Mr. English
For one week in a district newspaper of the City, an advertisement appeared in the classified section that also advertised for hookers, drugs at reduced prices and black market merchandise. It's not like the newspaper is legally allowed to advertise these things, well, not the drugs at reduced prices part anyway, it's just that the Chief of Police Aaron Copland's police department is so understaffed, underfunded and underpaid that they can't possibly care about what's being advertised in the newspapers. These policemen, grizzled old veterans or rookies from out of Police Academy
For one week it was there, one little advertisement, two columns in width, written in Courier New, black and white, and one telephone number at the very bottom:
After one week, the advertisement disappeared. Not many people in the district where the newspaper ran answered to this advertisement despite the high unemployment rate; people were either indifferent to the sinister advertisement and the job it pertained, or they were instead seeking a job working directly for one of the many organized crime syndicates operating in this particular district, and had no interest in a job working for a wet work organization that works for the organized crime syndicates. On Monday evening following the week the advertisement came and disappeared, at one of the piers in the City harbor, Rebekah Wyler and her companion Miranda Isaacman were waiting for Mr. English to finish interviewing Gerard Narrator, the first candidate.
Nobody knows Mr. English’s first name. People usually assume it’s an ancient name in the likes of Archibald or Bartholomew or Ezekiel, names hardly anyone knows are names now days.
Nobody also knows that Mr. English in his advanced age is still a virgin. Sure he experienced the brief flings with relationships in his teenage years like all teenagers do no matter what era human history is in, but none of those flings resulted in him ever losing his virginity. And after his teenage years of what could have been golden opportunity, he entered the very professional trade of the Assassinator and dedicated his full self to the trade, so he had neither time nor need for relationships, and thus remained a virgin all his life up to now.
Mr. English had given vague instructions to each of the callers. They were to arrive at the warehouse on their assigned time and wait for him. That was it. Rebekah was the second caller Mr. English received when the job listing was published. She had called on behalf of Miranda too since Miranda is her life-long companion and she always drags her life-long companion into whatever she was up to. That was the deal they made – to drag each other into whatever each one of them had gotten themselves into – when they were two kids in an orphanage. The deal stuck.
Gerard went into his interview known to Rebekah as Gerard, and came out as Narrato. According to him, no one’s ever called him by his first name and no one ever did call him that. Rebekah was already impatient that Narrator took too long and gave him a look that frightened and baffled him for the rest of their time knowing each other. Though Narrator was slow during the interview, he was hired on the spot, without him realizing it. Mr. English didn’t have to interview Rebekah for a long time. Miranda only had to wait two minutes before it was her turn. She didn’t have much to say, and the girls were hired on the spot, in five minutes flat, just as Arliss Stanton, the next candidate showed up after participating in a drunken bar fight.
Next, Howard Fast arrived, nervous and five minutes earlier than he should, and after him was Ruslan Brockovitch, five minutes later than instructed, and then the last candidate woke up from the garbage pile where he had been sleeping since Narrator’s interview and strolled into the warehouse. Homeless drifter Boris Krazynski was the final candidate.
Before they start working professionally, all Assassinators undergo a month of training to learn the way of the Assassinator, much like a modernized, commercialized version of the way of the Ninja.
Mr. English instructed the seven candidates he interviewed that evening at that warehouse at the same spot he had trained Assassinators at ever since he arrived at the city many years ago. At the end of that month, the last thing he had to tell now-professional Assassinators Rebekah, Miranda, Arliss, Howard, Ruslan, Boris and Narrator were the rules of the way of the Assassinator. There are five rules.
The first rule about being an assassinator, brief pause by Mr. English, speaking in his elegant monotone, is you don’t assassinate children.
Yeah, does that include teenagers? Said Rebekah, bored.
The second rule about being an assassinator, another brief pause, is you don’t assassinate women.
Pfft, he didn’t even answer my question. Rebekah said loudly, under her breath. Miranda shushed her. Miranda is a quiet, soft-spoken girl who rarely talks to anyone except Rebekah.
Aren’t you talking about every woman in the world? Arliss the ugly, tough-talking thug hollered gleefully.
