11 comments/ 9339 views/ 17 favorites For What Its Worth By: virtualatheist Pan down from the afternoon sky over London. Pull in to close up on an ordinary looking man. You wouldn't look twice if you saw him in the street. Drab coloured hair and nondescript eyes. Say hello to Mr Grey. Slowly and silently the door opened and he eased himself inside the room. He was dressed in a dark, nondescript suit and carried a battered attaché case. Without turning on the light he closed the door behind him and walked to the middle of the room to have a look around. The room was empty of furniture and no carpet covered the unpolished wooden floor except for a small dirty mat in front of the cold fireplace. The only decorations, if they could be called that were some old dust-sheets that hung down in front of the large window. Not that anyone could see in through the window anyway, at least not without a helicopter as this was the living room of an eighth floor flat that had been uninhabited for some months. He placed the case on the floor by the window and pulled a small flat case from his jacket pocket. A press of a lip on the side and it sprang open to reveal what looked like opera glasses, however, they had cost him a great deal of money and gave a magnified view that rivalled any of the big name brands of 'proper' binoculars. A twitch of the curtain and a quick sweep up and down the street below showed a normal scene of human life carrying on in its normal, everyday fashion. Cars snarled at each other as the rush hour traffic moved in both directions. A small group of school children in uniform sat or sprawled on the low wall that surrounded the play area talking, laughing and boasting to each other. He watched a policeman in a dark serge uniform with a tall, domed hat stroll in the time-honoured fashion of policemen everywhere at the regulation two miles per hour. The man nodded to himself in satisfaction. Everything normal and everything quiet. Well that would change soon. In just under two hours he would be injecting a little excitement into a few drab lives. He wandered into the bathroom and after a grimace of distaste at the state of the sink, he turned the cold tap on. After removing the surgical gloves he wore and placing them in his pocket he thrust his hands into the water and filled his cupped hands and splashed his face. The coldness of the water, although expected, still sent a shock through his face. A sharp intake of breath with eyes wide open and then he looked at himself in the cracked mirror that was inexpertly screwed to the wall above the sink. What looked back was a face. That's all that could be said really. A face of indeterminate age. A grey man. He had an instantly forgettable face, neither handsome nor ugly. No distinguishing marks, no points of interest. A truly nondescript man in every respect. Neutral. A quick smirk touched his lip and was just as instantly gone again. Neutral. That was it. In the past he had blessed his eminent forgetability. It had saved his bacon many times, and once or twice, even his life. To able to blend in the background was a huge bonus to a man in his line of work. In fact, it was the reason he had chosen his nom de guerre. ++++++++++ Little Paul Taylor held Father Thomas's hand and watched solemnly as two coffins were lowered into the double grave. He was seven years old. The only child of Brian and Sarah, who had been killed in a car crash with no other living relatives. This was his final goodbye to laughter. Up until now his had been a happy life, secure in the bosom of two young adults who had loved him dearly. And now they were gone. Snatched away from him by the actions of a drunk driver. Worse yet, a repeat offender who was already under a driving ban when he had caused the deaths of Mr and Mrs Taylor. Father Thomas, who helped place young Paul in the Our Lady's Home for Wayward Children as it was called, recalled later how strange the child had acted on the day of the funeral. Although he was only seven, he had held himself with a poise and calm solemnity through the service that many adults would have found difficult, if not impossible. He considered that the boy was obviously far too young to really understand what was going on. He was wrong. ++++++++++ Grey stretched and glanced at his watch. An hour and a half and the target would appear. He stepped into the bedroom and found a small wooden stool. Ideal. He carried it back into the main room, placed it on the floor by the window and sat down. Pulling the case onto his lap he opened it, ignoring the rifle with the telescopic sight that nestled in pieces set in a bed of moulded foam rubber, he removed a small flask of coffee and a small pack of sandwiches. A few thoughtful bites into his first sandwich and he stared into space. He hated this part. The waiting. Not that he was nervous, it was just so boring! At least it usually was. But today was different, today he had something on his mind. ++++++++++ Everyone had been surprised at how he had turned out. When he first arrived at the Home, he was seven years old, quiet, polite, industrious and solemn. He rarely smiled and spoke even less unless spoken too first. But over the years he changed. He darkened. The more street wise of the boys had started on him on his arrival and he had accepted everything they could throw at him. The taunts, the bullying, the way they made free with his personal belongings and the swift retribution if he complained. But the one thing they had never been able to do was make him cry. And they had tried, oh they had really tried. Paul had accepted it all until his eleventh birthday, at 12.35 p.m. Joe Perkins was acting tough with his mates in the corridor. He had seen Paul go into his room holding the birthday card from Father Thomas and decided that he fancied a bit of sport. He followed Paul into his room and snarled, "So, the old pervert's given you a card has he?" After a quick glance behind him to ensure that his cronies, who were crowded in the doorway could watch the show, he held out his hand and snapped his fingers, "Hand it over then. Lemme see." Silently, Paul gave the card to the older boy and watched without expression as Joe read the message inside. He continued to watch as Joe's gaze returned to him, his face holding the familiar smirk of a bully secure in his control of the situation. Studying Paul's face as he did so, Joe tore the card slowly into several pieces and dropped them one by one on to the floor. "You don't have nuthin' unless I say so, ya little bastard. An' that includes this." Paul examined the remnants of the small gift where they lay strewn around Joe's feet and then slowly, deliberately returned his gaze to Joe's face. Joe was a little disturbed by the reaction that the younger boy was showing today. He never looked at you directly. He always kept his eyes to the floor no matter what torment or humiliation he was enduring, and Joe didn't like it. It looked like a challenge and Joe considered himself more than equal to the task. He clenched his fists. "Summat to say, Bastard?" Joe never noticed the small iron bar drop from Paul's sleeve into his hand and the first inkling he had that today the young boy had been pushed too far was when that same piece of piping swung in a swift arc and shattered the left side of his jaw. He dropped like a stone and squealed in pain, clutching his face as blood poured from his split