A/N: I am aware I have not updated Stan's Fantasies. But it is coming. Be patient.
I've been intrigued in the idea of Tweek having a double life for a while now–shaking train wreck by day, assassin by night. And so, I decided to try it out. Tell me if I should continue, if it sucks, give me some pointers, whatever you feel like doing.
P.S. Any locations, names or persons mentioned in the work that is similar to anyone/thing that is or was real is entirely consequential. Or something like that.
The full moon floating overhead would've been beautiful in South Park, especially at this time of night; the snow would gleam and glimmer, the pine trees would be outlined in silver. But in an alleyway of Las Vegas, it paled in comparison to the thousands of blinding lights and flashes that I could still see behind my eyelids.
I nibbled on my thumbnail absentmindedly while Sam–a.k.a. "Nadia"–ran through the plan one more time while adjusting the earpiece that she had made herself for all three of us. Our operations supervisor, O.S., was back at the motel with his state of the art laptop and customized iPad that wasn't really an iPad.
That was how we worked. Nadia was the face of our work–she met with our various employers, handled the money, invented her crazy shit for our missions. She was with me on the field almost always, and knew everything medical-aid related.
Jazz–(NOT his real name) ran background checks, hacked security systems, track our and our targets' movements and kept the government off our tail. He and Nadia constantly argued, but over all were good friends.
And then there's me.
My only skill is that I can blend seamlessly into the background. That, and I have eight years of boxing and karate under my belt. But being invisible is good in my line of work, whether it's just walking through a crowd or swinging from banister to balcony to stab a prime minister in the neck.
Tonight, we were targeting a mob boss.
"Hey, Spazz. You with us?"
Nadia and Jazz's voices knocked me out of my thoughts and I gave Nadia a relaxed smile. "Yeah. I'm cool."
Tonight Nadia wore a revealing purple dress with a low cut and silver high heels that made her legs look miles long. She had on a blonde wig that reached her shoulders–strange, she always goes with black–and had in bright blue contacts and devil red lipstick.
This boss was in every business you could name and then some. Prostitution and drug smuggling were the biggest cuts, so tonight Nadia was going to lure one of his boys out and wring the info out of him. I was to lightly follow behind her and provide back-up if needed.
Nadia check the poison-laced knife hidden in her bodice and secured the .22 with silencer strapped to her thigh, just hidden from view. We didn't like to use guns–the CIA was way too good at tracking down bullets. Nadia used her knives; I went with throwing knives that were smaller than hers and, when needed, my bare hands. However, these were conventional; I've killed probably thirteen people with a spoon, four using a ballpoint pen, ten via strangulation with a computer wire, two by poison (Nadia likes poison) and one bizarre case where I kept a man's head in a toilet until he drowned while my hands were tied behind my back and my face was painted like a cat's.
Point is, we don't usually use guns, but when out on public streets in freakin' Vegas, we find it better to be safe than, well, dead.
"Alright," Nadia yawned, stretching her toned arms. "Let's do this. I have physics homework to do when we get back home."
"Sweet Jesus," I grumbled. "I completely spaced mine."
"Don't sweat it, Blondie," she winked as she walked by, ruffling my already chaotic hair, "Ms. Jenson totally loves you. All the teachers do."
I frowned. "Yeah well–"
"Hey guys?" An irritated voice sounded over the almost invisible earpieces in our canals, "Let's talk physics later, after Daddy le Blance is dead, okay?"
"You just say that 'cuz yours is done," I grumbled but motioned for Nadia to get going.
"Alright, Nadia. Nearest mob member is two blocks south of your position, facing north-northeast, wearing a leather jacket and ripped jeans. Age 22. Walk southward on Meridian and I'll give you his position after you catch his attention."
"Roger," she whispered and sauntered off down the crowded sidewalk, wolf-whistles and stares from both sexes following her wake.
I rolled my eyes and proceeded to go into 'ordinary teenaged boy' mode as I smoothed the collar on my plaid blazer–old from wear–and walked down the opposite sidewalk in my Nikes. I stopped here and there to gaze into the store windows and listened to Jazz and Nadia over the line.
"He's spotted you and now following you; turn into the next alley. Spazz, you on her trail?"
I pulled out my cellphone and flipped it open. "Yeah. Right behind her." I saw her dress sparkle as she turned a dark corner; a shady-looking guy with ratty hair but expensive clothes followed her none too gracefully. He looked behind him; I adverted my gaze naturally as I pretended to check my phone screen.
From my peripheral I could see him follow her into the alley.
Before I closed my phone I saw that I actually did have a text message. While still walking and listening to Nadia's innocent girl voice talk about how she had lost her friends in the crowd and how she needed to know where the nearest phone was, I opened it up and read it.
Hey Tweek r u free this Saturday? Me and clyde r goin to see that new Megan Fox movie. U in?
A short cry made me stuff the phone into my pocket and check around; no-one seemed to have noticed. I slipped into the alley and found the guy on the ground against the filthy brick wall with blood spouting from his nose and one eye swelled shut.
Nadia was holding her knife steady as she positioned the blade at the base of his ear. He whimpered.
"Where is Daddy le Blanc?" She asked in a low, sultry voice.
The guy threw a feeble right punch at her; she blocked it easily and shook her head. "Wrong answer." She lifted her four-inch heel and drove it into his pants and, consequently, into his scrotum.
Nadia slapped a dirty rubber strip from the dumpster next to her over his mouth to muffle the scream. I walked into the light and saw the man's watering eye look at me with some hope. Nadia took off the rubber and he rasped to me, "Please...hah...help me...stop this...b-bitch."
I nodded my head at Nadia, who backed off. The guy smiled, showing missing teeth and blood-red gums.
I punched the smile off his greasy face and he fell back down before I hit him again in the gut. He coughed, wheezing. I dragged him up by his collar.
"Tell us where le Blance is and you live. Refuse...and that was only a taste of what we've got for you." I tilted my head at Nadia, who had pulled out her favorite knife for torturing. She ran her slim fingers over the wicked blade and skull hilt like it was a kitten.
The material of his jeans darkened as he wet himself. Nadia could scare the shit out of people.
"O-okay." He wailed, trying to get out of my grip. "I don't know much, man, okay? I-I just help load the crank and slap a few bitches, that's all. I got no clue where Daddy's house is or where he works he–he just visits sometimes, and that's only when he needs to shoot someone."
"Who's you're higher up?" I snarled. "Who do you report to?"
"Ah! I–his name's Marco, okay? He's, like, Daddy's son. He-he operates out of the old church that got burned down three years ago, okay? In the basement, in the back room. That's where you'll find him."
"Yo, Jazz," Nadia said, "You know what church he's talking about?"
"Yeah, I got it right here; St. Martian's Church. Built in 1997 on Franklin Boulevard on the outskirts of town. Apparently shut down due to multiple break-ins and molestation charges against the priest. Brings back memories, huh Spazz?"
I suppressed a smirk. Kyle always made fun of the Catholic priests crap.
"We're done here," I said. Nadia met my eyes and she walked closer to the gangster wannabe, a dangerous glint in her eyes reflected by her curved knife. The guy's face fell as all hope was diminished.
"Wait you-you said I would live!" He screamed. "You said!"
I walked away as Nadia closed in and felt a vibration in my pocket. I checked my phone and found another text from Craig.
Hey, clyde found some girl 2 c the movie with. Wanna hang out my house tomorrow?
I smiled as the man's scream was cut off by a knife in his throat. We couldn't let him live; he was a witness, a trail leading to us.
Trails had to be covered up.