Woah, don’t fight now, listen to the rules, Mr. English doesn’t repeat them, Gabriel O’Brien said, stepping between Arliss and Rebekah, who had both stepped out of line and were within an arm’s reach of each other’s neck. Gabriel is a neat, clean-shaven Assassinator veteran, but he usually helps out Mr. English and rarely goes out on a job.
The third rule about being an assassinator, brief pause as predicted, is you don’t assassinate a person you are not assigned to assassinate, in which case it will be considered murder and you will be charged for murder should you be arrested.
Rebekah and Arliss had stepped back in the line of the seven graduate Assassinators. Arliss was disappointed he didn’t get to fight Rebekh; he could even have tried to tear her top off which would have made his day or even his whole week. Arliss has a sick mind.
By the way, nobody had anything to say about rule number three.
Can’t he just shorten his sentences already? We don’t need the rules numbered for us. Rebekah interrupted and Mr. English stopped speaking. She signed dramatically. Miranda quietly shushed her again.
…is as an assassinator, you must accept all assignments from all clients, without exception, unless refusal to take part in the assignment is a directive from the Assassinator commissioner, who if you don’t already know is myself.
The seventh person in line, timid, rural runaway Howard was writing each of the given rules down in a small notepad. Arliss, who was standing next to him, thought it would be amusing to knock the notepad out of Howard’s hand, which he did.
Look what you did. Now he isn’t going to hear all the rules, Gabriel said, shaking his head in disappointment. He stood on the right side of Mr. English, dressed in the same impeccable attires. In his pockets he always keeps packets of hand sanitizer and a spray tin of breath freshener.
Ooh, what a tongue-twister, the suave, courageous, handsome Ruslan remarked in his suave, courageous, handsome accent. He winked at Rebekah, who replied with a smirk.
I’ll be taking you to our lodgings. Gabriel spoke up, follow me to the van.
When Narrator looked back to where Mr. English had been standing a moment before, he had vanished. Narrator scratched his head in puzzlement.
The other Assassinators were leaving the lot. Narrator hurried to catch up. Gabriel’s van was parked beneath the power lines far out in the marshlands to the west. They were at the outskirts of the City’s industrial zone.
This was the graduation of the assassinators-in-training; they were now assassinators-in-working. The unceremonious ceremony took place on the vast overgrown lot of a factory that once manufactured automobiles residing abandoned in the industrial section of the City on a fine, cloudless day. The sun was shining, and a light breeze accompanied the cooling weather, stirring up trash and fallen leaves in the City’s roads, announcing the coming of winter (always a source of sorrow for the City’s large homeless population; an average of two percent of them freeze to death in the streets each winter).
For one week it was there, one little advertisement, two columns in width, written in Courier New, black and white, and one telephone number at the very bottom:
Are you skilled with a firearm or weapon of melee?
Do you have a special set of skills that make you dangerous?
Have you an amoral or immoral conscience?
Have you ever killed a person?
If not, are you willing to kill a person?
Do you want to be an employed “Assassinator”?
If your answer is yes to any of the above questions, please contact Mr. English by pay phone at the number below…
Nobody knows Mr. English’s first name. People usually assume it’s an ancient name in the likes of Archibald or Bartholomew or Ezekiel, names hardly anyone knows are names now days.
Nobody also knows that Mr. English in his advanced age is still a virgin. Sure he experienced the brief flings with relationships in his teenage years like all teenagers do no matter what era human history is in, but none of those flings resulted in him ever losing his virginity. And after his teenage years of what could have been golden opportunity, he entered the very professional trade of the Assassinator and dedicated his full self to the trade, so he had neither time nor need for relationships, and thus remained a virgin all his life up to now.
Mr. English had given vague instructions to each of the callers. They were to arrive at the warehouse on their assigned time and wait for him. That was it. Rebekah was the second caller Mr. English received when the job listing was published. She had called on behalf of Miranda too since Miranda is her life-long companion and she always drags her life-long companion into whatever she was up to. That was the deal they made – to drag each other into whatever each one of them had gotten themselves into – when they were two kids in an orphanage. The deal stuck.
Gerard went into his interview known to Rebekah as Gerard, and came out as Narrato. According to him, no one’s ever called him by his first name and no one ever did call him that. Rebekah was already impatient that Narrator took too long and gave him a look that frightened and baffled him for the rest of their time knowing each other. Though Narrator was slow during the interview, he was hired on the spot, without him realizing it. Mr. English didn’t have to interview Rebekah for a long time. Miranda only had to wait two minutes before it was her turn. She didn’t have much to say, and the girls were hired on the spot, in five minutes flat, just as Arliss Stanton, the next candidate showed up after participating in a drunken bar fight.