cheek. Paul knelt on the floor beside him and hit him with the metal bar again, and again, and again. Joe's cronies stood in shock in the door as they watched their leader battered. They were by no means innocents, each one guilty of many acts of violence and petty larceny. But this was different. A fight was supposed to involve shouting and threats. Promises of the damage you were going to inflict. Basically, the need to work yourself into the frenzy required to fight so that you could overcome the fear and concentrate on winning. It was not supposed to be an instant change from passive acceptance to explosive violence like this. They were also aware that Paul did not intend to stop. He had already won the fight. Joe's head and neck were awash with blood as he lay unconscious on the floor. But still Paul hit him. There was a loud cracking sound as the bar made once last connection with Joe's head. Paul dropped the bar on to the floor next to the body and stood up to stare at the wide-eyed crowd. Flatly he said, "Go away." They scattered. Without another thought or a backward glance towards the unconscious thug, Paul hurriedly grabbed all his belongings he could fit into a hand-all and left the home, never to return. ++++++++++ Grey, suddenly sat up straight on the stool, dropped his sandwiches back into the case and stood up. "Oh my God!" he said to himself. He had made a mistake. He had not replaced his surgical gloves after he had splashed himself with water. Fingerprints! Where? The tap, the bathroom door handle. Did he touch anything else, of course! The stool. He stood up, put his gloves back on and used a handkerchief to wipe everything that he had touched whilst his hands had been uncovered. Although he knew his prints were not on file anywhere he still got rid of them. It was a part of the thoroughness with which he carried out every job that had kept him from ever being caught, or in fact even under suspicion. In the trade, he was renowned for two things; His careful reliability and the fact that he had never missed. He prided himself on the care with which he set up and completed his jobs. Meticulous study of the victim. Careful examination and exploitation of their routine for a quick, painless and above all unsolved murder. Once he had double checked that he had missed nothing, Grey placed the handkerchief back in his pocket, checked his watch (still a while yet) and resumed eating his sandwiches. ++++++++++ The young man looked around the back room of the night-club Fonteyne. It was the office of one Mick Fonteyne. Erstwhile night-club owner and Kingpin of the local organised crime scene. "Grey! Come in, I wanna talk to ya. Got a job needs doin'." Grey crossed the room to stand in front of Mickey's desk. "Yeah? What is it?" "Terry Butcher. He ain't gonna pay up and I won't stand for that." Grey, his face unreadable, regarded the old gangster where he sat at his desk. A battered face, pepper and salt hair, a broken nose and a crumpled, gravy-spotted shirt. Although no emotion touched his face, Grey felt a certain disgust at the sight before him. "Sloppy," he thought to himself, "Very sloppy. One of the most powerful men in London and I could end him right now and get away with it." His choice of words in his mind was an indication of the man he had become. Since his parents had been killed and he had entered the new and frightening world of the under classes, he had lost something. He didn't know it, but it was true nonetheless. End him, Grey had thought. Not kill him, not murder him, ice him, do a job on him. No, end him. Ever since he had left the children's home and drifted into low level street crime living by his wits in the urban jungle, he had seen a lot with his neutral eyes. Too much. From the first time he had rolled a drunk for pennies in an alleyway so he could eat another day, to his first time with a prostitute in his mid-teens. His mind drifted back to that encounter. He had just made a good score from an American tourist who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and had decided that there was enough in the fat wallet for a little treat. Besides, he was eighteen and it was time, he felt, that he broke his duck. As the opportunities for romance were almost non-existent for someone in his position, he decided to try one of the girls who worked the streets in his neighbourhood. Grey wandered up to the first woman he saw and asked how much. She responded with a sum that was well within his grasp and so they had retired to an alleyway to conclude the business. It was not all he had expected it might be. The woman had a strange odour about her, and her breath was rancid. His first view of a pair of real breasts was a disappointment as well. Small and saggy with blue veins that looked like tattoos, they were so dark. They had coupled with her back against the wall and him between her legs supporting both their weight, thrusting away at her loose sex. There was no finesse, no real emotion, it was a business transaction nothing more. Yes he kneeded her breast with his free hand. It was warm and that's all that could be said for it. Grey's first handful of womanly tit flesh and he was underwhelmed. He rather liked the feel of her vagina wrapped around his hard cock, gripping him slightly as he thrust in and out, but for the life of him, he really couldn't see what all the fuss was about. So he just continued to move back and forth rapidly, pushing the woman against the wall of the alley until he reached the moment of ejaculation. Then she had firmly but gently disentangled her self and said, "There. Give me the money then." Grey tucked himself away and straightened his clothing before handing over the cash. A quick count and she was gone, back into the street to continue her night's work. It was then that Grey experienced his lowest ebb for some years. The woman, he didn't even know her name, had been empty. He suddenly hated her, throughout their frenzied sex, she had talked to him like a lover, but it was a lie. As soon as he was spent, all pretence was dropped and she asked for her money. A bitter tear began to sting his eye, she had stank, that was true, the sensations he had experienced although pleasurable while they lasted now left a taste like ashes in his mouth. She had not even been particularly good looking, but this thought was dismissed as unworthy, after all, Grey knew he was no real oil-painting himself. But none of those were the real cause of the tear. It was her eyes. They were dead, she had seen too much, experienced too much and it had killed her inside. And he had been able to feel that deadness with every thrust. He felt that she was only capable of the false emotions she had displayed while they had sex, but there was nothing inside her any more that could connect to any other person. And he had felt himself beginning to feel the same way. She wasn't a person any more, she was a robot marking time until she died, just like him. His emotions switched off. Paul Taylor, eighteen years old, no longer a virgin, known on the street as Grey. Already with a reputation for calm solemnity that could explode into murderous violence that kept even the known hard men off his back, died. A turtle shell grew on his back and as his emotions switched off, the shell hardened. He lost the belief in the value of human life as all he had been through over the past few years washed through him. If