A Successful Day At Work

This is an assessment piece for my degree; I'd really appreciate as much constructive criticism as possible.
I wrote it all in one go late last night when inspiration struck, so I'm a little numb to seeing any errors.
Thanks and enjoy (hopefully).



A Successful Day At Work

The walls were bare, the plaster cracked in places, entire chunks missing in others showing the dusty red bricks beneath. The filthy windows rattled distressingly in their confines, the bottom halves covered in old yellowing newspaper, curling in the corners looking like mummified skin stretched across the panes. Light fought its way through the grime of the upper half of the windows, revealing thousands of dust motes as they swirled through the room, pushed by the draft from the fireplace. Only the chandelier haunting the corner on a plastic sheet and the intricate ceiling roses hint at what this old house once was; a place of polite laughter, a piano tinkling in the corner as ladies in corsets and fine gowns fluttered their lashes at eligible gentlemen in suits and shiny shoes, tidily dressed servants ghosting through the room refilling drinks and stocking the fire. Sometimes sitting in here quietly I imagine that I can hear the clinking of crystal glasses and girls singing forgotten ditties; then the others come in and it’s time to work.
***
I watch as Gwen sets up the laptop on an old crate, the technology looking alien against the splintered wood, wires veining out and lights blinking like cat’s eyes under headlights. I can hear Michael clattering about in the kitchen, boiling water on the old stove because the wiring in the kitchen has never worked properly, after a few hair-raising incidents we abandoned it as a lost cause.

It’s a strange life that I have now, I would never have imagined it turning out like this, I didn’t imagine living past sixteen though, so I guess that’s not all that odd. It’s a strange family I’ve fashioned for myself as well...or had fashioned for me really. I was the last one hired in, the newbie, I resisted their friendship for months. I’ve always been a loner, fiercely self-sufficient, stubborn they call it now, and I kind of agree, but at the time I didn’t want that to change, didn’t want to need other people for anything, I learnt a long time ago that trusting people was a weakness, and even now, seven years after joining the team, I sometimes look at them and get twinges, heat rushing up my spine, telling me that I’m being weak and naive. I’m learning though, I no longer isolate myself after these twinges, just sit in this once grand room and imagine pianos and champagne until someone brings me a cuppa and I can smile at them without worrying that they’ll deliver the punch that I’ve been cringing for.
***
I can hear Michael clinking around searching for clean mugs now, we may have to resort to plastic cups, the water got turned off last week and no one’s gotten around to hacking the water board yet, I should ask Gwen to do that now really. The doorbell rings, cutting off my trail of thought, wandering towards the door, trying to avoid the nails and the really splintery floorboard I pull at my jumper, coaxing it to cover a little more of me, there’s never been heating here, and there’s pigeons nesting in the chimney, needless to say, it’s bloody freezing. Squinting through the peep-hole (the newest thing on the door, installed to abate the raving paranoia of all who stay here) my shoulders relax and I undo the latches and slide back the bolt before heaving the door open, yanking against the sticky hinge and sheer weight of the old door, “Thanks for the help” I mutter sarcastically as I finally get it open. “You’re late. Gwen and Michael have been here ages, we’ve been waiting. You can make your own bloody tea now.” Liam pouts and turns the puppy eyes on me, accentuated by the mascara he’s wearing, he wears more makeup then I do, though that isn’t exactly difficult, before laughing and shoving his way past me. “Whatever sweetie, you know Michael will make one for me if I ask nicely.” I raise an eyebrow and he winks before grinning and walking into the kitchen.  As I turn back to Ellie and William, who have come in and wrestled the door closed again by now, they hold up bags that smell like Chinese “Peace offering” smiles William, I smirk and walk back to the front room with them following behind.
***
When we’re all gathered in the front room, sitting on the ratty old sofa or cross-legged on cushions on the floor, steaming plates of noodles and rice and chicken in sticky amber sauce balanced on our laps, Gwen starts clicking on the laptop. “We’ve got a new case, worth quite a lot, but pretty risky apparently.” I snort, when wasn’t our job risky? She frowns at me and turns back to the screen, “We’ve been asked to dispatch a certain business man, the information is printed out for you, but basically he’s not a very nice man and his wife wants him gone.” I catch my breath, a thousand scenarios running through my head, images of cuts and handprints bruised into arms and the scent of blood clogging the back of your throat, I breathe deeply and try to concentrate on what Gwen is saying. “...he’s been beating her for years but now he’s started on the daughter too and she won’t put up with it. She’s been siphoning money out of the joint account so she can pay for half of the job, she gets the rest in the will when he’s gone, then she can pay the rest. Frankly if we could afford it I’d offer to do the job pro-bono, but we can’t.” Gwen starts handing out the leaflets; I put my plate on the floor, pushing it away from me with my foot, the congealing orange mass no longer appealing, my stomach rolling in rebellion against what I’ve already eaten.

