Once that you have decided on a killing, first you make a stone of your heart, and as each minute brought Charles closer to the appointed hour he felt all emotion, sympathy, mercy and pity drain away from him as he prepared his mind, summoning up the courage from his hardened heart to complete the tasks at hand. Bengiman remained silent most of the time; which was unusual, as Mr. Bengiman Pruce loved the sound of his own voice, loving nothing more than telling his little anecdotes. Charles was glad for the silence as Bengiman drove him back down from the estate, just after mid-night, as they made their way south towards the city for the second time that day. However, earlier, when they drove off that afternoon, they had no idea why they had been summoned by Xation to the town villa, but now Charles and Bengiman had finally found out the reason, and could come up with no excuse to say no to Xation and his deadly demands. Bengiman did not have a good feeling about this whole scenario, but it was not he who would be doing the actual killing, it was only his assistance that was merely required. Charles would be the one with his deeds weighing upon his conscience for the rest of his life.
"Well at least the money will help." Bengiman said as they neared the city in his British-racing-green, Range-Rover.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Charles asked giving Bengiman a disdainful look.
"You know.., help ease the old conscience." he said with a cheerless expression.
Here Charles only laughed woefully saying "The only thing that could ever ease my conscience is a bullet in the head!" he smirked then added "Now don't get any ideas Mr.Pruce."
Bengiman gave Charles a serious look telling him "No, if anything happened to you, by my hands, Felina would have me trampled under the hooves of her horses and throw my body in the Rio Negro!" here he laughed.
"Fuck off! She would not!" Charles balked.
"Oh.., you have no idea Charlie.., remember, you saved her life, you are her 'Great American Hero'! Believe it or not." Bengiman said in all seriousness, for Felina had warned Bengiman along time ago not to harm, or hurt, Charles in any way. For well she knew of Bengiman's extreme jealousy and his terrible rants that could bring the walls and the roof down, so Felina made Bengiman give her his word, and you do not cross Felina, everyone knew to keep their promises to that lady.
"Shut up and drive. I need to concentrate, focus my mind." Charles reminded him as the two neared the residence of Mr. Jorge Reynosa. It was a small white stucco, mission style, two bedroom home on the outskirts of town, where, up until a few months ago, he had lived there for twenty years with his wife. Now she had up and abandoned him, due to his alcohol and verbal abuse. Old Jorge was going through a bitter divorce, his wife had gone, his kids were all grown, and now he spent all his days working, and nights alone, left only in the company of his 18 lb, fat, orange striped Tabby cat he called 'Ginger Bear'.
Now Ginger Bear was curled up in bed next to his human, who was peacefully sleeping off a bottle of Anejo, it was a little after 2:15 in the a.m. all was still in the house, the only sound coming from the clock on the mantle above the fireplace, softly, rhythmically, ticking off the seconds. Bengiman and Charles had parked down the quiet suburban street, going down the alley in the dark of night, the moon obscured by a thick blanket of clouds which had rolled in off the ocean. As a strong wind began to blow, the leaves rustled over head as the tree limbs creaked under the force of the breeze, the sound of dogs barking could be heard from far off in the distance. With out a word or a sound Bengiman unlatched the back gate and within three seconds they found themselves standing in Mr.Reynosa's little garden, which had all gone to seed, as Mr. Reynosa's wife had not only abandoned her husband, but the property as well.
"Here we go." Bengiman whispered in a voice as tense as wire. Bengiman stepped up to the sliding glass door of the darkened home, using a few of his small tools to pick the lock; which is how he had made his living in London many, many years ago, and this profession is what caused him all his trouble, stress and grief in his life. Now he had not needed to do this in a long time, only occasionally would he break into his girlfriend's house to snoop around or spy on her, but this was an entirely different matter, for when he left this residence there would, most defiantly, be a dead body left behind. "There you are." Bengiman said having no trouble at all getting open the locked door. Slowly he slid the glass door all the way open, before he stepped in Bengiman withdrew his pistol from his shoulder holster underneath his sport coat as Charles followed close behind.