it lessened him, he didn't care. A cough and Grey's thoughts returned to the here and now. Fonteyne was looking at him quizzically, "Well?" he asked. Although Grey had been thinking of the past, he had taken in all the information that Fonteyne had been giving him. He paused in further thought for a second and then said, "He'll be dead within the week." Exactly four days later, Terry Butcher was found dead on Wandsworth common with an ice pick in his head. No witnesses, no fingerprints and apart from the ice pick which was a dead end anyway, no clues at all. As Grey had made his way back to his luxury flat in Chelsea (his only ostentation, even though he lived quietly and modestly within his means) that evening, he smiled mirthlessly to himself and said, "A toast. Something I'm good at." ++++++++++ Grey was awakened from his reverie by a loud sound from the street below. A glance outside showed that two drunks were having an argument by the front door of the block of flats. No problem. A policeman would move them on or arrest them soon. No need for concern. Another glance at his watch showed only fifteen minutes to target. He began to assemble the rifle from it's constituent parts. Slow and steady, careful and with no wasted movements. The final part to be snapped into place being the high-powered telescopic sight. Then he fed a cartridge of six rounds into the breech, placed the rifle across his lap and waited. ++++++++++ A successful career in the murder business over many years had certainly put butter on Grey's bread. For £500,000 a hit bought a lot of butter. He lived in a luxury Chelsea flat. He surrounded himself with rare and expensive Objet D'Art and wore only the best Saville Row made to measure. At least when he wasn't working. As far as his neighbours knew, which wasn't much as he rarely spoke to them, he was man who had been left a large legacy in a will and lived very comfortably off the proceeds. Grey felt very happy. Although he was totally alone in the world, he was happy. He thought of other human beings as merely temporary interruptions to his view of the world. He was secure... except... What? Something was not right. One day while he was ironing a shirt, it came to him. His image was wrong. He was supposed to be an independently wealthy man of leisure. Ironing his own shirts? Cleaning his own sink? It was but a small chink in his armour but it would need to be dealt with. Grey decided to get a maid or whatever they were called now. He weighed the pros and cons. He would be giving up his precious solitude, but it was a small price if it added to his camouflage. It wasn't as if he had a space problem. And there was no real danger of the maid seeing or hearing anything untoward as no business was ever, ever done from his flat. Decision made, Grey picked up the yellow pages and rang the first agency he could find and told them of his needs. Once they had supplied him with a name, he wasted no time in checking her out with all the resources at his disposal. A young single woman called Donna Caldwell, 22 years old, unmarried and still living with her parents, and no connections to law enforcement either by association or by relations. But more importantly, no connections to the criminal underworld where Grey spent his life. She was, to all intents and purposes an ordinary person. A few days later, a young woman approached his front door and rang the bell. Grey opened the door and looked at her. She was in her early twenties with shoulder length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes surmounted just above a cute little button nose. She was wearing a pair of white pedal-pushers and a cream V-neck tank top that showed just a hint of cleavage and hugged her figure tightly. She smiled shyly and said, "Mr Grey? I'm Donna Caldwell. From the agency." "Right. Come in." Grey led her through into the living room and sat her down on the Chesterfield sofa. Before he himself stood in front of the bay window looking out. "Okay. Light cleaning, dusting. Some cooking. Can you cook?" Without waiting for a reply, as he already knew she held several minor qualifications in the culinary arts, he continued," You can have your own room, it has its own en-suite facilities so you can have privacy. A privacy I will respect and I expect the same consideration from you. You are free to entertain whomsoever you wish, but they will enter the flat from your own outside door and will not enter any other part of the apartment. Shall we say £250.00 a week?" Donna was stunned to say the least. A room to herself. Privacy. Oh joy, her own bathroom. Very easy sounding work... And £250.00 per week. She sat on the sofa open mouthed. Noticing the silence, he turned to her and asked, "Well?" Donna's mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she managed to squeak, "Yes, lovely, erm... When shall I start?" For What Its Worth Grey reached inside his pocket and produced a small door key, "Now," he said handing her the key, "That's for your outside door." He was about to say something else when the phone rang. A look of irritation crossed his face before he said, "Right. That's settled then. Move your stuff in as soon as you can and start immediately, there's a list for you on the fridge door. I have to attend to business now, see yourself out please." Without another word he crossed the room and picked up the phone, he listened for a moment and then said, "Yes, half an hour," before replacing the receiver and then striding from the room and out of the front door. Donna still sat on the sofa. The man was strange, she thought. Polite enough, but there was something odd about him that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Then she realised... it was his eyes. She had deliberately worn her tank top today as she knew it suited her well and showed off her figure to best effect, whilst still remaining suitable for a job interview. She was not very experienced in the world, still being something of an innocent, but she was aware that a nice female figure, well presented could not do any harm. And he had not done what most men did, either stare so hard, with no pretence so that she became uncomfortable or even the surreptitious sideways glances as they tried to imagine the bare treasures that lay beneath. She knew he had looked at her while she stood there, but it was almost as though she were a specimen under the gaze of a rather disinterested scientist. Then she shrugged, perhaps he was gay. Still, not that she minded in the slightest about that... Not for £250.00 a week and her own bathroom. She could finally move out of the house she shared with her large family in the East End and have a bit of freedom. She stood up, still clutching the key he had given her and wandered around the room looking at all the decorative items. There were one or two artfully placed original paintings and several small yet exquisitely fashioned ornaments, but none of them were to her taste. They seemed dull for all their obvious value. Donna felt like she was in a museum, rather than someone's home. Opening the door into the kitchen, which was well maintained and well stocked like a busy farmhouse kitchen, she reached walked over to the refrigerator and removed a small hand-written note. In a careful copperplate script was a list of the duties she was expected to carry out. All the usual suspects were included with no surprises, which in itself was