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur, plans being made, Ellie and William will take turns following him, working out his routine, Gwen and Michael will comprise possible tactics that could be used depending on the lifestyle he leads. Liam and I are always the odd ones out, not needed until the end. Liam tends to stay with Michael, he says that he likes to watch him work, I suspect, working or not Liam just likes to watch him. I make my way into the back room, my room, the beams upstairs aren’t stable enough for us to use any of the bedrooms up there, it doesn’t really matter though, I’m the only one who lives here permanently. I lie on my lumpy old bed and stare at the water stained ceiling, I hate wife beaters, hate them with every fibre of my being. Memories rise unbidden, standing by my bedroom door at 12, fear darkening the corners of my vision and holding my breath to hear through the rushing in my ears and the pounding of my heart, is he coming upstairs? Smelling acidic breath as it burns over my skin at 13, bruising hands clutching at my arms, creaking my bones. Feeling my teeth split my lip at 15, blood trailing down my chin and across his fist. At 16, clammy hands under the covers, waking me, a dirty hand smelling of sweat and nicotine keeping me silent. I roll onto my side and hug my knees, pulling the comforting warmth of the duvet over me, holding in the tears behind harsh breaths and banishing the memories. I look at the old fireplace and imagine little girls saying their prayers at bed time and blowing out candles.
***
A week later and the plan is set. He goes to the same bar every night after work, drinks whisky on the rocks and picks a girl before driving her, in his sickeningly expensive car, to a secluded car park. How romantic. This is where I come in. Usually I just track them and pick an opportune moment, don’t get me wrong, we’re not always killing the mark, sometimes we just present them with photos, proof of cheating, or paperwork, proof of inventive tax returns. In this case I couldn’t do that, he was never alone except for when he was in the car with a woman. Well, that woman was just going to have to be me.
***
Liam was in his element, he had me in a dress, my hair done up in some ridiculous arrangement of curls solidified by enough hairspray to tear an entire new hole in the o-zone layer, my face slathered in makeup, making my eyes feel heavy and my mouth feel as though I was dribbling. He was holding a pair of shoes, preposterous shoes, shoes that I would undoubtedly break my neck in, “No, absolutely not, how am I supposed to do my job if I can’t even walk, no, no Liam!” He raised an eyebrow letting me know exactly what he thought of my whinging. “If you have such trouble walking then you’ll simply have to hold on to his arm like the simpering bimbo you’re supposed to be portraying.”
***
I’m wearing the shoes, I feel ridiculous, I feel as though I’m going to fall, I’m sure that I must look like a new born giraffe trying to make sense of the spindly legs God graced them with. I totter to the bathroom and smear crimson lipstick across my mouth, layering it deeper over the scar on my upper lip, trying to disguise it somewhat. “Showtime” I whisper to myself. Stalking out of the bathroom I locate my target and lean against the bar a strategic couple of stools away, pressing my arms close to by body, angling towards him, honey trap indeed. It works, his eyes slide towards me, I can feel them like slime on my skin. I order a glass of wine from the bar tender, it fits the role, hopefully I won’t have to drink too much before he tries to get his claws into me. As I reach into the tiny little bag Liam equipped me with to get some money a hand comes over my shoulder bearing a fifty, overkill much? I think to myself whilst slowly turning, my dress hitching against him he’s so close. I look up through my heavy lashes and smile in what I hope is an alluring way, he’s staring at me, dark, leering eyes, I hide my disgust by lowering my eyes and giggling “Thank you” I purr quietly, glancing up to see his reaction, he smirks knowingly, I clench my fist around my bag. The barman offers him his change “Keep it.” He says looking at me, I try hard to look impressed and put my hand on his arm, dragging my nails across it slightly, his smirk gets wider and he steps back to look me up and down, scumbag. His eyes drag their way back to my face, “Fancy a ride gorgeous?”  He raises his eyebrows; I giggle again and put my hand back on his arm “Sure hunk”, inwardly I cringe, ‘hunk’ may have been too much, he just grins and leads me to the door, obviously not.
***
In his car I slide my bag between myself and the door, easing my gun to the top, without being too obvious; luckily he seems to be fully occupied with driving and sliding his grubby bloody hand up my thigh, I shiver in disgust, he takes it the wrong way and smiles “Not long now darlin’” Not long indeed, I slide my fingers along the silencer of my gun, it’s attached properly.

We pull into the car park and we take our seatbelts off, we turn towards one another, his hand sliding across my breasts and down to my stomach, I slide my hand behind his neck, look into his eyes and pull the trigger. The back of his head explodes onto the window, bone tapping against it like hail. I wipe at my face with my clean hand and shove him off of me, sliding out of the car; William and Michael are there to clear up. I get into a car with Ellie and Liam, who tuts over the state of the dress, what did he expect? She starts the engine and we head home. A successful day at work.