Thread: The Purge [Nevermore x Fruit]

Money was the second most powerful thing in the world. Clark had learned that long ago. Money had encouraged his father to pedal drugs, his mother to whore herself out, and the government to trod on the poor and less well-off. For the right price you could circumvent the law, attain the impossible, and twist politicians to your will. But it was only the second most powerful thing. Mr. Scholtz . The man on the other end of the phone conversation spoke with a slow, pronunciated drawl. Clark took a moment with his lighter before bothering with a response, and the other man had enough respect to give him the luxury, Yes? I am calling on behalf of our mutual employer. It is in regards to your last contract with us. There is an - issue. He scowled around his cigarette, And what is that, exactly? The delay. You were tardy. That in itself was not the issue. But it was noticed. The young man grit his teeth as he glared out from his back deck into his backyard. He said nothing. He never slipped a word of what he knew to anybody as far as we can tell. But his grandmother, Mrs. Harper, has been making quite a bit of noise lately. Apparently enough to attract the press. Nothing has come of it yet but we can't afford anything turning up because of a nosy reporter asking the wrong sorts of questions. Even an old woman is more credible with the papers behind her. He drew a breath, You know my rate. Press connections are double. The reporter is tertiary. A woman by the name of Chloe Kern. If she presents herself as a threat, you are cleared to do as you see fit. We want the grandmother dead, and the apartment torched. Leave no evidence of Mr. Harper's research or notes. Assuming you are on time, we are willing to double your fee. An - incentive - for a good performance. Clark didn't say anything. He simply hung up. Money was the second most powerful thing in the world. A man who would kill for it was the first. It had been four months since that phone call. Four months memorizing an address, learning faces, and studying as much about his potential target as he could. He'd thoroughly cased Mrs. Harper's apartment complex, and used forged papers and a uniform to convince the landlord to happily divulge many details about the building's safety measures. For instance they had at one point hired a security guard to escort non-tenants from the building an hour prior to the sanctioned time. But it was the funniest thing that after he'd been handed a thick enough wad of cash that the job grew too taxing and stressful and he quit not two days before it was set to happen. That meant Clark was left wholly alone as he lingered by the apartment's back door. He smoked a cigarette and lazily glanced at the inside of his wrist where a dull watch face rested, ticking down the minutes and hours. Three hours before the Purge would officially commence. Six o'clock rolled by and not very long after it came seven. When that fateful hour struck, Clark heard the heavy thud of the lock on the door next to him and speakers began to pipe out the usual announcement. He didn't pay it any mind as he double-checked the pistol tucked under his shoulder and pushed off from the wall. He started for the stairs. When he reached the landing of the fifth floor, he turned down the hall, and quietly stepped past one door after the other. He settled his eyes on his target. Room 515. The German assassin drew his pistol from its holster and came to stand beside the door. A single finger was pressed over the peephole and he lightly rapped on the door with the barrel of the pistol. F Clark Scholtz