a surprise. For the money and perks she was getting for this job, she thought there would be an undesirable inclusion. She didn't know what, looking after a large and unruly dog perhaps, or cleaning up the bodily fluids after some rich and pampered old sot who could barely remember his name. Both of which had been unmentioned before arrival in previous jobs, and for a lot less money as well. Not that she was complaining, even if she did have to help him bury bodies in the garden, she was willing to put up with it for the much needed money. Donna half smiled, half grimaced at her little joke. "You stop that Donna Caldwell," she chided herself, "He's alright so far, just a bit cold. You've worked for worse." With nothing further to do here for the moment, she left to go home and collect up her belongings. She knew her parents would worry, now that she was leaving home, but she also knew that they really needed the space, what with Granddad and everything. And as she did not intend to look this gift horse in the mouth, it was her intention to move in tonight and have everything ready before she had to... a quick look at the list... make breakfast of toast and boiled egg to be ready for 7.30a.m. Meanwhile, Grey had climbed into his car and was on his way to a meeting. The message had been the usual one. "Grey, we have a job for you." That was all. But that was all he needed. Another briefing, another task, another life ended, another £500,000 in the bank. Grey sighed happily to himself, life was good. But for once, there was an itch, something in his back brain was screaming silently to be heard and he couldn't quite grasp it. By the time he got to the place of the meeting it was beginning to annoy him a little bit. ++++++++++ Grey glanced at his watch and then took another look out of the window. It was time. The target had arrived. He could see a large, black car making its stately way down the street towards the flower shop on the other side of the road. It pulled to a halt, Grey pressed the butt of the rifle into his shoulder and placed his eye square against the rear of the telescopic sight. ++++++++++ The next morning Grey returned to his flat. It was just after seven in the morning, the meeting had gone on a while and then he had decided to amuse himself in the casino. Never a high roller, and he usually lost at the tables, but he always enjoyed himself. Grey let himself inside and immediately caught the smell of brewing coffee. Startled at first, he remembered his new employee. "Eager," he thought. He could appreciate that. He walked into the kitchen, where Donna stood with her back to him at the far work surface. There was a pan of water ready to boil on the stove and she was humming to herself as she buttered some toast. "Good morning," he said making her jump. Donna span round, saw who it was and then, placing a calming hand on her chest replied, "Oh I'm sorry Mr Grey, you made me jump." He looked at her where she stood, she was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue 3 button, sweat top. His eyes dipped to the shadow of her chin where it lay on her partially exposed collar bone, before moving back up to her face. "Sorry," he said blandly. Donna got the impression that he had said it for something to say rather than to express any genuine feeling. But she flustered, "Oh don't be silly. It's my fault. Anyway, your breakfast is nearly ready. Where do you normally eat please?" "In the main room will be fine. I normally have it on a tray while I watch the morning news... I like to keep an eye on the stock prices you know." The last was said with artfully bluff camaraderie, the more she thought she knew about him the better. And if she thought he made money on the markets without appearing to have to do much of anything then that was all to the good. It would explain in her own mind how he could afford to live the way he did. Donna nodded and continued with the food preparation. Grey left her to it and walked into the living room to turn on the television. That part was true, he did usually breakfast in the way he had said, but he had no interest at all in share prices. He just liked to start the day with his window to the world wide open. He stopped and stared at the coffee table that sat in front of the Chesterfield. "Miss Caldwell," he called out and waited until she popped her head round the kitchen door. "Yes Sir?" Grey pointed at a large glass vase on the table that was filled with a riotous arrangement of wild spring flowers. More puzzled than annoyed at the unexpected intruder into his inner sanctum of order, he asked "What is that doing there?" Donna's look followed his finger to the colourful monstrosity, "Oh," she said smiling, "I bought them as a thank you for giving me this opportunity, and I thought they'd brighten the place up a bit. I love flowers, don't you? Mum always has fresh flowers at home." Grey watched her face as she spoke silently. Under his steady gaze her words ground to a halt before she continued, "Do you not like them? I'm sorry. I should have thought." She made to enter, "I'll get rid of them." Grey was a little nonplussed. He noted that she was embarrassed and it made her cornflower blue eyes darken slightly as her pale skin flushed pink. "No," he replied, "They're... lovely. Leave them where they are... Thank you." A quick smile flitted over Donna's features and she ducked back into the kitchen. Grey was a little disturbed at the moment. He had been looking at her face and now that itch was back in his head. But this time he knew what it was. It was her eyes. They were alive. She was embarrassed and they had darkened, but then she had smiled and they had danced. Donna Caldwell's eyes had not seen the things he had seen. Grey was quite disturbed to see how much he was affected by that. Embarrassed himself now, he silently accepted the breakfast tray that she brought in and trying to ignore the flowers, watched the news, until a cough made him look up. "I'm going to do some shopping this morning, Mr Grey. Is there anything you need especially?" "I normally get it delivered," he answered. "Oh. Okay then... erm well, there's nothing on the list for this morning. Have you anything else you need doing. I do like to be kept busy." Grey nodded thoughtfully, eager and industrious. Maybe he had made a good choice after all. Slowly, almost diffidently, his eyes travelled back up towards Donna's face where she stood next to him. He paused at the junction of the bottom button of the shirt momentarily, he noted that she was still a little flushed from the awkwardness with the flowers, and then continued upwards. If Donna was in any way discomfited or even aware of his inspection she made no show of it. "No," he said, "I don't need anything." Donna gave another fleeting smile and replied, "Okay then. Won't be long. What would like for lunch today?" Still bemused by the young woman in front of him he answered that she should just surprise him. With that, she left. The rest of the day set their routine for the weeks and months that followed. She would carry out the light duties laid out in the list and he would potter about the flat, reading listening to music and occasionally receiving a phone call and leaving on one of his errands. Sometimes he would go out for the evening and then would reappear then next morning. He never volunteered any information and she never asked. Donna also noted that