They could hear the ticking of the clock, which matched the beating of their hearts, as they entered the dimly lit living room, were there was a complete mess of discarded newspapers, half empty take-away Styrofoam containers, dozens of pizza boxes, empty beer cans and broken bottles of tequila and vodka on the trash covered counters in the kitchen, were the smell was pungent, a stomach turning, disgusting mess. So strong was the odor emanating from the kitchen it was like a punch in the face, smelling of rotten milk, mold and vomit. Bengiman and Charles were stunned by the state and condition of the house. "This is no way to live." he said in a voice barely audible, then Charles realized this man would not be living like this for very much longer. As he looked around the stinking mess, Charles knew, and understood, this man had to be deeply, emotionally disturbed to resided in this 'pig stye', and here Charles almost felt like killing this man would be doing him a favor, put him out of his misery.
With this on his mind Charles clutched his doctors bag close to his chest as he and Bengiman slowly crept down the long dark corridor, the walls of which were covered with a massive array of family photographs from over the years, and now the pictures were old and faded, the frames covered in dust, some broken, looking as if the had been smashed by a hammer, a few were scattered along the carpet as if those moments in time never even mattered at all. It was a right depressing mess and Charles only wanted to hurry up and get this over with so he could get out of this sad, pathetic place, that once used to be a warm home filled with the light and love of a happy family. Charles and Bengiman could only wonder what had gone so terribly wrong in this man's life, but now was the time.., not to care.
Ginger Bear picked up it's head at the sight of the two humans standing in the doorway and he gave no warning to Jorge, who was flat on his back snoring up a storm. Bengiman and Charles stood there for a moment by the light coming from the bathroom; which was in a filthier condition than the rest of the house. The smell was over powering and there were dirty clothes, porn magazines, more empty bottles of beer and Anejo strewn about the floor and bed. Jorge was lost in a dream he would never remember, then he awoke to the taste of cold steel in his mouth, and when he opened his eyes up, he saw two unknown intruders standing over his bed. "Hello, Jorge." Bengiman said with a grave look as he shoved the barrel of his pistol in the frightened man's mouth. "Feel that? That's my .357 magnum Python, and if you, so much, as move an inch, I will pull this trigger." Bengiman smiled a strange gleeful, murderous look coming over his face to Jorge's shock and horror. He just barely noticed the other man, a handsome, blue eyed-devil, who was slowly rolling up the sleeve of his robe. Now Jorge laid perfectly still, not knowing who either of these men were, but, due to the acrimonious divorce, and all the abuse his wife had suffered by the words of his mouth and the deeds of his hands, Jorge instantly convinced himself this was all her doing. Sure his wife had sent these men here to get rid of him, so she could get his house and his money, of course this was not the truth, but old Jorge did not know that.
Charles knelt down beside the bed, looking for a nice fat vein to insert the hypodermic needle, as soon as he did a strange ringing came to his ears and Charles felt a strange pain underneath his right shoulder blade, his pulse quickened, he began to perspire and the room felt now like it was 100 degrees. Wiping the sweat off his forehead Charles told Jorge. "Mr. Reynosa.., I want you take in a deep breath, and count backwards from ten, then you will be feeling much better and you won't have to worry about anything, anymore, ever again. Okay?" Charles said softly, as if Jorge was just merely going to take a little nap. Charles motioned for Bengiman to remove the weapon from out of the doomed man's mouth.
"Okay." Jorge said in a voice as small as a little child "Just tell my wife.., Margarita" he said softly without hesitation, or protestation, saying "I have always loved her.., and I am so sorry for the way I treated her." Jorge said this all without fear or any fright in his voice, as if he were, bravely, welcoming this death and he actually seemed thankful.., this was something Charles would remember when it came his time to die.
"I will." Charles lied, as he began the injection of 40 units of succinylcholine {a powerful neuro-muscular blocker} "Now all you have to do is count back from ten.., then all your suffering will come to an end." Charles reassured his victim
Now Jorge did as he was instructed, half dead already form the alcohol and misery he had poisoned himself with, lo these many years, so the last seconds of Mr. Jorge Reynosa's life were counted down by him "ten, nine.., eight.., seve..."
