Bound Together By String- cris's Challenge

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Kurt is an assassin hired to kill people by private investors. When he's given the challenge of killing his best friend, will he do it?

Submitted: January 17, 2009

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Submitted: January 17, 2009

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“Kurt Johnson?” a figure asked, stepping in the room. I wheeled around in my office chair, coming face to face with the speaker. Not like I needed to see who it was to identify him. Everybody in the city could recognize him by voice alone. He was William Prescott, one of the most successful investors in the city. He was currently trying to run for Mayor, filling any available space with mayoral advertising for his campaigns. That's why his voice was so recognizable. “A Vote for Prescott” commercial ran every half hour on every major broadcasting station.

I looked up at the man. His hair was a silver gray. He had a small pointy nose, and big brown eyes. A serious stare was etched into them.

“How may I help you, Mr. Prescott? I'm assuming your here to try and convince me to vote for you. You probably have some amazing plans set up for the city, about how you're going to reduce crime, and stop gang violence, and really, that's great and all, but I'm afraid that I've already promised my vote to someone else” I responded, as politely as possible. I had no choice but to be polite. Prescott was a rather powerful figure in the investment world. I didn't need my job title to tell me that. Even normal citizens knew that Prescott was a corrupt man. It was rumored that he was affiliated to the mob. My sources confirmed this, but the general public remained unaware of this. Prescott was only able to secure his powerful position because of his rather unreliable connections.

“I'm not here for that, Johnson” he told me bitterly.

“Oh? Well, is it something I am able to help you with? Perhaps I could-” I started to say, but I was immediately cut off.

“Oh, cut the crap Johnson. We both know why I'm here!” he lashed out, slamming down his fist on my desk.

He was right. I was fully aware of his reasons for entering my office. He had wanted me to kill someone. I was a hired assassin. My main clients were investors, who ordered me to kill their competitors. And I was paid handsomely for it. Last month, I had killed a man, and I received a .Bugatti Veyron as payment. And it handles like a dream,

“So tell me, who's the unfortunate investor who's life is going to end at my hand?” I asked, dropping formalities. There was little use in beating around the bush. The faster he told me who my target was, the faster that sleazeball Prescott would get out of my office.

“His name is Schunard. Andrew Schunard.” I froze. Andrew Schunard was my best friend.

He's a leading investor in the music industry. It also doesn't help that he's in the running for mayor. So this way I could kill two birds with one stone,” he explained. I didn't need his explanation to know that. And the only reason why Andrew was even running for mayor was because of me. I gave him the idea. I knew that Andrew was a great man, that he could do greater thing than simple investing. I gave him the suggestion because I believed that he could do a great job as mayor. And because of my suggestion, Andrew was now on the top of Prescott's “Must Kill” list. And he was going to hire me to do it.

Prescott continued his instructions, which I ignored. I knew I had to make Andrew's death look like an accident, and I knew where to find Andrew. All I needed to do was not leave a trail. Prescott was telling me things I had heard a thousand times over.

He left a couple hundred thousand bills on my desk, and walked out of the office. Now the question remained. Would I be able to kill my best friend?

I thought about the entire ramifications of it all on the way to Andrew's condo. I knew how I was going to do it. Drug him, and make it look like an overdose. As long as there as no witnesses, and no fingerprints, I would be fine. But then I thought of the consequences. How would this affect the music business? What about Andrew's girlfriend? Would I even be able to kill him?

I had reached the front door. I slowly knocked. Andrew was quick to answer. “Hey!” he exclaimed.

“Hi” I answered. I tried to hide any nervousness may had been showing, Which was odd, because I never got nervous before I killed anyone. I supposed it was the fact that I was close to Andrew that made me so nervous.

“Come in, come in” he said, inviting me inside. I followed him in. I had seen his apartment a million times before. It was always a mess. Andrew was a packrat, and he had a tendency to save anything that wouldn't spoil. Bottle caps, pen tops, a broken lamp, old light bulbs, candles, old books, records, the list went on. He still even had that old vinyl couch from when we had shared our dirst apartment over 30 years ago.