he was rigorous in his application of her right to privacy. Not once, had he ever set foot in her part of the flat since she moved in. He never enquired about her day. And he never, ever asked about her personal life. In the past, it would have been because he was not interested. But he had noticed over the past few months, that that was no longer the case. Only the night before, he had reason to get up to use the toilet in the night. Then, as he found himself unable to get back to sleep, he decided to get a glass of milk. Walking past Donna's door, he heard sounds inside. Almost against his will, he stopped and listened. He could hear muffled grunts, moans and a rhythmic tap, tap, tap as Donna's head board repeatedly hit the wall. Then the tapping increased in tempo and the moans got louder until Grey made out Donna's voice almost screaming in ecstasy. Embarrassed at his voyeurism and at the same strangely excited about the carnal activity taking place on the other side of the door, he decided he needed to go out. Silently, he returned to his room, quickly got dressed, left the flat and climbed into his car. A short time later he reached the discrete building he was looking for. It was a high class establishment that he sometimes frequented to be attended on by only, the most beautiful and expensive women in London. Laying back on the huge German style double bed, naked under a purple satin sheet, he heard a light tap at the door. "Come in," he called. The door opened and a woman walked in, and what a wonder to behold she was. Tall and slim with chestnut brown hair that cascaded down over one shoulder. Her face was exquisite in its perfection and she wore only a light, see-through silk robe bound loosely at the waist. She flashed a dazzling smile at him and whispered, "Hello, I'm Tabitha." She paused artfully in the doorway, allowing the robe to shift slightly so that her left breast came into view. Grey's eyes followed the movement. Then closed the door behind her and sashayed slowly towards him, undoing the belt as she walked. She spoke again, "I've come to make you happy." With that, she shrugged her shoulders allowing the robe to fall to the floor and she adopted the classic stance of womanhood in front of him. One hand on hip and one leg bent slightly in at the knee. Her large breasts were shapely and firm and were tipped with dark red nipples that crinkled slightly. Her pubic hair had been shaved into what was colloquially known as the Laurel Canyon Sweep. Grey had to admit that she was one of the most delightful creatures he had ever seen. Slowly, Tabitha crawled onto the bed and reached out with one delicately manicured hand to scratch his chest lightly with her fingernail. Again, she said, "I've come to make you happy. Would you like that?" Grey merely nodded. He didn't really want to mess about, he never did. All he wanted to do was scratch his itch as usual. But it amused him to let her play her little coquettish games. "Why not," he thought, "She's getting paid, she might as well earn it." Getting no verbal response, Tabitha took his silence as assent and let her finger slide a little further down his stomach, pushing the sheet down as she did. Her stroking changed as her hand got nearer to his groin. Now all four fingers were employed making small circles as she slid nearer and nearer to his rapidly hardening cock. With a quick motion, she moved the sheet down to his thighs and turned her gaze towards his hard member. Tabitha growled deep in her throat, "That's a nice cock, mister. I'd like to taste that cock." She grasped him gently around the base of his hard penis and slowly lowered her mouth to the end. Her tongue flicked out like a cat and lashed around the head as she pulled his foreskin back. Tabithat turned her eyes towards his as she licked his hardness and her expression showed that she did, indeed, love the taste. Ten, never taking her eyes from his, she lowered her soft, moist lips over his cock and slowly took all seven inches inside her mouth. In spite of himself, Grey was impressed, this one was good. He could feel the warmth of her breath and the softness of her lips and tongue as they played over his skin and he was beginning to fall into the plateau of pleasure that such play produced. He leaned back into the pillow and moaned deep in his throat. He felt her hand start to gently stroke his balls as she fucked his cock with her mouth. Stopping every so often to lick down the length and nibble one of his balls between her teeth, only to then quickly slide back up his hard member and slip it back between her lips. Grey could feel the build up of sensation that indicated the imminent release of seed, so he gently stopped her from sucking him and whispered, "Enough. I want you now." He fancied that he saw a frown flicker across her beautiful feartures, to be instantly replaced by her usual sultry stare. "Okay lover, what ever you want." Still holding his prick in her hand, Tabitha knelt up and threw her leg across his body. Her hot vagina was directly over his penis as she held it vertical. Grey could feel the heat eminating from it. He felt his cock end nudge at her opening as she slowly guided him inside her. And once again, he was impressed. She was tight, very tight. And certainly a lot tighter than he expected a whore to be. Tabitha continued her slow descent until she was fully impaled on his hardness. She moaned, "Oh God! You're filling me. You're the biggest I've ever had." Her eyes shot open and she looked at Grey with undisguised lust, "I'm gonna enjoy this." She raised herself up and then pushed back down again, as she did another moan escaped from her lips. Backwards and forwards she rocked as she sat astride him. Grey could feel moisture pooling at the base of his cock as she thrust herself up and down. He could see that his pubes were being matted with her womanly lubrication as she fucked. He dipped his fingers into the fluid and brought it to his lips, "Sweet," he thought. Tabitha was approaching her orgasm now and her eyes were closed tight as she threw her head back, working her soft pussy up and down his rigid prick. Faster and faster. "Oh God! You're making me come! Oh God! You're so big, I can't stand it!" She reached down and grabbed his hands, pulling them into her soft, bouncing tits as she worked herself into a frenzy, "Play with my tits, please. I need it!" she screamed. And so Grey did, he held her breasts firmly, needing the tender flesh, enjoying the feel of her bullet-hard nipples in the palms of his hands. He growled deep in his throat, he could feel his semen rising in his balls as his body prepeared to ejaculate. Somehow, Tabitha must have sensed his nearness and started bouncing up and down even harder. Faster and faster she moved and screaming ever louder, "I'm coming! I'm Coming! I'M COMING!" Grey felt the explosion in his balls as semen was forced up his cock and into Tabitha's receptive pussy. She screamed even louder, no words, just a long drawn out scream of pure pleasure as she stiffened and stopped moving. Her back arched and she held herself rigid as hiss prick squirted a blast of pearly come straight into her womb. Grey laid on the bed beneath her slowly getting his breathe back as his body started returning to normal. Nerve endings were starting to lose their super-sensitivity and his breath was no longer short and laboured. Tabitha's eyes opened and she