22. Feb

Really cold outside today, chilly, frosty, windy and totally unpleasant. Had a relaxing day treat for myself anyway. Went to my favourite Spa massage at the Grand hotel, then went shopping and even had some time left to have my nails re-done, before I’m going to go to Alex’s bar again. I know he will be at work this evening. I did some sleazy investigating, haha. Funny though, down by the shopping centre, I walked past this book stand and those grey, washed out, New Agey women behind the stand called out to me to have a look. I stopped, looking at a few books, though I never read books... I mean most of them are written by someone with views I don’t like, so they just end up annoying me. But one was called “Women who run with Wolves”.  Good title, surely lousy concept. One of those women started to talk to me about this “women who run with wolves” shit... and I had to smile. Is she like trying to teach me something?  Like, who do they think they are kidding, right, haha? Come on! Being so out of shape and overweight as these ones here, they seriously could not even run with dogs, least of all any wolves. Such flaky women are just as domesticated and boring as everyone else. They are not feral.  And seriously, no way they could fight. Doubt they have any kind of predator spirit. Anyway I quickly moved on to get a smoothie at the smoothie bar café. Having my favourite, ‘Broc Choc’.

But I’m reminded of Mister N. when he said a little while ago as we were out dining: “You know, there are three types of women; there’s dogs, there’s bitches and there’s wolves... The dogs roll over, the bitches – well, they are bitches, and the wolves -  these girls are pure and wilful... powerful, unpredictable... yes, just like you, Ruthy!” God I love Mister N. and his inspiring words... Hmm, I wonder if he likes cats...

(c) I am Ruthless

1. March

Ok. Well, I had my first hit. Alone and totally unexpected. It was a spontaneous thing really. A possible witness, who needed to be silenced, on the day.  Mister N. said that guy would never expect a girl to come to his door to take him out, so he wouldn’t be alarmed. Suddenly, my moment had come. Perhaps too soon, but this is what I signed up for after all. I wasn’t nervous about killing a person. I was afraid about messing up and getting caught. I was really afraid. Little Paul picked me up at 4 this morning. Way too early, but I was wide awake, obviously. I was told to wear a skirt and pumps to look like an ordinary woman. I also wore a short blond wig, just in case. And a hoody of course - what a peculiar working outfit. Anyway we drove far out of the city to the target’s bungalow. Paul parked across the street and according to our infos, the guy was alone and would leave the house around 6 am. He gave me a quick rundown of everything that he taught me about close ups before sending me out. 

Just before 6 am I walked over and into the garden, acting as casual as I could, waiting in the bushes there. The fat ole guy didn’t come out before halv past six and I was shaking from the cold and anxiety, really, but finally he opened the door and looked nervously around. You always have to be a 100 percent sure that it is the right person and that he is alone. I walked right up to him with a sweet “excuse me sir...”  and as he turned around to look at me I shot him twice in the chest. And once again to make sure I didn’t miss.  No sound. Not from me, not from him and definitely not from my pistol, as I have this really cool new silencer. He fell backwards back into the hall. And quickly I walked back to the car with my hoody drawn into my face. Paul drove off quietly yet swiftly and as we went around the corner I changed outfits. Paul gave me the phone to call the Gardener and like arranged, I just said “It’s done!” Gardener replied politely “Ah yes, very good. Take care”. And that was it. Yeah, and then I started panicking. “Paul, Paul, what if I messed up, what if we get caught???” But Paul was totally relaxed and said “hey calm down, you did fine. Well done Ruthless”. I didn’t for a second think about the target. All that mattered was that I didn’t mess it up. For myself or everyone. But Paul assured me that Mister N. and the Gardener would take care of everything.  Finally I was breathing in and breathing out. And then we went for breakfast. Paul ordered a brandy for me.

I relaxed a little bit and then it sank in. I did it. Wow! I knew I could do it! I couldn’t wait to see Jamie. I promised myself I would be totally cool and careless when I saw him. We drove back into town and I asked Paul to drop me off at Jamie’s. It still was early in the morning, so he would be home. He opened the door and wasn’t even dressed yet, mumbling something like ‘it’s a bit early for a visit’ but then he seemed to remember and asked eagerly “oh right, yes, how did it go??” I said “fine”... but then I couldn’t hold back my paranoia and bubbled on about getting caught... I mean, I finally pulled a trigger on someone... Jamie was so understanding, he even gave me a hug and wasn’t wearing a shirt yet, for a second I got so turned on. He fixed me a drink with whiskey and coffee, and said that if I always follow instructions, I can’t go wrong. Don’t think about it. Then he had a shower... while I was sitting in the living room, fantasizing. He drove me home because he had to do something, he said. I tried to sleep a bit. Late in the afternoon I went down to the office to see Mister N. I looked at him with expectation and said “well? All good?” He smiled “ah Ruthless” and he gave me an envelope. Then he went to make us coffee. So I quickly opened the envelope and OMG, there was a lot of cash! I blushed right there. Mister N. came back into the room and then he actually shook my hand and said “welcome to the business Ruthless”. This alone was worth everything.

The feeling of being above the law is just amazing. So as I’m sitting here now this evening in my living room, watching TV and eating good food, I’m waiting to feel some bad emotion, some form of regret or even guilt for what I did. I am officially a killer, I’m really am now a paid hit-woman. But I continue to feel nothing. Like I said, those people are doomed to die anyway. I’m just the tool. 

(c) - I am Ruthless

11. March

Well nothing exciting has happened really recently. It’s been quiet, Mister N. is on holiday in Malta and sadly he didn’t bring us along on the trip. So a lot of time we spent training and then relaxing at Jamie’s place, watching stupid daytime television and drinking whiskey sour.  Jesus, there is so much shit on TV during the day, it’s unbelievable! Pure toxic for the soul... It’s all about reality shows where morons, trash and bimbos make a fool out of themselves, just to make a daytime looser on welfare feel better about himself, or herself. Seriously, what is the point?

 Jamie, little Paul and me had this big discussion about why on earth people would want to watch ill-behaved humans that basically have no life and seriously don’t do anything of interest. Why do people want to watch non- life on TV, instead of going out to live a cool, real life themselves? And the more embarrassing and trash-talking a person appears on TV, the more famous they get on social media. It seems like a twisted reality, right? On the other hand, individuals from the underworld, with truly daring and exciting lives, they are not on social media, obviously. They are too busy living a thrilling life. Can you imagine Mister N. being on social media? Haha, no way!  

So Jamie and Paul were joking about how funny it would be like to have little Paul on one of those reality shows, and on the screen it would say “Paul – hitman and gangster”, haha, or even better we should sign up Roamer for a reality show, “Roamer – torpedo and drugdealer”... yeah THAT would be a show worth seeing. No, people like us don’t have online profiles leading to our person. And if, it would be a cover identity with boring updates just to blend in with everyone else, so that our relatives don’t get suspicious. But diary writing, well, that is personal of course. It’s a secret.  Hey, I do often wonder when I write this down if Jamie, Paul or even Mister N. write a journal with their everyday activities. Who knows, probably not, but it would be real cute if they did. I wonder what they would write about. Maybe something about me?

So, the only job I had the past week was on Friday, when I drove a suitcase filled with party pills to a client and collected the money. No biggy, but I don’t like those drug related jobs, they stress me out. 

(c) I am Ruthless