If the Suit fits

(Content warning: Swearing, Physical violence and implied drug and alcohol use )

I distinctly remember dreaming about riches and hot ladies when I woke up surrounded only by my poor life decisions and a hangover that could kill a goat. Looking around at my blurry surroundings with bleary eyes, I could make out the vague outline of a man in a five thousand dollar suit with his hands duct-taped together and his legs tied to a dining chair. After a moment of staring, I realized the poor bastard in the suit was me and that I was looking in a full-length mirror.

My Name Is Sean, and I'm nobody special, just a freelance thief with a drinking problem that currently was my undoing here. I wish I could say this is the first time I woke up after a binge in a place I didn't recognize, but I would be lying. 

After blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I gave my surroundings a quick scan, racks of clothing, all suits, men's clothing, shoes, belts, etcetera. I was in a walk-in closet of some kind, and a nice one. It was big enough to be a studio apartment for one and filled with expensive outfits. Clearly, this place was not my apartment; it was neither a dump nor should it be condemned as my apartment should be. So two questions formed themselves quickly in my mind. Where the hell am I, and how did I get here?

I took a long moment to think, what was I doing last night? I was in my favorite bar, distinctly not in an expensive suit but in my regular outfit, Jeans, a black tee-shirt, and my prized leather jacket. I was sitting at the bar having a nice night, drowning my problems in rum. After that, It got hazy. I remember a man joining me and offering me free drinks, he had mentioned something about celebrating and... Damn, I can't remember a single thing after the first free drink that didn't bode well. 

Assuming that guy had something to do with it, why did he do so? Usually, a guy wakes up after a night of binge drinking with strangers, and he's in a tub of ice with his kidneys gone, not waking up in a rich guy's walk-in closet. Right now, though, I needed to think of getting out, I was still kidnapped, or at least I thought I was? It didn't matter who or why if I was stuck tied down in this closet! Scanning my surroundings, I see something sharp looking out of the corner of my eye and quickly crane my neck to see what it is. A door hook on the only door to the room, I could work with that... I could get the duct tape off with that! After hopping till I faced the door, so far, so good; It was the first hop-forward that screwed me.

"No, no, no!" I hissed as the chair tipped forward, and I landed face-first on the carpeted floor. Well, this couldn't possibly get any worse right? I began inching towards the door like a centipede, wrinkling whoever's suit I was wearing, when the door opened, and a man stepped into the room. We locked eyes immediately as he stood in the doorway, and neither of us moved for a solid minute before he gave me a smile that made my skin crawl. 

"Good, your awake." He chirped in a cheerful Russian accent "And here I thought I would have to slap you awake." Mentally I cursed my crap luck and looked at my captor, and well, to say the least, I couldn't recognize him, not even from the guy I met last night, which most likely drugged me or at least got me super drunk. "Now, I would like you to be good and tell me why you broke into my house last night." Wait what?! Did I drunkenly break into someone's house. 

"Now hold on, I-i's sure there's a reason I ended up here... see, I was really drunk, and I tend to do stupid things when drunk." I quickly explained as he gave me a coy smug smile. I hated arrogant pricks, but there was nothing I could do at the moment to really wipe that smile from his mouth. Mentally I was still collecting my thoughts, and turning this questioning around on him would at least buy me time for an excuse. "Now, how about this, Why am I here in your closet instead of a jail cell!" I accused only to get the back of his hand across my face for the effort. "Ow..." 

"Don't talk back to me; I do the asking here; you just tell me what I want to know!" He demanded in this chillingly cheery voice. What did I do to deserve this creep? Okay, admittedly, I am a thief and a carjacker for a living, but I always tried to be clean about it! This guy seemed to be taking pleasure in this. "Do you even know me? Do you know where you are?" He asked.