stared at the ceiling. She moaned once more and whispered, "You're the best... You're the best I've ever had." Getting herself back under control, she looked him in the face once more. An expression that conjured images of cats and cream decorated her face. She smiled at him and whispered, "Oh God, you are the best." Grey returned her look. And all the pleasure that he had received from this lovely young woman was spoiled. He had looked into her eyes. And what he saw didn't fit with the rest of her face. He saw dead eyes. Eyes that had seen too much. The same eyes as a nameless, and now probably dead whore in the East End of London. Grey sagged back into the pillow once again, "Get out," was all he said. A look of confusion entered Tabitha's face, "Wh..Wh..." she stammered. Grey grasped her around the waist and lifted her off his rapidly softening cock, pushing her quite roughly onto the bed beside him. "I said, get out." Tabitha sprang off the bed and quickly gathered up her robe from the floor, before running to the door and slamming it closed behind her. Grey chided himself for his foolishness. "Of course I'm the best she ever had. Of course I'm the biggest. And yes, I made her come like no other man could. She's a damned whore! An actress, Goddammit!" Normally he would have understood that, the girl was just playing her part and earning her money. Loving endearments and words of praise would excite the man and make him feel good... And it would make him shoot faster so she could finish and get out of there. Suddenly feeling quite sick, Grey dressed quickly and returned home. As he passed Donna's room to reach his own, he paused a moment and listened. The sounds of frantic loving had now ceased. He heard a gentle creak, like a wooden bed frame makes when someone shifts in their sleep, and he thought he could just make out the deep rhythmic sigh of that only happens in the deepest and most contented sleep. He murmured, "Sweet dreams Donna Caldwell," and continued to his room. Grey pulled his duvet up to his shoulders, but he could not sleep yet. All he could think about was the young woman in the other room. Normally women were of no consequence to him, pretty yes, but insignificant to his world view. Creatures to be used and forgotten, like the whore, what was her name? For What Its Worth But this young Donna, with her fluttering speech and love of the most God awful sprays of flowers and dancing blue eyes was affecting him. He was feeling something that he had not thought he would ever feel. It was emotion, he knew that, but which one? It had been over twenty years since he had stood in an alley and turned into an automaton. But Donna Caldwell was reaching inside him and flicking all the switches back on, whether she knew it or not. She was innocent, he knew that, but he also knew that she was not naïve even though she preferred to think the best of someone rather than the worst. She was like a kitten, but she had lioness claws when required, as seen when she dealt with a shifty window cleaner who had tried to fob her off with a sub-standard job. As he lay there, the realisation hit him that he was seeing her as a human being. For so long his credo had been that the world held one real person, him. Everyone else was just scenery. Even though neither had pried, he knew lots about her. Granddad was poorly again. Her brother Mark had finally joined the army, Tiddles the cat had passed away (what an emotional day that had been), and that Robbie Williams was a hunk. A little thought furnished him with all sorts of inconsequential about the invited intruder in his calm and ordered existence. Yes it had its bonuses. She kept good house for him, apart from the flowers and she kept him smart and well fed. She way she hummed to herself as she ironed his shirts in the kitchen or pulled a stray thread from his lapel. An involuntary shiver ran through him as he felt once again her light touch of her fingers brushing his chin as she straightened his tie that time. He had also nearly fluffed his last job. Ending a pretty young woman who was unfortunate enough to know too much about a certain Captain of Industry and stupid enough to try and capitalise on it. She had looked enough like Donna for Grey to miss the kill and only wound her with his first shot. He had to finish her with a second, and that had both annoyed and frightened him. It was something that had never happened before. It was a mistake. And in his line of business, mistakes got you dead. Donna was bad news and the only thing to do was to sack her. Get her out of his life so he could return to perfect, cold solitude. Decision made, he turned over to sleep, but sleep was to elude him for the rest of the night. ++++++++++ The crosshair slowly zeroed in on the target as Grey moved in for the killing shot. His arms never wavered as the head and shoulders of a middle aged man filled his sights. Biceps bulged slightly as his finger began to squeeze the trigger. ++++++++++ It was mid morning of the next day, and Grey was still pondering what to do about Donna. As she bustled about, wearing her usual sweat top and jeans, she was aware that there was something wrong. Finally, she could stand it no more. She stopped polishing and turned towards Grey, "Mr Grey. Is there something wrong?" Grey found himself unable to look her in the eye. He was a man with no emotion, he prided himself on his iron will and total control. He had administered brutal beatings in the past, rubbed shoulders with some of the most dangerous men in the world and felt more at ease than he did now. He had lost track of the number of people he had killed, but he could not look this beautiful young girl in the eye and tell her she was fired. Donna stood waiting, "Mr Grey? If I've done something, please tell me." He rubbed his eyes wearily with one hand and then said, "Sit down please Donna." She was a little worried now. He never addressed her as anything other than Miss Caldwell. She had been uncertain for a time as to whether he actually knew her first name at all. She sat. And still she waited, watching her employer as he gathered his thoughts. Grey blew out heavily and then said, "I'm sorry Donna. I have to let you go." Thunderstruck, her eyes opened wide and her mouth fell open. She had not been expecting this! As far as she had been previously aware, Mt Grey had been very satisfied with her work. She began to sort through her memories of her time here... Had it really been ten months? But she could not find a single thing that could be the cause of her sacking. In her heart, she was aware that he put up with her penchant for loud blooms and did not care for them himself, but that was the only gripe between them. Tears began to well up as she whispered, "What did I do Mr Grey?" Grey finally looked up and faced her. He steeled himself with all the self control at his disposal and answered, "Donna... It's not you. Believe me, you have done nothing wrong... It's me." "I don't understand." Rubbing his temples, he watched as Donna wrung the duster constantly in her hands. He started to speak, stopped and then started again, "You have to understand... I... I have not had what you might call a pleasant life. My life has been hard and to survive I had to be hard as well." He paused to see if he was communicating well, but Donna's brow was creased in confusion. "You see... I am not a nice man. I have live as I do because I have