Beast Hunt (5)
“Close your eyes, pull the trigger, turn around, open them, and walk away. That's it.”
The words were the same, but the reactions differed. The woman I was manipulating fidgeted with the hand gripping the pistol. The barrel, hanging low, trembled—not from fear, but from a deeper conflict and tension. She was utterly absorbed in the choice between killing and not killing.
Her mouth dry, she licked her lips.
“Promising to keep the secret... that wouldn't be enough, would it?”
A cross necklace dangled from Karen's neck as she asked.
A woman who sells her body, yet clings to a faith that forbids adultery.
Murder is the first taboo, adultery the second. But even shallow faith is faith, and belief has always been distant from logic.
I shook my head.
“I swear to God, I truly don't want to harm you. But I can't blindly trust you either. My people could lose their lives because of you.”
God. Swear. Truly. My people’s lives. Words to stir the heart.
“I'll help you.”
With my gloved hand, I gently closed Karen's eyelids. Her eyebrows twitched, but she obediently shut her eyes as instructed. I gripped her shoulders and slowly turned her toward the target, applying just enough force for her to follow hesitantly. I adjusted her stance, overlaid my hands on hers, and slowly raised the pistol. The barrel rose languidly, aligning with the target's center.
I released her hands and stepped back.
“That's it. When you're ready, pull the trigger.”
I avoided saying “shoot.” A small word choice could alter the outcome.
The skinhead target breathed slowly beneath his hood. The truth serum coursing through his veins had stripped him of his grip on reality.
Watching the shooter's breathing and tension closely, I called her name coldly at the decisive moment.
“Karen.”
She flinched! The pistol's slide snapped back and forth with a clack!
A reflexive trigger pull. Karen barely felt the recoil. She was clutching a low-recoil gun meant for toys with all her strength.
The ejected casing spun across the floor with a ting-ting-ting. A faint smell of gunpowder lingered at my nostrils. The bullet slammed into his solar plexus. His plain black clothes soaked with glistening fluid.
Not an instant kill. Startled by the target's grotesque noises, Karen dropped the gun.
I retrieved it and turned her shoulders away.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Trembling as if she might shatter, Karen opened her eyes. I cupped my hands over her ears, blocking the fading breaths—sometimes sharp whistles, sometimes bloody gurgles.
At the same time, I locked eyes with her, fixing her gaze on me.
Her heart's racing wildly.
Natural and good. In sympathetic arousal, people easily misread their emotions. Especially when thought is paralyzed white.
In her memory, I needed to remain not the villain, but the ideal vigilante. For at least a month or so.
Once the target's life was surely ended, I finally withdrew my hands.
Still with a racing pulse, Karen breathed through her mouth, staring blankly into my eyes.
“It's over. Thank you for doing the hard part.”
“Y-yes...”
“You've made your streets a little safer.”
“Yes...”
The footage of her nodding eagerly while armed would suffice for the devil's edit—no more material needed.
“Best to compose yourself before leaving. Let's step inside.”
I led Karen to the office. Giving my men time to clean the body.
The office overlooked the entire warehouse from the second floor—a private space for the gang lieutenant. A Confederate flag hung on the wall. I creaked open the window, venting the stale air. The oppressive smell of lust fled, replaced by cool freshness.
I sat Karen on the bed's edge, lit the rusty oil heater, and pulled up a chair to face her. A guard stood by the open door.
After an awkward silence, as her attention turned to the discomfort, I spoke.
“Any procedures when you head back?”
“...Pardon?”
“Like contacting your workplace. They wouldn't let you wander alone, right?”
Late night in this city's back alleys—sending a woman out alone was madness. Even men weren't safe.
“Normally, Frazier was supposed to drive me tomorrow. I paid upfront.”
“Frazier?”
“The guy outside...”
“Ah.”
Apparently the name of the lieutenant she'd tumbled with here. Makes sense for a regular. Pimps wouldn't bother sending a car for one girl.
“Even better. My men will escort you.”
“Th-that's...”
“No need to refuse.”
Karen, about to protest, clamped her mouth shut. Obvious what she'd swallowed, but I pretended ignorance and changed the subject.
“Anyway, the pimp already took the money?”
“Y-yes. Tips are all mine, as per the deal.”
“He has some business ethics, then.”
“Yes, um, I suppose.”
A hesitant reply this time. In the sex trade, not touching cleavage cash was basic decency. Even if kept, they could be utter bastards elsewhere. Many didn't even manage that.