"No, not really, but I know where I want to be. In a five-star-" This response only prompted a punch in the gut. "-Oof... Resort." I squeaked out, finishing my sarcastic retort. I could never stop my mouth from running when it had a smartass response. "Okay, okay, let me try and explain myself." I quickly said after I recovered from my gut punch. "I'm a freelance thief for hire and not the brightest when drunk. So I assume I broke into your house and tried to rob you while drunk and passed out." I said, finishing my quick explanation. "Sorry bout that, so if you want, I will forget you assaulted me and tied me up in your closet, and you forget my little drunken B&E, and we both go our separate ways, huh?" There was a silence as he looked at me like I just took a dump on his lawn and pissed in his prize rose bushes. He had this dumbfounded look on his face before; after a long moment, he just threw his head back and laughed aloud. He laughed for a moment as he slowly got closer, and with a swift motion, he gave me a swift kick in the chest that sent me and the chair backward onto the carpeted floor with a pained grunt. "So, I guess that's a no," I mumbled out between raspy breaths as I tried to regain the wind that was just knocked out of me.

"Do you think I'm a Fucking moron!? A simpleton? " He asked as he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a Glock with a professional-looking silencer. He aimed it right at me, clicking the safety off. It was the kind of gun that James Bond or your friendly neighborhood hitman might use to keep a kill quiet.

"Whoa, whoa whoa!" I rasped out; nothing sobers you up like a gun aimed at your head. Hold up, no need to jump straight to shoot me!"

"Then tell me! what kind of thief brings a silenced pistol to rob a guy?!" He demanded, his eyes bugged out, his smile flickering to something between fury and insanity. "You had this pistol in your hand when I found you asleep on my bed! Like fucking Goldilocks and the three bears!" Now it was clear why this guy was angry enough to keep me tied in his closet. What wasn't clear was why he was a nutjob nor why I apparently had someone else's suit, and from the look of that gun, someone else's gun too. This day just keeps getting better and better.

"I have never-" I quickly started to say before he cut me off.

"Don't even finish that sentence!" He said before he reached over and felt into the breast pocket of the suit jacket, taking a small piece of paper out. He unfolded it and showed me its contents. "This is all the evidence I need to prove you are here to kill me."

I furrowed my brow as I looked the paper over; it was a note in something that was distinctly not my handwriting. The message on it made my blood turn cold as I read it over. It mentioned target information, including a name, an address, and instructions for what to do after the hit was complete. 

Dominik Rurik was the target's name, and anyone who ran in criminal circles recognized that name. A native Russian who immigrated directly from the motherland with his own brand of crime. Vengeful and Ruthless with an unpredictable temper that makes others avoid him, he has various investments in arm's dealing, drug pushing, and apparently a lovely little dog racing track down by Atlanta. 

The instructions warned the note's recipient to get out of town after the hit. Rurik's gang is just as ready for revenge as their boss, and from the sounds, they went slow when they carried it out. Any hitman who takes a hit like this had to have a death wish. Blowing out a sigh, I only really had one option. Saying I wasn't the hitman would only get me tortured and shot But just outright saying I was the hitman would also be equally harmful.

"Uhh... if it makes you feel better, It's nothing personal?" I asked with a little nervous smile. "I was uhh really drunk when I took the job." I quickly stammered out. To my shock, this seemed to settle the unhinged Russian who grabbed me by the collar and pulled me and the chair I was taped to back upright. 

"Now we're getting somewhere; you have no idea how long it's been since I personally tortured anyone. It makes me nostalgic for my early days as an enforcer." He mused almost wistfully, the silenced gun in his hand still pointed dangerously close to my face, making me shy away from it more.  "Is it bad that I almost wished you struggled more so I could beat you a little?"

"That's something to talk to a therapist about, buddy," I answered honestly, only to regret my words.

"What do you take me for? Insane?" He asked to which the answer was yes, but that might get me shot, so I bit my tongue. "Also, I am not your buddy, nor am I a friend or even your acquaintance." 

"Okay, sorry, now if you put the gun away from my face, we can civilly talk about this." 

"Why should I? I have you, the hitman tied up, your gun in my hand, and my men outside would be happy to chop you into pieces for my pet piranha from brazil." Dominik answered with that sadistic grin. Of course, he had a piranha, the pitbull of the fish world. I had no answer for him, though; he had me pretty dead to rights. Whoever might be framing me did a good enough job to make me the perfect patsy for an attempted hit. I looked down the barrel as I did the only thing I could think up that wouldn't end with me dead in this chair. 