to. It's all I have and it's all there is. It's who I am. And I don't expect you to understand this but it's because you are so nice that I have to let you go." Donna was having trouble taking this in. Sacked for no real reason, where would she go? Now that Granddad had moved in there was no room at home anymore. None of her friends had the room to put her up. Her current boyfriend always came here because it was the only place they had. She was frightened and her claws silently came out. Innocent, young, but a fighter, and she wasn't going to give this up without a fight. She had to try, what else could she do? Her tears dried and she regarded Grey coldly, "No," she said, "I don't understand... And I'm going nowhere until I do!" "Please Donna, don't make this any harder than it already is." "Like I said, I don't understand. Explain to me... You make me understand!" Grey was in a quandary now. He couldn't give her his real reasons. She was a liability to him because she was affecting his view of the world, affecting his ability to murder... did he just think that? Murder. He shrugged inwardly, why not? It was true after all even if he had never applied the word to his own job before. "Sorry Miss, but I'm a professional killer and you are fucking up my head, just by being here. So piss off out of my life please, and here's your severance pay. Bye bye and have a nice life." Yeah right! That would work. He tried another tack, "Donna. I have done some very bad things," he held up a hand, "No, I'm not going into detail, but please just trust me. Bad things I said, and bad things I meant. But you aren't like that. You are a genuinely nice person, perhaps the first one I've ever really met. And I'll be damned if I ruin that by letting you stay here with me. Because that's what would happen you know. Everything in my world has to be ordered and methodical, otherwise things could get hairy. And you being here spoils that." "How?" Grey stood up with clenched fists and shouted, "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND YOU'LL GET ME KILLED!" The force of his verbal attack made Donna rock back against the back of the sofa. She flinched involuntarily and brought her hands up to her face with a startled cry. He was horrified, not least because Donna thought he was going to hit her. But at his own loss of control. He staggered forward and diffidently touched her forearm, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Please, believe me I wasn't going to hit you." Dropping her arms slightly to return his gaze, Donna saw something she had never seen before in his normally cold eyes. It was moisture. He was crying. Almost without thought, she reached up to comfort him, and whispered, "I know, I know. You just startled me is all. Come on, no harm done." As her arms snaked around his neck, she felt his muscles twitch under his skin. He had said he loved her. That was a surprise, in all the time she had been there he had never been any more than polite and passably conversational. Even when he saw another one of her special flower pots adorning another room in the flat. It came as a surprise to her that she was in this situation. Her employer had sacked her in one breathe, declared his love in the next and told her she would be his death in the one after that, and here she was cuddling him. Along the length of her body she could feel his pressed against her. He felt firm and toned and she could smell his expensive aftershave. She felt his arms snake round her in return and she could hear him murmuring into her shoulder the same words over and over. "I love you and you'll get me killed." Gently she disengaged from him and pushed back a small distance, "What did you mean, I'll get you killed." Grey found it easier to face her now, the floodgates of control were gone and he found himself talking openly and with emotion, for the first time in his adult life. "I said you'll get me killed and I meant it. I have a job to do. And in order to do that job, I have to be a robot. Until now, I was a robot. And then you walked into my life. With your flowers and your humming and that noise you make when you make love." Ignoring Donna's shocked expression he continued, "I cannot afford to have this craziness in my life. So it's best that you go and never come back. Please believe me when I say that I love you. But please believe me when I say it's best that you go. It's the best for me and it's certainly best for you." Once more, Donna found her eyes wet. She pushed back against him and held him tight. "Oh you poor thing. You must be so lonely. I never thought about that. Oh you poor thing." She intended to place her cheek against his, but he moved his head slightly and their lips brushed together. Donna jerked back a fraction, slightly embarrassed and looked in his face. Then she kissed him again lightly and tenderly and once more drew back to look in his eyes. As she closed in for another kiss, she felt his hands move to her upper arms and push her away forcefully. He face was a snarl of anger and he hissed, "I see your game! I know what you're trying to do! You must really want to keep this job. Well it won't work. Pack your bags, you're leaving." Donna shook free from his grip and bringing her arm back she slapped Grey across the face as hard as she could. "HOW DARE YOU! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!" Now it was her turn to be angry. She thrust him away and started pacing, as she spoke in cold angry tones, "You bastard! You thought I was going to... to... do that to keep this job! You complete bastard! Once, just once in all the time I've been here, I've seen the real you. A frightened little boy and all I did was try to help. What did you think, huh? Well? Thought I was just another little bimbo out for all she could get by dropping on her back! Well fuck you Mr High and Mighty, Robot, Cool, Calm Grey! I wanted to help you. If I'm going make a whore of myself it'll be for a damn sight more than an en-suite bathroom and £250.00 a week." Grey reached out and grabbed her arm again, "Donna, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Honestly." He had to exert real pressure to get her attention again and stop her to-ing and fro-ing. "DONNA PLEASE! Listen to me. I was scared okay? I didn't mean to hurt you, I was scared." She snarled back, "What of?" His arms dropped back to his sides and he whispered, "Of me." "What do you mean?" "Look. I didn't call you a whore. I meant... I don't know what I meant." Still extremely angry, but now willing to listen again, she said, "Yes you did. If I know anything about you at all, I know that you don't do anything without a reason. You were just pushing me away, I see that. You were trying to hurt me so I'd be upset and leave. Well tough tits Mr Grey, I'm going nowhere." It was Grey's turn to goggle as a revelation was made known. "You see, you aren't the only one in love." His legs sagged and Grey fell back onto the sofa, "Oh this is terrible," he moaned, "This makes things ten times worse." Donna pressed her attack, "Why? Because someone fell for you even with your aloof manner and your antiseptic life. I didn't ask to go for you like I have, it just happened okay. I don't know when and Christ knows how, because you are not exactly lovable you know, but there it is. I would say sorry about it all, but I'm not, so we'll just have to live with it won't we." She sat down next