I stood and approached the lone safe in the corner. Inside: drug bricks, a sloppily ledgered notebook, rubber-banded cash stacks, a bundle of stolen jewelry.
Mechanical dial.
Easy to crack. Golden Age's Eye lets me align parts visually. Rare locks defy even x-ray, but street gangs wouldn't splurge on those.
Eyes on the dial, I asked Karen,
“Miss Williams. Ever seen magic?”
“Magic...?”
“Yes. Magic.”
She panicked. Unaware a mage was using magic right before her.
Click. Gears meshed.
I stepped aside and swung the door open.
“To you, this must be magic.”
“...”
Stunned by the open safe, Karen soon forgot it upon seeing the contents.
“Take all the valuables here.”
“Pardon?”
Frozen, then wide-eyed.
“Really... all of it...?”
I nodded affirmatively.
“My God!”
A shriek escaped as she covered her mouth with both hands, stumbling toward the safe. Flushed face, shaky steps. Lingering guilt and fear evaporated.
Forty stacks of hundreds held that power.
Staring mesmerized at the money, Karen finally turned to me.
“All this... to me? I didn't mishear?”
More gasp than question. I nodded patiently again.
“You heard right.”
“Really okay?”
“Fine by me. I don't do this for money.”
“My God.”
Awe dawned in her eyes gazing at me. Money's magic, as potent as spells. To her, enthralled, the killing was already past.
It might resurface later, but diluted by time. Just the trigger feel and odd noises.
Cheap at $400K for silence. Not my money anyway.
Moderate guilt feeds self-justification. Now, whenever it stirred, she'd convince herself: He deserved to die. Or the $400K wouldn't justify.
What persuasion stronger than self-persuasion?
“Thank you.”
Overwhelmed, Karen clasped hands, voice breaking.
“Truly, thank you! Thank you!”
“...Call it a token of my goodwill.”
The stacks went into a worn bag from the coat rack—faint white powder inside.
Then I let her pick jewelry. Better than dumping handfuls into her purse. She tried rings, bracelets, even flashing shy smiles at me.
Closer, softer flattery than before. So simple.
I checked the time. 47 minutes.
Turning an ordinary life into a killer, diluting guilt—in 47 minutes. Passing grade.
Even Milgram's shock experiments didn't factor guilt.
That was somewhat fun.
The line between herbivore and carnivore blurs. Grazers eat meat when chance arises—like cows crunching live chicks.
A cow's innocence ignores the chick's dying screams in its mouth.
That boundary will blur further now.
Time to wrap her up.
“Before you go, remember one thing.”
“Yes? What?”
“Taxes.”
“Ah.”
“Spend recklessly, and the IRS will come knocking. You know the hassle.”
Common in her line. $400K? They'd send armed agents with warrants—suspecting the tip of the iceberg.
“Wh-what do I do?”
Her face darkened.
“Give me your address. I'll mail you a casino chip soon.”
“Casino chip?”
“Yes. Take it to Diamond Casino in Tucson, Arizona. Native-run. Show it at the desk—they'll ask your business or lead to a lounge. Tell them you have money to launder.”
“Wow...”
“Fees won't be bad. The chip has value.”
Not just anyone with a chip gets service—could be a snitch. I'd pre-notify.
Like coins for Daegu's GI vendor.
Her heart pounded—not fear, but thrill of the underworld.
“Don't forget: Diamond Casino, Tucson, Arizona.”
“Yes!”
“Your address?”
“Diamond Casino, Tucson!”
“Your address.”
“Oh.”
Distracted, she spilled it without resistance. Escorts would verify.
I led the chanting woman outside.
“Pack up. Time to send you off.”
As we left the office, her gaze flicked to the empty chair beyond the iron stairs. No trace of death, not a drop of blood.
I directed the men on her destination. Midway out with two escorts, Karen turned back wistfully.
“Um...!”
“What?”
“C-can I see you again, sir?”
...What for?
I slowly shook my head.
“For your sake, better we never meet again.”
Wrapped in “for your sake” to the end.
“I thought so.”
“Take care.”
“Today... thank you so much! May the Lord bless you!”
Genuine farewell, dripping sincerity. Objectively absurd.
I met her eyes, nodded lightly.
In the now-quiet warehouse, I faced the beasts in human skin.
“Kept you waiting, pigs.”