Black (Part 2)

Davis awakened to the irritating sound of a car alarm. His eyes snapped open and his hand reached underneath his pillow. When he realized that it was only a car alarm, he removed his hand from under his pillow and checked the time: 3:30 p.m. Davis drug himself out of bed, showered, and shaved. He dressed himself in an expensive black Italian suit and white dress shirt with a black leather tie. He put a shoulder holster on over his shirt, reached under his pillow and retrieved his Glock 23 and holstered it. He slid his jacket on and left his condo to do a quick check of the target residence.

As he arrived, he noticed the neighboring houses. The target was a two-story house overlooking the bay. The rest of the houses were similar in design. Most multiple stories, but there were a few at a single story. A tall fence cut off the front yard from the back, and it followed the property line. Davis couldn't see the back of the fence, but was sure that it ended as the beach started. Davis noted the position of the front door, the distance from the street, and the position of each and every window on the front of the house. Davis exited the car and walked towards the garage. No cars were visible in the driveway nor in the garage. Davis opened the fence gate nearest to the garage and went around back. As he had already guessed, the fence ended at the beach. The people liked their privacy, but didn't want an obstruction to their view or an obstacle to get to the beach. Davis walked onto the back deck and saw an old rowboat laid upside down on it. He picked it up slightly and looked under it. He saw oars, nets, and fishing poles.

As Davis lowered the boat, he heard an odd metallic scraping sound. So, he lifted the boat and looked again. This time, he noticed a small silver briefcase. He grabbed the case and opened it. In it, he found several passports, a small Walther P22, and several stacks of different currency. A typical case used by spies in movies. Davis found his interest peaked by this case. He counted the bills, planning on retrieving the case once he had finished tonight. After counting, he picked up the passports to get an idea of who he was going to kill. Normally, Davis didn't go to any lengths to know much about the people he has a contract for, but since the opportunity presented itself, he took it. Davis opened up the passport. The name of the man was Jackson Greyson. This man was 38, 6'3", and 235 pounds. Davis glanced at the man's picture. He bore a striking resemblance to the man in the photograph, but the other man had mid-length black hair, where as Davis' was short and blond. Davis thought it was odd, but didn't have much time left to think about it. A car door closed loudly in the driveway. The front door opened with a soft jingling of keys that reached Davis' ears. A muffled female voice called out. "Jackson?" The name was a question. The woman was clearly confused about something and Davis allowed himself a peak. He noticed his car was across the street. Davis chided himself silently for parking so close.

He closed the briefcase silently and slipped it back under the boat. Davis slipped out silently behind the house into the neighboring yard and exited through their fence. He walked quickly to his car and opened the door. He heard the door of the target house open and heard the name "Jackson" called loudly. He didn't allow himself to look, though she continued to shot the name trying to get Davis' attention. After he closed the door, he started the engine and put it in drive. As he left, he allowed himself a peak through the tinted glass at the woman in the yard. She had a look of confusion and hurt on her face. The question going through Davis' mind wasn't about the woman's identity. He assumed it was this Jackson's wife. What Davis was confused about was why was she confusing her husband for him? She should know her husband better than that. A detail from the man's passport that Davis overlooked the first time sprang to the front of his mind. Davis' belief in coincidence was as strong a piece of twine holding a hundred pounds, but now he was left wondering. Could that even be possible....

Black (Part 1)

Davis looked at the clock on the screen. It read 4:57 a.m. That figures, he thought, it never lands directly on the hour when I check. It really was of no consequence, but Davis' brain doesn't let the little details slip by. He is a queer sort of man. The walls of his room are black and covered with white sketches scribbled messily over the walls. For a man of intense order and meticulousness, he has little care for his walls. They are merely for his expression and a place for his ideas to pop out. He returns his focus to one sketch in particular that has bothered him for some time.

It is dated 2005, but he doesn't remember drawing it, and he remembers everything he draws. Even more peculiar, this sketch was drawn neatly where all the others were not. Again, this fact was nothing of consequence, just an irritating incongruence that stuck out in Davis' head like a beacon on a clear night. No matter, Davis thought. I'll deal with it later.

Davis shifted his attention to his current rough sketch. His computer monitor gave the only light for him to draw by. It was how he liked to draw. The darkness helped him think, and his white drawings allowed for him to give some reprieve to his moody thoughts. His current sketch showed a man struggling up a mountain. Blood dripped from his fingers where he had needed to claw his way up an incline. Trees lined a narrow path and the sun had the look of a face laughing at the man's plight. Davis named this sketch Inevitability since it represented, to him, the inevitable failure of all men to succeed in their most desperate desire.

Davis located an empty spot on his wall and grabbed his white marker and set to work on filling the space with his new drawing. Right as he uncapped the marker, a chime came from his computer speakers. He walked back to his computer and read the message he had been sent: "Local job. Three. Fifteen minutes, tops. $100,000. Y or N?"

Davis hit reply, typed a "Y" and hit send. A few seconds later, he received a second message. "3000 Rochester at 0130 tomorrow." Davis deleted both messages and returned to his drawing. It only took him twenty minutes to finish the drawing. Afterwards, he recapped the pen, undressed, and climbed into bed. When his head hit the pillow, he went to sleep. His last thought was a run through the information and possible scenarios of his assignment the next night.