Thread: [Houdini & Tainted] Stockholm Syndrome.

Carlo was a man who honest, law abiding types might describe as a street tough. He wouldn't characterize himself that way, however. He liked to think of himself as a worldly, sophisticated, intelligent guy who was on his way up in the world. It was just that the world he wanted to ascend in wasn't the same one that most would consider the good and virtuous path. As a teenager, he was taken by the nefarious characters who attached themselves to the powerful organized crime syndicate which exerted much influence under the surface in certain parts of the city. Its members were so confident, so strong. They always seemed to have a pretty girl on each arm, and wads of money to toss around. That was the life, it seemed to Carlo. So, from a young age, he did what he could to befriend them, to gain their trust. Now, at twenty six years of age, he found himself smack in the middle of their circle of trust. He wasn't an important man within the organization, but he felt important when outsiders recognized who he associated with and feared him. He had sufficient money on hand to live a nice life, in a nice apartment, with nice clothes. He slept late most of the time, stayed up late, and went out and partied when he didn't have work. The only catch was that he had to do anything his employers asked of him. And that meant anything . So, on this particular night, he found himself on assignment in the middle of the night. He was attired nicely, in black dress pants, nice shoes, and a designer button up shirt, along with an imported belt. The shirt almost covered his neck tattoo, but the very top of the large cross with an intricate design around it protruded above the collar. His very dark hair was neatly slicked back like usual, and he walked with an air of confidence, although he carried some anxiety inside him, when reflecting on the task at hand. The subject was a known call-girl of twenty-five years. She'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time the night before. One of Carlo's superiors was supposed to lead a hit against a repeat offender who'd intruded in their turf yet again, despite previous warnings. It was supposed to take place in a dark, abandoned side street, but one Desiree D'Aether had stumbled upon the happenings. The wheels of street justice moved fast, and Carlo had received the order to 'take care of her less than an hour after she was identified by someone on the inside, a police officer who secretly hid a mountain of gambling debts. So now, bathed in the moonlight, he was driving the mile and a half through the empty streets from his apartment to the subject's house. When he got there, he parked two blocks away and stole up to her back door, where he easily picked the lock and quietly slipped inside. He felt at the back of his pants, where his weapon was hidden, and padded up to her open bedroom door. There, he paused in the doorway, his shadow creeping up on the bed, and held his breath as he watched the pretty young woman's chest heave up and down slowly under the sheets. The main things he noticed was that her lips were plump and full, and her skin was nice and unblemished, the top of her chest visible as it and the white straps of her tank up protruded from under the sheets. She was so pretty and peaceful that he decided to leave her sleep for a while. Returning to the kitchen, he pulled up a chair in the dark, helped himself to a glass of juice from her fridge, and sat down in the shadows, waiting for her to stir.