"I can be useful," I told him quickly. " You want someone killed? I will do it for free." I stated with all the confidence of an a-list actor. He stood there for a long moment, gun aimed at my head as he contemplated my offer quietly before finally lifting his arm and pointing the gun towards the ceiling. 

"I do like free services..." He said as he turned away to pace in front of me. like he was deciding on what milk brand to get at the store and not deciding whether I lived or died. "Plus, I have great respect for wetwork; I used to do hits before making it big." Rurik mused, his thick accent assaulting my ears so more. "I hate tools going to waste, and a free hit is a nice offer, and even if you fail or run, I can just hunt you down and kill you later." He shrugged a bit. "Okay, you convinced me, you go find the guy who hired you and kill him and all his loved ones, and we call it good, yes?" It was a hard bargain, but it wasn't a bullet in my head, so I had no objections.

"Of course! the client, all his loved ones, even his dog." I said vigorously, nodding my head till I felt like a bobblehead. 

"What? His dog? No no! What am I a monster? poor little doggie." Rurik mused before he pointed the gun back at me. "Leave the dog alive but kill whoever ordered my hit and their family, and we will be even." He said. "But remember if you cross me or fail me..." He trailed off before smiling evilly and firing the gun past my head as I closed my eyes. I heard shattering glass as multiple shots from the firearm whizzed past me into the mirror behind me until finally, I felt something get thrown to my feet with a soft thunk. 

Opening a single eye, I looked up at the crazed Russian with a fearful look. "Do I need to repeat my warning?" He asked thoughtfully, inciting a shake of my head no. "Good." And with that final word, he produced a knife and expertly slit the duct tape on my wrists. "Now, my guard will escort you out in a moment... he will have all your things. Yes, we searched your pockets and found your wallet, and we also know your name and your living location, so don't try and do something stupid now." He said rapidly, all in a second, as he dropped the knife at my feet, turned, and walked towards the door. "I must go; my fish needs his evening meal." the door closed behind him, and I was left with a knife and an empty gun at my feet.

"What a way to start my day," I muttered as I leaned down and grabbed the knife. It took me a while with how thickly my legs were taped to the chair, but I was freed. Standing slowly stretched my arms and legs; they had been stiff from presumably sitting in the same chair for hours before waking up. I scooped up the gun from the floor and tucked the knife in the suit's breast pocket for later. Finally free from the chair, I gave my suit a good look using the mirror shards that were big enough.

I wasn't left with too much evidence here, a suit, a gun, a pair of shades, and a note that made me look like a hitman. A quick search of my pockets revealed nothing but a pair of designer shades; hmm, whoever framed him had class; that much was apparent. It was a good suit, even if it was a bit snug for me and too tight in the crotch.

I mused over my problem here as I walked out of Rurik's walk-in closet and right into a big bear of a man. He was a big brute, and I could tell by his rough hands and a grim scowl that he broke legs for a living. He shoved an object into my free hand that turned out to be my wallet. He turned to gesture to the door.

"Follow." was all he said in a single commanding tone, and who was I to argue with a man who could break me like an egg? I followed him out of what must have been the primary bedroom into a neo-modernist nightmare of a house. It was decorated with modern art sculptures and weapon replicas on the walls. It practically had violently eccentric written on the walls. That assumption was only reinforced as we passed through the rest of the house, a large fish tank with one giant piranha in it with something in between the fake plants that looked suspiciously like human bone fragments. It was like he had a membership to the evil villain's decor shop.

It was a lovely day outside; all things considered, I technically had to hunt down the guy who framed me as a hitman, but that was a story for another time. Once we reached the front door, I was rudely shoved outside, and the door slammed behind me, but I could care less; I was just happy to still have my life. There was still the problem of finding the mystery suit's owner, but that was a problem for another time. Popping the shades onto my face, I felt myself smile.

"Ahh, I'll think of something," I mumbled as I walked off the property. A block down the way was my junker of a jeep. It was such a POS that I could leave it deep in the heart of gang territory, and it wouldn't be stolen.

Starting the jeep, I sped away, hoping to never see that mad Russian again. Now all he had to do was find the owner of this suit; he still had my leather jacket.