The Yacht

The Yacht

The sound of the waves crashing annoyingly woke her from her perfect dream for the upteenth time. Of all the wonderful things about living on a yacht, she hated the sound of waves crashing, because that meant she was docked. She would rather be out on the open ocean, away from the people, the city, the bloodshed, wifi. There was nothing like the silence of the open ocean. She didn't know she loved not being able to see land in any direction for miles until she took her baby out for the first time. The euphoria she felt with the wind whipping through her hair felt as good as… well, sex…. But this she enjoyed from start to finish every time the engine started.

It always takes her a few minutes to gather her whereabouts (waking up in strange places so often will do that to you), and she had to chuckle when she realized that the yacht she was on, wasn't even hers… well, not technically, anyways. She had commandeered it from a job she finished recently. She had considered the yacht as payment for the fuckery that had taken place during said job. She traveled quite extensively for work, so she enjoyed taking small keepsakes as trophies for another job well done. Even though she didn't really like what she did for a living, it paid for yachts, and that was kind of like buying happiness. 

Despite all these euphoric feelings, the thrill of the job, the crazy characters she always met, she still had a dirty job to do to earn such rewards. She was good at what she did, she seemed to have a niche for it. It was dirty work but someone had to do it… or so they keep saying. She had a unique talent for disconnecting from the job, it was like she was a different person. She could plan it down to the last viable detail, execute the mark and leave, all without a trace. It paid well, it was fun, most times, and she got to play with cool toys; what else could she want? 

For starters, she wanted the water to quiet down so she could get a few more winks before the mystery man dropped by for his daily visit. After awhile he became the only person she felt comfortable dropping her guard around. She was never sure who could be lurking around a dark corner ready to end her lustrous career during the duration of each job, but the yacht was the safe zone… home base, if you will and she came to long for him to march up the gangway holding that familiar yellow folder. She hated how he walked in an egotistical fashion like he's somebody important. She also hated how he wore that stupid overcoat and oversized hat even in the middle of summer. 

She was pretty sure each day was a different guy, but they all had the same build and walk and none of them ever said word—  despite her best efforts to get them to say anything. He would hand her the letter with the details of the next job and saunter off back the way he came. She thought about following him a few times, tired once, almost got a 9mm slug embedded in her skull and thought better of ever doing it again. 

Day after day, her lust for knowledge of who he was, where we went, where we came from, hell… even a name would suffice… gnawed at her brain like a puppy trying to suck the last bit of morsale out of a bone. She wasn’t sleeping very well and her day job was suffering because of it. So much so that she almost died a few times, but even that couldn’t draw her attention from the man in the overcoat. Before, during and after each job, all she wanted to do was lay in wait for the man in the coat to drop by with his letter. Finally, she decided to step up her game and get some info out of this guy. 

One day, she refused to take the letter. Without a word from either party, she understood that it was either take the letter or take a bullet. He was trying to take all the fun out of it, but she hoped he wasn’t ready for her imagination; something she took pride in when it came to her job. She spent more and more time planning her next attack with a few back up plans for if— when— the others failed. In her line of work, she had to have back up plans. Her motto became “give me back up plans or give me death”. She didn’t know anything about her opponent except for what she could see, and not knowing if it was the same person every time made it that much harder to plan. 

He dodged, parried, strafed, and side stepped every plan she threw at him and she was no closer to finding some answers. After a few attempts, she was beginning to feel like she was stuck in a rerun of her favorite cartoon and her anger was about to bubble over the surface. She could hear a voice inside her head yelling at her to not get emotional. Emotions were instant death in her field and most of the time she was able to keep it in check… there was just something different about this guy. It was time to stop playing games… She was one of the most respected people in her field and this nobody was making her look like a damn fool. 

It was her last attempt, she couldn’t take it anymore and tt was either this or death. Flashbacks of being shot blazed into her mind. She shivered at the thought and briefly let the voice in her head try to talk her out of it. The pain she had felt that day was unmatched by anything else she had ever encountered, but the thoughts of not knowing anything about this man  had convinced her that this was completely worth it. 

