Dear Diary... Dear friend? Is that how you start a conversation, or rather monolog with yourself?  I’m new to this, and probably crappy as well. But I just need to write it all down.  I had this urge to write it all down for such a long time now, because so much crazy and intense stuff has happened, but I never got round to it. It was just way too much to take in. And I never found the peace and quiet.  But the New Year is here now and, well, New Year means new start, right? And just like other girls, I need to write down my feelings. So I guess I’m gonna tell it all to this invisible friend... or my older self, who knows...

 Anyway, it all started this autumn, well, wait, summer really, when I got the job at Mister N.’s club. That was when my life became exciting, for sure. And that was where my career started, really.  Sounds macabre in a way, I know, but hey, we all have to make a living right? And why not do what you are good at? Well, I’m merely quoting Mister N. here. 

Seriously, before the club, things were pretty awful. I never realised how shitty my life was before that. I really get that now. I was miserable! I mean, I was doomed to do what all the other people had to do; Work!  In pointless jobs!  Yeah, jobs and me seriously did not work out. From when I was around 20 years old  I was just working all over the place, like shops, restaurants, a few offices, call centres... trying to be a good employee, but hey I really wasn’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to show up every day and be a slave. Everything within me was screaming. I was angry, I was forcing myself to smile. It just wasn’t in my nature. I could not take orders, or hang around all day for, basically, next to zero cash. And the way those asshole managers treated me. I mean, they knew they were giving me a hard time. They just didn’t like me; it’s like they were jealous... or even scared of me.  I so hated those manager bitches. I just wanted to hit them in the face. Yeah maybe they sensed that, haha. They had this so called ‘authority’ over me and it really wasn’t right.  I mean, a neurotic little poodle does not tell a Doberman what to do right? It’s not natural. I knew I was too good for this shit. That nagging feeling when you know you are supposed to do something different, something better... and something much more important. I just didn’t know yet what that was . So every time,  I was usually let go after a few months, or sometimes I just left, simply didn’t go back there anymore... I didn’t even bother to call to say I wasn’t coming in anymore.  

And mum and dad, fuck they were complaining their asses off, like every time.  “What on earth did you do wrong this time, Ruthy Anne...??!”  Yes, that is my name unfortunately, now isn’t that plain ghastly, how can a mother call her daughter ’Ruthy Anne’? How could she do this to me? ‘Honour her grandmother Ruth’ she said. Really, the woman has no taste! But ok, that is a different story.  So mum and dad were always on my back; whining and complaining... like, how I now was twenty something years old, blah, blah,blah and still I have no proper education with a good career in sight. They just didn’t get it. Work places did not like my company. Not my fault, is it? “You have to be more of a team-player” mum said.  She kept saying that something must be wrong with my attitude or approach to my colleagues . Wtf! I got so angry, I couldn’t stand her anymore, or anyone really. I just wanted to punch someone! Literally, and it was such a life-safer that I was training at the local boxing club. I loved it there. And I could release all my build up frustration. So needed that.  Funny, how I didn’t quite see the connection then...

Anyway, enough of my ranting about bygone shit. I needed to get out of this place quickly, so at some point I signed on welfare... medical reasons I said, like depression, which kinda was true and shortly after, I moved to the main city. Nahah... I can’t tell you which one, naturally, let’s just call it the city with cute trams....  But soon after I got here, I was pushed into seeking casual jobs, again. Yet, nobody would have me, not even a stupid cleaning company. And thus, I was left jobless, penniless, all alone, miserable, on welfare, contained in a council bedsit, living by society’s norm of a low-life. Twenty five, was this my life??? No freakin’ way!!!

It wasn’t just the lack of money that drove me to desperation, oh no. I had firmly made up my mind to never work in an enslaving cattle job again. I knew I was better than that, or rather, “badder”. I needed to be free, make my own living.  I knew somewhere I was meant to shine.

