From: jgoodric@dante.nmsu.edu (GOODRICH)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo
Subject: Re: Whats this then?
Date: 14 Oct 92 20:40:15 GMT
Organization: New Mexico State University, Las Cruces, NM

In article <1992Oct12.135137.24850@unix.brighton.ac.uk> rt22@unix.brighton.ac.uk (thomassen) writes:
>Whats is this space used for?
>
>
>-- 
>Richard Thomassen ( rt22 )
>Univerity of Brighton
>
>I cant mail nobody - no network access.

                       Clean Hands 9-10-89
                Copyright 1989, by John Goodrich
               Characters portrayed in this story
                    may live down your street

   Kiv looked from the hot, grimy rooftop to the dark street four 
floors below.  He had a broad view tawdry old theater entrance 
below and the small length of road separating the two buildings; 
perfect for an assassination.  Kiv was a member of civilization's 
most time-honored profession; a hired killer.
   Kiv was not, in legal fact, his real name.  He was born Kirean 
Arthur Campell in Concord, New Hampshire, although no one 
remembered.  Dropping your legal name on the street was one of the 
many sure ways to become an organ donor, and Kiv liked his organs 
where they were- in him.  To his present employer his name was 
Kiv, to the next he might be Alexander Hamilton, Pia Zadora, or 
even Zoog the Ape-man.  It didn't matter what his name was, what 
did matter was his rep.  He was the fixer who chose the fourth 
booth to the left of the door at the Prophet's Doom club, the one 
who had iced fourteen people, including one Badboy.  Badboy had 
been a most dangerous man when alive.  Kiv had been desperate for 
money and taken what looked like a suicide job.  The resulting 
takedown had jumped him into a very profitable position, and Kiv 
liked being in demand.
   For the moment, Kiv was employed by a "nobody", to "remove" a 
particular person.  Kiv was good at this sort of easy hit, and it 
payed the rent.
   He was just taking the gun from the foam in the briefcase when 
he heared a foot scrape behind him.  In a single motion, he drew a 
polymer snapgun from his side and whirled, ready to kill.  He 
found a very startled young girl, maybe seventeen, staring at the 
black plastic pistol that was ready to make a hole in her face.
   Kiv spoke first, "Beat it, before I change my mind."
   She gulped and stood where she was, too shocked to move.  His 
mind raced.  If he shot her here, the noise would draw attention, 
and he was supposed to make the kill tonight.  If he let her go, 
she probably would have the Force on his back as soon as she could 
dial '911'.  He didn't like this at all.  He hoped she didn't have 
a boyfriend who would come bumbling up the stairs after her.  What 
was she doing there, and how had she gotten there without him 
hearing her?  He made a snap decision.
   "Uh, sorry about that," he spoke soothingly as he lowered his 
pistol, "didn't mean to startle you.  You scared me."  He hoped he 
knew suburban kids well enough...
   She hesitated for a moment then began to speak.  "I usually, 
DahD, come up here to be alone.  My name's Linda Drummond.  What 
are you doing here?"  Once the threat of the gun had disappeared, 
she was acting almost friendly, far too trusting to have any kind 
of street smarts.  Kiv grinned wolfishly inside.
   "Well Linda, I'm in a bind.  If I let you go, you'll probably 
go get the cops."
   Her eyes widened, "You mean you're doing something illegal?"  
She was completely scandalized by the thought.  "Oh my God, that's 
so... so cool!"  The second implication of what he'd said hadn't 
reached her brain yet.  There was a silence as it caught up.  
"Wait, does that mean I can stay and actually watch you?  That 
would be wicked!  Please, I won't make any noise, I won't be any 
bother at all.  Oh, please let me stay."
   Kiv thought for a minute.  Would it be worth it to let her 
stay?  She was on some effervescent high- which was probably why 
she was up here.  She could get underfoot, even in a simple 
operation like this.  She was obviously the brat of some exec 
downtown; but if he could pull this off...
   "Yeah, you can stay.  I could use a partner to do certain 
errands for me."  He didn't look at her, but rather occupied 
himself with assembling the rifle he had unpacked.  His gloved 
hands worked nearly by themselves, they had done this so many 
times.  He had pulled the trigger fourteen times and watched the 
person on the other end of the scope contort, streaming blood.  
Well, the Force probably had them all filed away in some 
microprocessor.  It was time to clean up the old file.
   Completely oblivious to his thoughts, Linda almost went out of 
her mind.  "You mean it, I can work for you?  That'd be great! 
Wait 'till I tell the girls at school, we'll be partners in crime!  
They'll all be green.  We'll make headlines..."
   Kiv shut out her fantasizing.  He was a little behind schedule 
and didn't want to rush the job.  He set up his escape rope on the 
side of the building that dropped into a dark alley.  Carefully, 
the rope was tied to a sturdy pipe that had been used as a TV 
aerial.  About the time he was checking the scope on a jar placed 
on the opposite end of the roof, Linda came out of her reverie and 
had an idea.
   "Hey, I don't even know your name.  How can we be partners in 
crime if I don't know your name?"
   "Kiv," was all he offered.
   "Keev?" she blinked, then went off again.  "That's slicin'!  
It'll look good in the vids, too.  Linda and Keev on the World's 
Wanted List.  But they'll never catch us, I'm a psychology 
student." she added proudly. "Well, not really.  I've been 
accepted to college, but I got that special knack with people, so 
I don't need it."  Whatever she'd taken was eating her brain out; 
she was making less sense.
   Kiv didn't want her to talk right now, it was about time for 
his target to be coming out of the theater.  "Shhh for a minute, 
Linda.  I gotta make this hit and I need you to be quiet, baby.  
Kiv's got to concentrate."
   She stifled her giggles.
   The hit was nearly automatic.  The performance had gotten out, 
and a crowd was leaving the theater.  Looking sharply, Kiv found 
what he was looking for.  He didn't offhand remember his target's 
name or profession, but she was wearing the distinctive dark suit, 
bodyguards, and flipped-up collar of a politico.  She was walking 
out of the door, laughing at something.  She turned her head to 
speak to a sunglassed bodyguard when the gun coughed and nudged 
Kiv's shoulder.  She spasmed and fell, blood and grey spattering 
across the man who was supposed to protect her. "Ooooh," breathed 
Linda, "That was pretty, Keev."   Even as she spoke, guards with 
guns were racing towards the structure the pair were perched on.
   Steeling his impulse to flee, Kiv calmly handed her the murder 
weapon.  "Now I want you to try it."   Linda held the rifle like a 
baby, then pointed it at the scattering crowd below.
   "Can I pull the trigger?"
   "Sure," was all he had time to say, as he reached his rappeling 
line on the other side of the roof.  The dead structure had no 
fire escape, so the guards wouldn't be expecting him to slide down 
the side of the structure.  He carefully dropped down the rope, 
touching the building twice.  Any shots she fired were muffled by 
the rifle's suppressor.  He didn't care anymore.  A smile crept 
across his face as he lit the cordite-impregnated rope.  There 
would be no evidence that anyone but Linda had been on the roof.  
The Force would grab anybody, as long as it was a breathing body, 
to hang the murder rap on; even a stoned, teenage brat.  Kiv 
almost whistled as he threw his gloves into a trash can and faded 
into the night.