “So then what‘s the problem?” He didn’t like the way she seemed to be thinking so much on something. Her eyes clearly showed the fact, though didn’t reveal what her thoughts were exactly. He became even more uneasy as she reached into the drawer of the side table beside her, picking up a handgun after she pulled a wooden slab out to uncover it.

    He watched her take the weapon out and check it over after emptying it of ammunition. She inspected it as if he wasn’t even there, unconcerned with how he felt around it. “Is this really what you want? Because if it is, you may as well be pulling this trigger yourself.” she said, leveling him with her nearly cat-like gaze for a moment before returning to her handgun.

    He was taken aback by her sudden change in attitude. Why warn him of something like that? Didn’t she want the money? He swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t what I wanted. It is regrettable, but it has to happen.”

    “Did I ever mention that I hate working for big businessmen?”

    Aaron blinked, looking at her in confusion. “Excuse me? Are you going to take this job or not?”

    “That depends.” the assassin sighed.

    “On what?”

    “How much you‘re willing to pay. This is a difficult job; I need to know if it’s worth my time.” Her gaze finally rested back on him.

    “Pay? Well, I’ll pay you plenty.”

    “How much? I need a number.”

    Aaron didn’t hesitate on the price, he had been thinking on it for a while. He had managed all his figures and set aside as much as he could spare until he took over the competitor too. “One and a half million.” he stated. Surely that would be more than enough, or so he thought. The assassin’s next action surprised him.

    Lydia scoffed, “That’s it?”
    Who was this woman to scoff at that much money? That should have been more than enough! He began to open his mouth to question her further and tell her that this already stretched him to his limits, but before he could complete the first word she fished something out of her pocket.

    “Here, hold onto this for a second would you?” she said, tossing the small object to him.
    He caught it out of instinct. Curiously, he opened his hand to see what it was, his heart skipping a beat when he realized it. A small figurine of a black cat rested in his palm; a death sentence. The final click of the gun being loaded rang out loud in the silence. He looked up, his eyes going wide as his gaze was greeted with the daunting blackness of a gun barrel.

    “I’m sorry Mr. Stanton,” the assassin began, now standing in front of him. Her eyes on him had become hardened; the cold gaze of a killer. “but Mr. Johnson pays more.”