It was a lovely, warm, sweet-smelling early summer’s day, which I would have enjoyed very much if only I had some cash to do something with.  When it hit me. Pretty, but outcast, girls like me, where do they work? Ah yes, of course! At the Eastern boulevard night clubs, right? So I started to walk down there, standing curiously about in front of neon-lit night clubs, porn shops, strip clubs  and cinemas, walking up and down the streets, constantly hit on by sleazy fat ole guys, which was really annoying. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to go inside anywhere to ask for a job. I was too nervous. But the red lights fascinated me for sure. I knew I belonged in here somewhere.  Then one afternoon, when I sat in a cafe bar after yet another failed attempt to ask for a job, I met Cassandra for the first time. Cassandra is a busty, silver bleached blonde, who seriously looks like one of those blow-up dolls in the sex shops. And, damn, she had those cool tight black pants and stilettos I wanted so badly, but so could not afford to buy. She sat down by the bar and had a late lunch, her red lipstick all smeared around her chin but she didn’t seem to care. Confidence, right there.  Yeah, Cass was gorgeous that day, I loved her at once. I smiled at her. Luckily she smiled back and I started to chat with her for a bit. Turns out she works at that club down by the end of the road. A fancy, purple flashing place, which I had been looking at several times, because it kinda intrigued me. It was a strip club, but turned into this hip night club with DJs every Saturday night...  And she said that she could take me there to speak to the bar manager. Cass then said to me, ‘since I was so pretty, sexy and cool looking,  I no doubt would get hired at the spot!’ Wow. I got so excited! And then two days later, when she had a shift, I went down there to speak with this guy Rob, and, to cut a long story short; I got a job. Hostess slash dancer... well, you know. I was so happy!!!

I loved the job. And the job loved me! It was so thrilling being there. Turns out I’m really good at sexy dancing, and I’m totally awesome at entertaining customers, if you know what I mean. Turning on my charm... a real charm yes. No fake politeness and stupid smiles at whiny, frustrated grannies. And of course, I was damn good at taking care of myself if any guy didn’t behave. In fact, I was allowed to punch customers if they grabbed my ass and then have them kicked out of the club! Now how cool is that? Talk about customer service as it should be, right? Haha. And I got paid! Real good! The money was finally rolling in and really, money is everything. I was in paradise. Finally, I could go shopping without feeling terrified, without turning every penny, without feeling guilty for eating out, and I even could buy awesome clothes, do my nails at the salon, hey, I could dine at restaurants... I was alive again. Just seeing all that cash in my lap each night gave me a rush to my head. I just wanted to work more and more shifts. Finally it was all worth it.

But hey, ok, this is where it all starts really. Because it is here where I met Mister N. Now, Mister N.  owns the place, the whole building actually, plus the hidden casino in the back of the house. His office is at the top floor and occasionally, he would pop into the club, chatting with Rob about business, having a quick drink and so worth. Whenever I passed him by I gave him a cute smile. He was the boss after all. But after a few times, I stopped by his table and we had this jolly little chitchat. He asked me if I liked working at the club, and I told him I loved it. He soon came down more often just to say hello, and I talked to him after my shift, or even sat down with him for a drink.  I really liked him. Mister N. is funny and he looks just like this guy from TV, this Poirot character, seriously. A short guy, with a belly, moustache, always dressed  very classy. And he really enjoyed talking to me as well, he said, I made him laugh, I made him wonder... I was such a strange girl. He said that I was unusual, and that I had quite intriguing topics to talk about. I took his mind of things, he said. After a few of those entertaining chats we had, he started to invite me up to his office for coffee ... the top floor, yes,  where all his classified business deals took place and his shady looking boys walked in and out of. I mean, I’m not dumb, I realised pretty quickly that Mister N. was a descendent from a, let’s say, ‘traditional’ line of underworld. And it was exciting, for sure.  

I grew very fond of Mister N. and also started to like his errand runners, some of them which were seriously hot and handsome. Oh my gosh! The other girls in the club downstairs were simply sticking to their job of stripping and entertaining customers. That was it. They would never come up here. But I was totally fascinated by what was going on behind the closed curtains. A whole new and dangerous world opened up to me. And I realised I wanted to be part of that underworld, like, for real. I wasn’t just a pretty chic. I seriously could be tough enough to get in here. Hey, I’ve always been raw and angry enough after all, fierce enough.  And I said that to Mister N. He would smile when I talked about it, when I asked alluringly about the details to his trade. I confessed to him my dark and dirty fantasies, yeah he liked that. Stuff about guns, violence and dead bodies... I felt pretty confident that I could do some of the same tough jobs his gangster boys did for him. I told him I could kill someone, without a problem. I’m just like a feral cat, I would be a killer-cat, yes.  And I was dead serious, I said! He looked at me from behind his big, mahogany desk, amused.  Teasing me all the time ‘Ruthy, Ruthy, or should I say Ruthless... ay, you are ruthless!’  I loved it, such a compliment, something I intended to grow into. Ruthless. What an awesome name. Soo much better than Ruthy, for sure. Yeah, I was gonna become that... No more strange, out of place Ruthy, but cold-blooded Ruthless.  I told Mister N. I would change my name to Ruthless for real. He just laughed.