“Do you throw anything out?” I asked him. I had always asked him that. It was sort of our little joke. And every time I asked him, he would say:

“No. This stuff is still usable.” A grin formed on his face.

Half the stuff was NOT usable. I began looking through his condo for various objects. It was sort of a hobby of mine. I would look through his things, seeing if there was anything that was actually usable.. I sifted through piles and piles of old worthless junk.

And then I laid eyes on it. It was a piece of string. A battered, old, frayed piece of string. It had several knots in it, and it was caked with dust.

“A string?” I asked, trying not to chuckle. 'You saved a piece of string?”

He got up from his seat in the armchair and grabbed the string from me. “It's not just any string! It has sentimental value!” he said defensively.

“Let me guess. This was the lucky string that you had when Mary Cardin took your virginity?” I joked. He was not amused.

“No. This was the string from a kite. Our first kite. Remember? You were so convinced that it wasn't going to fly, and you wanted to play soldiers instead. But I convinced you to try again. Eventually, that damn kite flew” Andrew said, reminiscing. I remembered that day. We were 5, and my dad took me and Andrew to the park, and Andrew had brought along that damn red kite from hell.

“And why, did you save the string?” I questioned. This had to be good.

“Well, because I want to remember the good times. And when you're five, nothing is cooler than getting your first kite up in the air.” he said, smiling. I supposed he had a point.

“So, speaking of which, where is that kite?” I questioned. If he had the string, surely the kite couldn't be too far away.

“My dad threw it out years ago. But I had managed to salvage the string.” he answered non-chalantly.

“So why not throw out the string?” I asked. “The sentimental value is all in your memory. You don't need the string to remind you of that” I told him in a matter-of-factly tone.

“There's more to it than just memories. It makes me wonder. Why do you think we met? I think it's because it was destined to be. The kite brought us together. We were neighbors growing up, but we never really talked until that one day your dad took us to that park. The only reason why we even talked was because we were trying to get that kite in the air. In essence, this string is the tie that binds us.” he said. Wow. He really thought about this throughly. How metaphorical. He should become a writer.

“Andrew. I think there's something that you should know.” I said. I began to explain to him everything that had happened over the course of the last few hours. Based on his theory, we were destined to meet. I wasn't going to be destined to kill him. He already knew of my profession, and although he didn't necessarily agree with what I did, I don't think he ever suspected that he would be my target.

“So... so you're going to do it then...?” he asked, eying me nervously. Fear was written all of his face.

“No” I answered. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“What about Prescott?” Andrew asked.

“What about him? He's a political figure. He can't hurt you, that's why he tried to hire me. All you need to do is win the election. Then, with you as Mayor, he can't touch you.” I told him.

A day later, Prescott noticed that I had failed in killing Andrew, and took away my salary. He threatened me, that I “would never work in this town again”. Prescott was pissed that I had failed to kill Andrew, but as the election date drew closer, he realized that he couldn't do anything to Andrew, lest he be put under suspicion.

The election day came without a hitch, and everyone casted their votes, myself included. Andrew had won in a landslide. He was totally safe. Nobody would lay a finger on the mayor. Life in the city improved much with Andrew in office. Crime had been reduced, and corrupt private investors like Prescott had been put behind bars, for his mob affiliation. My business was slowed, as there was a lot less hits being put on people due to Andrew's leadership. I still had the occasional job, but I spent most of my time relaxing and playing the back nine with a few friends. Andrew occasionally came down to sink a few holes as well.

At times, I think back to that day in Andrew's loft. And I think he was right. I think we were destined to meet. Because if he had not met me, he wouldn't be running as mayor. And had I not met him, God knows where I would be. I supposed he was right. We were bound together by fate, by a little kite string.


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