The day was supposed to look like any other day to him, but she was ready this time— it was game time. Her heart began to pound in her head as he made his stupid walk down the stupid gangway to give her that stupid letter. Her heart thumped even louder as he stood in front of her and handed her the letter, which she took without making a sound or tearing her eyes away from him. She tried to force a smile and was worried he suspecting something, but it was hard to tell under that hat that covered his face almost completely. He turned and walked away just like he always did, and he was almost to the shore when she opened the letter and let out the loudest, blood curdling scream anyone had ever heard. 

It was a good thing she was alone on this particular marina. She couldn’t believe that her time had finally come. She wasn’t expecting to see her name on that letter and it spun her completely out of control. The rage she know felt pushed all the plans out of her head, and before she could let the little voice in to talk her down, she grabbed her pistol and set off after the man in the coat. 

Cursing him the entire way, she fantasized about his dead bullet filled, lifeless body as it slowly sank to the bottom of the ocean; he would be dead and she would be happy. The desire to be free of this obsession broke her into a run and she disappeared into the forest beyond the dock. 

There was a pathway that cut through the forest and led to a parking lot. Sprinting, she caught up to him quickly, but now she was out of breath. She found a tree big enough to hide behind and waited to see what car he chose. Finally having a minute to come up with some sort of make-shift plan, her little voice spoke up, trying to convince her that something smells fishy, but the rage behind her eyes was driving her body right now and she needed answers more than anything in the world. She watched the man pulled out his keys, the beeping of opened doors echoed through the forest, and he headed for the car. 

As silently as she had been taught for her career, she snuck behind the man just as he made it to the car and reached for the handle. Before she could raise the pistol or even breath, the man spoke, startling her into a frozen stance, inches away from blowing his brains out and ending this whole nightmare. His voice had stopped her cold in her tracks, she knew this voice, she had heard it on a job… but it couldn’t be...

It didn’t matter now, as the man turned around slowly and they faced each other in dead silence. Huffing and puffing, trying to catch her breath, she couldn’t pull the trigger. Finally, he broke the silence and asked that now that she had the drop on him, again, what was she to do. 

All the questions she ever wanted answered flew through her mind so fast it was hard to catch one and ask it. She was still so furious about the letter and now that she knew who the man was, she couldn’t end it. She screamed at him that all she wanted was death and an end to this nightmare forever. She did it once, she could do it again… That’s what she told him as she leveled the pistol to his head, not noticing he didn’t look the least bit concerned, pulled the hammer back and squeezed the trigger. 

Only… the gun didn’t go off like she was so used to hearing. A sharp pain had hit her hand the moment she tried to fire and that pain was now creeping up her arm at an alarming rate. Panic lit up her face as she couldn’t move any of her muscles. She looked up at the man as he took off his hat revealing the familiar, sadistic smile she had shot down years previously 

She tried to call out, but her throat was closing fast. Everything was going dark, her muscles couldn’t hold her up anymore and she hit the ground with a sickening thud. 

Still alive, barely able to breath and tears, embarrassment and disappointment stuck to her face, he hand, bleeding from small holes all over her palm, she watched as the man picked the gun of the ground and showed her the handle. Small spikes were scattered around the handle and a light green substance oozed out of the tips of them mixing with her blood. He didn’t have to say anything, she knew what it was, and couldn’t believe she was so foolish to let a thing like that happen. 

The man laughed, patted her on the head in mock congratulations and pulled out another letter. As he read the name and mission details, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. They had known about her one flaw, her need and desire for obsession, and used it to lure her out on her own accord. She had been blinded by her emotion and now she lay in a puddle of her own failure and greed. He finished the letter, laid it on the ground in front of her so she could see, chuckled again and got in his stupid car and left. 

Over and over again, she read the letter and the words “steal my boat, I steal your life” emblazoned on her eyelids. Just before darkness completely consumed her, staring at a letter marking her own pathetic demise, her last thoughts were of how she still didn’t know his real name.