Yes, Mister N. is such a sophisticated man, and he loves good old culture. Begin of September he took me to the opera. I can’t say I enjoyed it very much, but I was pleased to be escorting Mister N. on a night out, wearing my brand new, gorgeous red satin dress that I had bought for the occasion. I surely felt special that night.

Not long after that, Mister N. agreed to let me run a few errands for him. No biggies, but obviously, I had to earn his trust first and the confidence that I could handle the nature of his business. I would be delivering parcels for him, pick up stuff with one of his cars, hand out messages to his guys, see to his special guests  back at the casino... and I was dedicated. After all it was good money I got. I mean, the stripping money was real good, but now we’re talking even better cash in hand. Soon I was allowed to stay in the room when the big guys had their business discussions. I was doing well here, like I said, I always knew I would be good at doing bad shit. I left an impression on everyone, I got respect and Mister N. said I might have quite a talent for this. Hell yeah!  I begged him to give me some real assignments. He was still amused by my unusual fierceness. He liked it as well. And then there was a close call shooting incident down at the club, which I might say; I handled really well. I do have fighter skills, basic instincts and really, potential for the big game. I was made for this! Mister N. was very pleased and he said he would help me develop my talents. Well that’s not the exact words he used, but: Yay! So exciting!

 I realised more and more that I had a natural born hunger. This instinct to kill, the adrenaline, the ability to survive danger...  damn why didn’t I ever think of that before? That’s why I never was one of the herd. I’m a predator at heart. Mister N. understood what I was. He then had this serious sit down with me at his office one stormy, grey autumn night, saying that what I wanted to do is not just a hobby or some short-lived adventure at all. He said this is not a thug life. He said thugs are those dumbasses that mess up everything on their highway to jail. If I’m going in with the big guys, I’m in all the way. One wrong step, and it’s over and out... and he wasn’t talking about the career, but my life. I paused a little and said ‘sure’. And he looked at me with his small glasses and said that I must be mad indeed... but the best people are.   

So by late october I stopped working at the club downstairs altogether, which was a little sad, but hey, I moved up, quite literally, up into the top building, working for Mister N.’s office. Oh, and I moved to the good side of town as well, with gorgeous jugendstil buildings, lovely streets, parks and alleys and now I have this cute, stylish two bedroom apartment with big windows on the fourth floor.  With each assignment, even though still pretty harmless stuff, I got paid and it would only get better if I would be able to do what I really wanted.

I still would see the girls of course, I was often downstairs in the club to say hello . None of them had any idea what really was going on in the office, and I said I was Mister N.’s office assistant, answering phone calls and stuff, which they happily believed. Except Cassandra, she basically has a foot in the backdoor as well, hanging out with the boys upstairs, working back at the casino, and she has good contact with Mister N. Obviously Cass has quite a regular taste for the white candy herself, which she distributes amongst her own personal clients. Bad bitch...  

I now was put into, well, ‘training’ with Jamie and little Paul. This was so exhilarating, seriously!  Jamie, now he is one of Mister N.’s best guys, he’s the head of security and personal bodyguard. He is seriously hot and fit, I so fancy him.  A blonde dude, looking like one of those actors so popular these days, with surfer tan, great arms and abs to die for! He is damn serious about his shit, he knows what he is doing, and still he is so charming, funny and polite. A good businessman he is as well, just like Mister N. said; this is no thug life, high crime has class. Jamie is co-owner of a MMA fighter club near by the warehouses where he trains up his guys at the quiet hours of the night in a special basement room. And, as far as I know, he also funds this illegal cage fighting network, which is pretty awesome. So now I was training hard, seriously I thought I could box and defend myself, but what I learn here, oh boy! That was so hard in the beginning, I felt sick to my stomach. But it needed to be done,  even though I  really wonder: some of the guys working for the big men have serious beer bellies and sweaty, unfit bodies...ugh. How come they don’t need to do any fitness training, duh, but anyway, I got to trust Mister N. ‘s plan and I really should not complain. I’m in the best company and really want to be here.

