Freeman's Front Porch Musings

Home of an aspiring writer seeking to improve his craft.

The Rainy Ripper…new writing..unedited and incomplete…

Sometimes, the problem with being for hire is that unethical people hire you with no intention of holding up their end. Of course, when you are a killer for hire, betrayal is expected.

There is nothing that can be done about it. Nothing can stop it, not even time. Blankenship shook his head in disgust. ‘Friends come and friends go, but human nature is forever.’

Blankenship swung by his apartment and swapped out his clothes. His apartment was representative of the man. The apartment was sparingly furnished, it was devoid of any trace of his personality.

If Blankenship had a personality, it would come as a surprise to all who knew him. His transactions were as simple as his life and apartment. The mantra he lived by was, ‘hire me, pay me.’

He discarded his clothes into the laundry basket. His neighbor, Shanna, would come in and tidy up. Blankenship walked out to the bus stop and caught a bus to downtown.  He needed a few things from his storage unit.

Midtown Storage was an unmanned storage facility in a nice neighborhood.  The rich did not live here, but they had no problem with visiting (as long as they were home before dark.)  Outside the storage unit was a shack.  Inside sat the main security guard, Timmy.  He waved at Blankenship. 

“Afternoon, sir. How’s it going?”

“Alright,” Blankenship said as he walked by. 

He made his way to the first row and unlocked his unit.  A lone chest was shoved in the back corner. The old tactical chest had been to various warzones throughout its lifetime.  Blankenship unlocked it and took out a stack of money. He shoved it into his backpack, along with a Sig Sauer 9mm.  The last thing he put in was five magazines.

“This betrayal is personal, so my revenge.  She will rue the day she crossed me.”

Ilhan Abbas sipped her cup of tea and smiled. ‘So far everything has gone according to plan.’  Her husband, Khalid, would never know of her steps to secure his power. She was okay with him not knowing.

Her past would never threaten her again. She would not have to live in fear of Khalid finding out the things that kept her awake at night. Only one matter needed to be handled.  “Blankenship. He was the right man for many jobs, but he has outlived his usefulness.”

After Blankenship got his bags together, he had one more stop to make.  His mother, Beth or Big B as her friends knew her, stored his vehicle. Of course, it was not in his name. Beth signed her name to the title, bought the license plate for it, and kept insurance on it. It was a 1987 Chrysler New Yorker, a classic. 

Big B was sitting on the porch when he got off the bus. She watched as he crossed the street, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Hey, baby. You just getting in or heading out,” she asked. He leaned over and pecked his mom on the cheek. 

“Just getting in and heading back out.”

“Good Lord, son. You have to slow down.”

“Yeah. Listen momma, you need to get out of town. Don’t fight me on this. Take the package I gave you and get on the bus. I don’t need to know where you are.  Don’t even take a bag. Get up and go to the bus stop.”

‘The package,’ was 150,000 dollars. He gave it to her as a ‘do-over’ in case his work ever snaked back to bite him. Blankenship kissed his mom goodbye, and she pulled him into a fierce hug.

“You find ‘em, and you kill ‘em. Then you come back home. You understand me?”

“I understand, momma.”

“I’ll see you down the river, son. Be safe.”

“Safe don’t get it done, momma.”

Big B turned and took one last look at her son. Then, she turned and walked to the bus stop. ‘If you don’t come home, I understand. Make sure you end those deceitful fools. The world is too small to deal with those kinds of people.”

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