30“WHAT THE FUCK?” I scream, rushing to Mary Sue’s side, even though I already know there is nothing I can do to help her. “You said–”“I said I had explicit instructions not to kill you, Sarah,” Nick replies with a bored shrug, as if we were discussing something as mundane as the weather, not his murdering my only friend in the world. “I didn’t say anything about Mary Sue.”I raise my handgun to shoot, but Nick has already disappeared into the shadows. I spin around, searching every shadow for some sign of my foe.Suddenly, I feel Nick’s foot sharply connect with my back and I am pushed forward, my handgun clattering across the floor of the church as the wind is knocked out of me.As I try to regain my breath, Nick flips me onto my back and sits on my stomach, straddling my torso between his thighs, and further pushing what wind was left out of my struggling lungs.“I said it in Duluth, Sara, and I’ll say it again,” Nick breathes menacingly into my ear. “It’s too bad you aren’t
31I WAIT UNTILmidnight, and then make the drive out to Bucksnort, my plan fully formed, all the while praying I don’t cross the path of a speed trap and wind up in a radar-induced coma.I go to Duke’s apartment first, as his murder will be the simplest to take care of, since he lives alone. Using my trusted lock pick, I break into his apartment for the second time this week. I’m glad I was the one who bugged Duke’s apartment, because having a mental image of the apartment’s layout helps me navigate my way through it in the dark.I tiptoe down the hall to Duke’s bedroom, and enter to find him, snoring lightly on the bed. I cross the room and kneel by the bed. As I look at him sleeping so peacefully, I start to wonder if I will actually be able to go through with this.I put my knife down on the edge of the bed, and reach over to stroke his hair. Duke suddenly wakes with a start.“Jesus, Nanny!” he gasps. “You scared the shit out of me, what are you doing here?”“I’m sorry,”
1DO WE REALLYhave to go through this whole ‘introduce ourselves’ thing again? The only thing I hate more than introductions is repeating myself.Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll do this, though I have to say it would be easier for all of us if you just read my first book.So, my name is Sarah Killian and I am a Professional Serial Killer. DO NOT confuse me with an assassin. I hate those guys. Every. Last. One.Well, except for Mary Sue. She’s an exception. She’s an exception to a lot of things. I’ll get to herin a bit.In a tortoise shell, I work for a secret organization known as T.H.E.M.—the Trusted Hierarchy of Everyday Murderers. T.H.E.M. is clandestinely contracted by private individuals, corporations, or sometimes even the government to complete the dirty work of furtively killing off individuals or groups of people.I won’t bother covering the assassin side of things, because that’s pretty much just the boring, run-of-the-mill shit you’ve seen in every Hollywood movie.
2HAVE YOU EVERwoken up some morning with a burning, insatiable desire to go out and kill someone? No? Huh. Guess I’m weird, then.Anyway, this morning I wake up with such a craving. As usual, the craving has been preceded by a dream—well, a flashback to be exact. It’s always the same memory, and if you think I’m going to tell you anymore than that, you really doneed to go back and read the first book, because you clearly have not yet learned I am the kind of person who will break the fourth wall a couple times every other page, but you will have to torture me (and not the fun kind of torture) before I talk about personal, psycho, feelings shit.Thanks to my contract with T.H.E.M., I can’t exactly just go out and find myself an unsuspecting tourist on Hollywood Blvd. to lure back to a hotel room where I can de-spleen the poor bastard. However, Zeke is generally pretty flexible about finding us short projects whenever we need a quickie.Technically, one-off jobs (where w
3NORMALLY BEFORE Igo on an assignment, I would pay my mother a visit. It’s really just about the only time I visit her, which is one of the many reasons I deserve the award for Worst Daughter of All Time (though not the main reason, by a long shot). However, since this isn’t exactly going to be a long-term assignment, I decide to put-off the visit and go straight to T.H.E.M. headquarters.The headquarters are located in Chatsworth at the far-west-end of the San Fernando Valley, in a building the general public assumes to be a porn distribution warehouse. It takes me longer than it might to get to Chatsworth, due to the fact I have to avoid freeways thanks to my ‘condition.’ See, I have a somewhat rare illness—so rare none of the doctors I’ve seen about it have ever heard or seen anything like it before. In a nutshell, I’m allergic to radar. Technicallyspeaking, it’s not really an allergy—just a hypersensitivity. See, radar has this annoying tendency to send me into a min
4LAST STOP BEFORE heading out to meet our mark is the wardrobe department. If this were a long-term assignment, the wardrobe workers would have already set aside a full set of clothing, fake I.D.’s, etc. Since this is just a one-off job, however, the wardrobe assistant just leads us to a room with racks and racks of clothes, along the lines of a Ross Dress for Lessstore, and leaves us to our own devices.While many non-Vegas escort ladies often try to ‘stay under the radar’ when arriving at a John’s location and not be too obvious about their profession, Mary Sue and I have a different priority for our job. We want anyone who sees us to assume we are sex workers, and often the best way to put an idea into someone’s head is to give them exactly what they expect.To that end, I pick out the tightest, skimpiest skirt I can find on the rack, and Mary Sue chooses something I suppose is technically a dress, but is more like just a large belt. We each select a pair of stilettos that
5BARELY A FEW MINUTESlater, a knock comes at the door. Mary Sue and I both straighten ourselves up, and then I head to the door.“Gene?” I say in my sultriest voice as I crack open the door. Standing in the hall is a man in his late-forties to early-fifties. Thin, wiry frame complimented by wire-rimmed glasses. Hair gone completely grey. Not unhandsome, per se, but not Harrison Ford, either.“Yes—Jessa? May I come in?” he asks—even if Zeke hadn’t already told me as much, I can tell from the confidence in his voice that he is no stranger to the courtesan profession and this is most definitely not his first rodeo. It will, however, be his last.“Of course, sugar,” I respond, putting on a façade of seduction whilst I internally shrivel up in disgust.I undo the door latch, and step aside so he can enter. A look of confusion spreads across his face when he sees Mary Sue—Ming—sitting on the bed.“What’s going on?” He asks, his voice betraying his concerns of being conned.“She
6VERY RARELY DOESZeke grant an in-person audience, so the fact he accepted my request without question shows just how fucked up this whole Nick Jin situation is.Mary Sue and I return to headquarters and make our way through the underground labyrinth to an office all the way at the back of the building—Zeke’s office. I’ve barely raised my hand to knock on the door when I hear Zeke’s slithery voice call out, “Come in.” I don’t know how the hell he does that, since there aren’t any cameras in the hallway (at least none I’ve ever been able to pick out).Mary Sue and I enter the office and close the door behind us. You might think the office of the leader of a super secret organization of trained serial killers would look like your stereotypical Bond villain evil lair. Sinister gadgets ticking mechanically in the background. Vials of chemicals bubbling with nefarious purpose. Instruments of torture hanging from the walls like a high schooler’s swim meet trophies. A map of the wor