 I also received a lot of intense lessons from little Paul, he’s such a cute, short Italian guy, quite skinny, but hell he is good. He is a wizard with the knife, an excellent get- away driver and a hell of a good sniper from a long distance I’m told. I thought you could just take a gun and shoot it, but there is much more to it. Weapon training really would be my thing. It was shooting that I really wanted to do. We would shoot every weekend at this old factory in the countryside where no one would hear the noise. That feeling of power when you shoot a gun is just wow! Awesome. I become more confident and powerful by the day.

During that time I was also dragged along to quite a few dirty street jobs, like meetings in dark alleys and the occasional visit to unfortunate loosers who could not pay back their debt to Mister N., even though those jobs were generally ‘taken care of’ by the mean bully boys, lead by this really big, brute, bold, tattoed torpedo from Poland called Roamer. Yeah, I came along to a few meetings by the docks and witnessed him in action. Crazy motherfucker...!  I was shocked by the brutality, but “I needed to become street smart”, Jamie said. Some of the things that I saw, huff, not pretty, but hey some of those punters, they deserve it. I mean, how can you be so stupid and loan big cash from gangsters and then be too stupid to pay it all back..?! Those guys are just pathetic with a big P. To be honest I felt no sympathy for them and well, I almost enjoyed kicking them in the gut. The guys and me always went for drinks afterwards and we had a real good laugh. I know it’s mean, but hey...

Whenever we had to make a ‘house call’ or do a smash down job, little Paul took his ‘nosefill’ to clear his head before stepping out of the car and he offered me several times to join him. Jamie said that really wasn’t necessary. He didn’t like drugs on the job. He said to do what we do, you have to be calculated, smart and clear in the head... or either you’re just a little psycho. Paul, clearly, was a little psycho, Jamie stated convincingly. Paul waved it off and said he was a cute little psycho at least, and he made me agree. I seriously was trained for the job. How awesome, though this job description would never be mentioned at any employment office. Slowly but surely, I learned all about the need to have different cell phones, even different laptops for all the jobs, code names, how to smell out undercover cops... boy, organised crime really is organised! Exhausting.

On the other hand, a lot of times, we just have dead time and we’re just hanging out, like at Jamie’s gym, at the cafe, or at the office, or, at Jamie’s house. I love that. It’s so much freedom. And yet, we’re at the job 24/7. Mister N. would call if he needed something done. Jamie and Paul actually spend a good amount of time watching movies, and they are really into those stupid, cheesy, romantic comedies, like seriously,  I tried to suggest a REAL film and Jamie said he doesn’t like to watch action films, drama or horror because he finds them too distressing  and upsetting... Ehm? Say what? I mean really, how ironic is that? But, yes, Jamie is a sensitive guy, aww, how cute is that? He doesn’t live too far from my new place.  Anyway, I really have fun, I like hanging out with the guys like that. I feel so lucky.  

And then came that fatal day, really not that long ago; It was already chilly outside. Dark and wet were the afternoons, sharp and crispy the air, cold but wonderful. So atmospheric, winter was here for sure. Me and Jamie were out driving, and we had just picked up a couple of Mister N.’s suits from the dry cleaners - well yes, we have to do that too sometimes... but anyway,  we had just stopped by Starbucks to get those yummy seasonal spiced lattes. I was standing in the queue when Jamie got a phone call. His face turned very serious and then he told me to hurry because we had to leave at once. So I hastily grabbed the coffee and my bagel so that I could eat it in the car and we drove across town, down to the containers by the docks. It was dark and deserted there, really spooky, and I got a bad feeling at once. Down by the water there was a car parked in the shadows, and I saw the shape of a guy standing next to it. As soon as we came close, the guy was waving his arms around, shouting and screaming, acting really pissed off about something. I had no idea what the problem was, and I didn’t get the chance to ask Jamie either, because as soon as he parked next to him, Jamie ordered me quietly to ‘stay in the car’ and he jumped out to talk to the dude. A second later, bam! Jamie just shot the angry guy in the head. Whoa, the dude didn’t see that one coming. Like a big sack of potatoes he fell hard to the wet, concrete ground.