Bengiman stepped out of the room as Charles monitored Jorge's vital signs, and after about three minutes his pulse rate quickly dropped, his breathing became very laboured and shallow, followed by complete respiratory paralysis. Time of death, 2:27 a.m.
"Come on, we have one more appointment to keep." Bengiman shouted from the hallway.
"Well at least the money will help." Bengiman said as they neared the city in his British-racing-green, Range-Rover.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Charles asked giving Bengiman a disdainful look.
"You know.., help ease the old conscience." he said with a cheerless expression.
Here Charles only laughed woefully saying "The only thing that could ever ease my conscience is a bullet in the head!" he smirked then added "Now don't get any ideas Mr.Pruce."
Bengiman gave Charles a serious look telling him "No, if anything happened to you, by my hands, Felina would have me trampled under the hooves of her horses and throw my body in the Rio Negro!" here he laughed.
"Fuck off! She would not!" Charles balked.
"Oh.., you have no idea Charlie.., remember, you saved her life, you are her 'Great American Hero'! Believe it or not." Bengiman said in all seriousness, for Felina had warned Bengiman along time ago not to harm, or hurt, Charles in any way. For well she knew of Bengiman's extreme jealousy and his terrible rants that could bring the walls and the roof down, so Felina made Bengiman give her his word, and you do not cross Felina, everyone knew to keep their promises to that lady.
"Shut up and drive. I need to concentrate, focus my mind." Charles reminded him as the two neared the residence of Mr. Jorge Reynosa. It was a small white stucco, mission style, two bedroom home on the outskirts of town, where, up until a few months ago, he had lived there for twenty years with his wife. Now she had up and abandoned him, due to his alcohol and verbal abuse. Old Jorge was going through a bitter divorce, his wife had gone, his kids were all grown, and now he spent all his days working, and nights alone, left only in the company of his 18 lb, fat, orange striped Tabby cat he called 'Ginger Bear'.
Now Ginger Bear was curled up in bed next to his human, who was peacefully sleeping off a bottle of Anejo, it was a little after 2:15 in the a.m. all was still in the house, the only sound coming from the clock on the mantle above the fireplace, softly, rhythmically, ticking off the seconds. Bengiman and Charles had parked down the quiet suburban street, going down the alley in the dark of night, the moon obscured by a thick blanket of clouds which had rolled in off the ocean. As a strong wind began to blow, the leaves rustled over head as the tree limbs creaked under the force of the breeze, the sound of dogs barking could be heard from far off in the distance. With out a word or a sound Bengiman unlatched the back gate and within three seconds they found themselves standing in Mr.Reynosa's little garden, which had all gone to seed, as Mr. Reynosa's wife had not only abandoned her husband, but the property as well.
"Here we go." Bengiman whispered in a voice as tense as wire. Bengiman stepped up to the sliding glass door of the darkened home, using a few of his small tools to pick the lock; which is how he had made his living in London many, many years ago, and this profession is what caused him all his trouble, stress and grief in his life. Now he had not needed to do this in a long time, only occasionally would he break into his girlfriend's house to snoop around or spy on her, but this was an entirely different matter, for when he left this residence there would, most defiantly, be a dead body left behind. "There you are." Bengiman said having no trouble at all getting open the locked door. Slowly he slid the glass door all the way open, before he stepped in Bengiman withdrew his pistol from his shoulder holster underneath his sport coat as Charles followed close behind.
They could hear the ticking of the clock, which matched the beating of their hearts, as they entered the dimly lit living room, were there was a complete mess of discarded newspapers, half empty take-away Styrofoam containers, dozens of pizza boxes, empty beer cans and broken bottles of tequila and vodka on the trash covered counters in the kitchen, were the smell was pungent, a stomach turning, disgusting mess. So strong was the odor emanating from the kitchen it was like a punch in the face, smelling of rotten milk, mold and vomit. Bengiman and Charles were stunned by the state and condition of the house. "This is no way to live." he said in a voice barely audible, then Charles realized this man would not be living like this for very much longer. As he looked around the stinking mess, Charles knew, and understood, this man had to be deeply, emotionally disturbed to resided in this 'pig stye', and here Charles almost felt like killing this man would be doing him a favor, put him out of his misery.