Next, Howard Fast arrived, nervous and five minutes earlier than he should, and after him was Ruslan Brockovitch, five minutes later than instructed, and then the last candidate woke up from the garbage pile where he had been sleeping since Narrator’s interview and strolled into the warehouse. Homeless drifter Boris Krazynski was the final candidate.
Before they start working professionally, all Assassinators undergo a month of training to learn the way of the Assassinator, much like a modernized, commercialized version of the way of the Ninja.
Mr. English instructed the seven candidates he interviewed that evening at that warehouse at the same spot he had trained Assassinators at ever since he arrived at the city many years ago. At the end of that month, the last thing he had to tell now-professional Assassinators Rebekah, Miranda, Arliss, Howard, Ruslan, Boris and Narrator were the rules of the way of the Assassinator. There are five rules.
The first rule about being an assassinator, brief pause by Mr. English, speaking in his elegant monotone, is you don’t assassinate children.
Yeah, does that include teenagers? Said Rebekah, bored.
The second rule about being an assassinator, another brief pause, is you don’t assassinate women.
Pfft, he didn’t even answer my question. Rebekah said loudly, under her breath. Miranda shushed her. Miranda is a quiet, soft-spoken girl who rarely talks to anyone except Rebekah.
Aren’t you talking about every woman in the world? Arliss the ugly, tough-talking thug hollered gleefully.
Woah, don’t fight now, listen to the rules, Mr. English doesn’t repeat them, Gabriel O’Brien said, stepping between Arliss and Rebekah, who had both stepped out of line and were within an arm’s reach of each other’s neck. Gabriel is a neat, clean-shaven Assassinator veteran, but he usually helps out Mr. English and rarely goes out on a job.
The third rule about being an assassinator, brief pause as predicted, is you don’t assassinate a person you are not assigned to assassinate, in which case it will be considered murder and you will be charged for murder should you be arrested.
Rebekah and Arliss had stepped back in the line of the seven graduate Assassinators. Arliss was disappointed he didn’t get to fight Rebekh; he could even have tried to tear her top off which would have made his day or even his whole week. Arliss has a sick mind.
By the way, nobody had anything to say about rule number three.
Can’t he just shorten his sentences already? We don’t need the rules numbered for us. Rebekah interrupted and Mr. English stopped speaking. She signed dramatically. Miranda quietly shushed her again.
…is as an assassinator, you must accept all assignments from all clients, without exception, unless refusal to take part in the assignment is a directive from the Assassinator commissioner, who if you don’t already know is myself.
The seventh person in line, timid, rural runaway Howard was writing each of the given rules down in a small notepad. Arliss, who was standing next to him, thought it would be amusing to knock the notepad out of Howard’s hand, which he did.
Look what you did. Now he isn’t going to hear all the rules, Gabriel said, shaking his head in disappointment. He stood on the right side of Mr. English, dressed in the same impeccable attires. In his pockets he always keeps packets of hand sanitizer and a spray tin of breath freshener.
Ooh, what a tongue-twister, the suave, courageous, handsome Ruslan remarked in his suave, courageous, handsome accent. He winked at Rebekah, who replied with a smirk.
I’ll be taking you to our lodgings. Gabriel spoke up, follow me to the van.
When Narrator looked back to where Mr. English had been standing a moment before, he had vanished. Narrator scratched his head in puzzlement.
The other Assassinators were leaving the lot. Narrator hurried to catch up. Gabriel’s van was parked beneath the power lines far out in the marshlands to the west. They were at the outskirts of the City’s industrial zone.
This was the graduation of the assassinators-in-training; they were now assassinators-in-working. The unceremonious ceremony took place on the vast overgrown lot of a factory that once manufactured automobiles residing abandoned in the industrial section of the City on a fine, cloudless day. The sun was shining, and a light breeze accompanied the cooling weather, stirring up trash and fallen leaves in the City’s roads, announcing the coming of winter (always a source of sorrow for the City’s large homeless population; an average of two percent of them freeze to death in the streets each winter).
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