to him on the sofa and placed her arm over his shoulders, "Look, I don't care what you do. It can't be that bad can it? I mean it's not like you're a hit man for the mafia or a drug smuggler is it?" Not trusting himself to speak, Grey let her continue, "But one thing I do know, Mr Grey is that I love you, and now I know that you feel the same, I really don't see the problem. You do what you do out there, whatever it is. I don't care. But let me stay here with you. I know that you never do any of your business here, so this is your haven isn't it?" She paused, "It could be our haven Mr Grey." Finally, he felt able to look her in the yes again. And once more he was dazzled by the light that shone in them. The rapid blink that washed moisture over the orbs of pure white surrounding the delicate blue of her iris's as they contracted and expanded in the light. Her delicate eyelashes and her arching blonde eyebrows. He kissed her. The kiss started slowly, building in fervour and intensity as they held each other tight. As the passions grew within each of them, they, Donna and Grey released themselves to the pent up emotions that were sending them into delight together. The kisses they shared were a revelation for Grey. As their arms wrapped around each other, Donna's lips pressed against his and he felt her soft tongue worm its way into his mouth. It was something he had never experienced before. The soft intrusion was a delight to his senses. Tentatively, he returned the favour. Gently, he used the tip of his own tongue to lightly stroke hers as she explored his mouth. He heard and felt the vibration of a moan as Donna made her enjoyment known. Slowly, Grey let his hand slide from her shoulder, down her upper arm to her elbow. He felt her shiver under his hand. He paused a moment before carefully letting his exploring fingers slide inwards and onto her right breast. Gently he began kneading her soft mammary through the shirt. He could feel her nipple become bullet hard and Donna's breathing began to come more sharply. As Donna wallowed in the feel of Greys, strong touch on her breast, she moved her hands up to the back of his neck and pulled his lips even harder against her own. An involuntary spasm was starting in the muscles of her chest and stomach and her breathing became difficult, but in the most pleasurable and delightful manner she could imagine. Grey's hand slipped down from her heaving bosom and snaked it's way inside her top. And touched her bare midriff before slowly making its way back up her ribs to her breast again. When he reached it and stroked her soft tit through her lacy bra he was amazed just how hot her flesh was. It was almost like her blood was boiling. Donna moved down his body and as one hand rubbed his thigh, the other slid round to the groin and rubbed his hard cock through his trousers. Inhibitions were falling away rapidly for both of them and was being replaced by desperate need. Grey felt her hand separate his top fly button and lower his zip before snaking inside his trousers to get a proper grip of his turgid cock. Her fingers deftly found their way over the hem of his underpants and firmly pulled them down so his hard member could spring free. Her cool fingers grasped him firmly and began a smooth up and down motion. The feel of her hand on his cock was better than any pussy he had ever had. She was driving him wild with lust. They had to stop kissing and fondling for a moment so that Grey could lift Donna's top and pull it off over her head and throw it on the floor. Before Donna could reach back for his cock, he stopped her and sitting back on the sofa, pulled her so that she sat astride him and reached around to undo her bra. As the clasp came open, the straps fell from her shoulders and he got his first view of Donna's succulent breasts. They were of medium size, firm and high on her chest and topped with confections of the palest pink that were hard and crinkled with lust. He could see her torso was flushed and a light coating of sweat was appearing on her skin between her lovely mounds. Grey took her awesome tits in his hands and moulded the flesh gently, before dropping his mouth to one nipples and sucking it lightly. A spasm of joy went through Donna as she felt his moist tongue snake around the hard nubbin. He transferred his lips to her other nipple. He looked up as he worked on her tender tit flesh with his mouth and on her firm arse cheeks with his hands. His cock had never felt as hard as it did now and he knew that he had never been this excited... this ready before. Even as he worked on her boiling hot tits he mumbled, "Look at me, I want to see your eyes." Donna sat astride him with her hands barely holding her steady as she gripped his shoulders she dimly heard his voice break through the mist of sexual bliss she was experiencing, she opened her eyes wide and stared into his eyes as he stared into hers. A strange thought broke in her mind, "Your eyes. They're shining... They're gorgeous," for some reason that thought warmed her even more than his exploring hands and tongue were already doing. But as Grey stared into her eyes he saw something different. Amethyst fire! That's what he could see. Eyes that were alive and burning with lust. Not a lust for money, not a lust for favours. Amethyst fire that burned with a lust for him, just him and nothing else. Eyes that burned with bright, blue, human life. He stopped teasing her skin briefly to murmur in a voice throbbing with wonder, "Your eyes... They're alive." Donna had no idea what he meant, but she took the opportunity to ceize the initiative from Grey, gently she pulled back and slid from his lap to kneel on the floor between his thighs. After pulling his trousers and pants completely off, she looked at his rigid cock as it stood, ramrod straight in the air. Her hands slid between his thighs to converge on his balls and she carefully massaged them while her head dropped to the base of his aching prick. Her tongue flicked out and she licked slowly along his hot length, until she reached the head. Donna inhaled deeply as her tongue wound itself around Greys prick, she delighted in the musky odour he was giving off as he succumbed to his animal lust and the wonderful sensations she was causing. One hand slid from his balls to wrap around the his burning flesh and slowly pulled his foreskin back, allowing his large purple cock head to emerge. Then she moved her mouth to the very tip and slid almost his entire length in to her mouth. Grey almost jumped off the sofa when he felt her take him so, it was incredible. He could feel her tongue working magic as she thrust her mouth back and forth along his cock. He was unable to assimilate the joyous sensations that were building in his groin. He could feel the beginnings of orgasm approaching and he whispered, "I'm coming, I'm coming." This spurred Donna on to work her mouth even faster, up and down his solid love-muscle. Again, he whimpered, "I'm coming." And before he knew anything else... he did. A blast of semen erupted from his cock and filled Donna's mouth with its pearly stickiness. She swallowed convulsively as if this were the most delicious taste in the world. And right now, for Donna, it was. She could feel his cock spasming and softening slightly in her mouth s o she stopped her movement and concentrated on sucking all of his come down her throat until his cock was completely clean.