With this on his mind Charles clutched his doctors bag close to his chest as he and Bengiman slowly crept down the long dark corridor, the walls of which were covered with a massive array of family photographs from over the years, and now the pictures were old and faded, the frames covered in dust, some broken, looking as if the had been smashed by a hammer, a few were scattered along the carpet as if those moments in time never even mattered at all. It was a right depressing mess and Charles only wanted to hurry up and get this over with so he could get out of this sad, pathetic place, that once used to be a warm home filled with the light and love of a happy family. Charles and Bengiman could only wonder what had gone so terribly wrong in this man's life, but now was the time.., not to care.
Ginger Bear picked up it's head at the sight of the two humans standing in the doorway and he gave no warning to Jorge, who was flat on his back snoring up a storm. Bengiman and Charles stood there for a moment by the light coming from the bathroom; which was in a filthier condition than the rest of the house. The smell was over powering and there were dirty clothes, porn magazines, more empty bottles of beer and Anejo strewn about the floor and bed. Jorge was lost in a dream he would never remember, then he awoke to the taste of cold steel in his mouth, and when he opened his eyes up, he saw two unknown intruders standing over his bed. "Hello, Jorge." Bengiman said with a grave look as he shoved the barrel of his pistol in the frightened man's mouth. "Feel that? That's my .357 magnum Python, and if you, so much, as move an inch, I will pull this trigger." Bengiman smiled a strange gleeful, murderous look coming over his face to Jorge's shock and horror. He just barely noticed the other man, a handsome, blue eyed-devil, who was slowly rolling up the sleeve of his robe. Now Jorge laid perfectly still, not knowing who either of these men were, but, due to the acrimonious divorce, and all the abuse his wife had suffered by the words of his mouth and the deeds of his hands, Jorge instantly convinced himself this was all her doing. Sure his wife had sent these men here to get rid of him, so she could get his house and his money, of course this was not the truth, but old Jorge did not know that.
Charles knelt down beside the bed, looking for a nice fat vein to insert the hypodermic needle, as soon as he did a strange ringing came to his ears and Charles felt a strange pain underneath his right shoulder blade, his pulse quickened, he began to perspire and the room felt now like it was 100 degrees. Wiping the sweat off his forehead Charles told Jorge. "Mr. Reynosa.., I want you take in a deep breath, and count backwards from ten, then you will be feeling much better and you won't have to worry about anything, anymore, ever again. Okay?" Charles said softly, as if Jorge was just merely going to take a little nap. Charles motioned for Bengiman to remove the weapon from out of the doomed man's mouth.
"Okay." Jorge said in a voice as small as a little child "Just tell my wife.., Margarita" he said softly without hesitation, or protestation, saying "I have always loved her.., and I am so sorry for the way I treated her." Jorge said this all without fear or any fright in his voice, as if he were, bravely, welcoming this death and he actually seemed thankful.., this was something Charles would remember when it came his time to die.
"I will." Charles lied, as he began the injection of 40 units of succinylcholine {a powerful neuro-muscular blocker} "Now all you have to do is count back from ten.., then all your suffering will come to an end." Charles reassured his victim
Now Jorge did as he was instructed, half dead already form the alcohol and misery he had poisoned himself with, lo these many years, so the last seconds of Mr. Jorge Reynosa's life were counted down by him "ten, nine.., eight.., seve..."
Bengiman stepped out of the room as Charles monitored Jorge's vital signs, and after about three minutes his pulse rate quickly dropped, his breathing became very laboured and shallow, followed by complete respiratory paralysis. Time of death, 2:27 a.m.
"Come on, we have one more appointment to keep." Bengiman shouted from the hallway.
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