Then there was immediate silence, all we could hear were the faint sounds of the horns from the boats and the trains that echoed in the distance. I was perplexed, I was totally stunned. Jamie called out to me, to come over and help him. I stepped out of the car, like in slow motion. There the guy was lying dead in front of me, my first dead guy.  Wow. I did not react, in fact I did not feel anything, no anxiety, no shock, no disgust, nothing. I thought that was so weird. So I helped Jamie to carry the body into the trunk of the guy’s car. I was a bit clumsy because my high heels made me lose my balance and I didn’t wear any jacket and it was really freezing cold out here by the waters. I never got a look at the guy’s face. I didn’t want to either. Then Jamie slammed shut the trunk door and got into that car. Told me to drive his own car back to my place and park it there. He said he would come by later to pick it up. And just like that, he took off in the guy’s Volkswagen.  Speedily I jumped into the driver’s seat of Jamie’s BMW, locked the doors and made a quick exit as well. I really did not want to hang out here alone for another second. But boy, my mind was racing now, my hands were shaking at the wheel and I really tried to remain calm. As I drove through the city and its neon-lights, it really hit me; I now officially am a really bad girl. A criminal. This is for real. My head was spinning and yet, I felt nothing.

I parked the car in my street just as Jamie had told me to, went upstairs to my flat and waited for him to call. God I waited painfully long, I just sat there on my little balcony, having one cigarette after another. I was so nervous. Around 10 pm Jamie finally sent me a message saying I should come down with the car key. I rushed down the stairs to meet him in the streets and he told me in his calm manner that he had sorted out everything. Before I could ask a 1000 questions like ‘what the hell happened there and’... he said quietly, ‘this is how we do things Ruthy; order, target, done. We never ask why and we don’t talk about it’. God, he was so sexy when he said that. I just stood there in the cold night, shaking and breathing smoke. He got into his car and then rolled down the window. He asked, ‘so are you doing alright Ruthy?’ I leaned into the window, looked at him as nonchalant as I could and just said ‘Hey, it’s Ruthless’. And I turned to go back upstairs, smiling inside.

Now I really was restless. I went down to the store to get some food, but I really wasn’t in the mood for making any dinner. I was in the mood for something else. So I went out.  The air smelled so sweet that night, even though it was freezing. I just started walking towards town and then went into the nearest night-club to dance my head off, drinking a few pricy cocktails and then I took a random dude into the bathroom with me for a quick, sleazy fuck. I did think of Jamie the whole time though, but hey, it was still real good. I felt like I was on top of the world.  I so badly wanted to tell people ’hey, I’m a real tough chic, hey I am a gangster, hey I’m a killer in training, and we just shot a guy today... ‘ but I knew I couldn’t.  My secret life was here for sure. I went home around four in the morning, drunk and high on power. I promised myself to take life easy from now on, to see the great irony, to be a real freakin’ crazy chic and not fear death. Life could be over in an instant. I witnessed that today.  Did I feel bad, or even guilty about the dead guy??? Nope. I’m sure Mister N. had his reasons. And Jamie or me, we are just the tools.

Next morning I got a message from Mister N. asking how I was doing. Aww, that was so sweet of him! I texted back ‘I feel great!’...  smiley face. He just replied ‘Ruthless!!!’

So anyway, this is more or less what happened so far. Mister N. gave me my career. He saw me, the real me. So all the stupid jobs I had and all those  that turned me down, well, maybe they smelled it out too, the real me. No matter how I disguised it. Because people like me, that are outcasts, they are often the raw, street-smart individuals, those that can survive in the jungle. They are the true top dogs. The work managers and shitty bosses I had, they are kinda the omegas of the flock really, that is why they are so passive- aggressive up there in their unnatural power positions, right? I mean, look at politicians. So thank you all yer stupid jobs! Oh and hey, Jane from Intershoes; I slept with your husband at the Christmas office party that time. God I so wish I could tell her that...  Maybe I should pay that envious bitch a visit, show her who I really am. Freak her out a little. 

So it’s the end of the year now. I’m home for Christmas, staying at mum’s and dad’s house, really bored, this is why I have the time now to put it all down to paper. They have nooo idea of course what I’ve been up to lately. If only they knew what has become of their daughter. Well, let’s hope they never find out. I told them I got a job in an office, hiring out limousines. No idea how I came up with that one. They were impressed that I finally got my life in order... that I have money and could buy them nice presents.  I just bought brand new cute dresses and boots as well, which I have to talk more about, got this cool new hair cut, with a little silver colour at the ends. And finally I have gorgeous nails.  Love that bright red nail varnish. God, it feels so good to have money. With dread I think back to the days when I just had nothing; no money, no opportunities. I can’t wait to start the New Year. Doing what I am born to do.

I am Ruthless, and I’m on my way to be a contract killer. (I got to learn to rock that attitude...)

(c) I Am Ruthless! - from Ruthless' diary.