The Pen Pusher


Anatoli hugged the attache case close to his chest as he entered the small, gray room. Single light, two chairs, a blank gray table – not the most creative design, he supposed, but little was required from a room such as this. Out of the way, out of sight, large enough for two, small enough that neither could do anything in a great hurry. Anatoli; neat, well-pressed little Anatoli, the administrator and organizer for half the operations in this country - legitimate or otherwise - would never feel safe meeting the man occupying this room. However, this was probably safest environment that could be managed, outside of a padded cell. He'd considered making the request of his father, who had introducded him into the business, but decided against it. His father was not known for his sense of humour.

The room's other occupant shifted backwards, scraping his chair's legs across the cement floor. Anatoli's gritted his teeth, hoping that the other man didn't notice. He'd heard enough about the assassin to know that he was probably going to get on his nerves for kicks. A confirmed sadist.

Of course, the man casually leaning back in the chair didn't look terrible imposing. Blonde hair cut a little too long, in a style that was decades out of date. Gray turtleneck and blue trousers. Anatoli looked him over for what he felt might have been a second too long, then hurried over to the opposite seat, laying his case flat on the table in front of him. Having settled himself, he finally looked directly at the assassin.

He gave a quick grin. 'I am Anatoli. Did you have a pleasant trip?”

The assassin smiled, a creeping thing that one didn't notice forming until the teeth were showing.

“The drive was pleasant. Weather was bad. Miserable country, this. Everything is gray and dull. Like someone has drawn the colours out. My cousin used to paint things like that. They looked terrible, and I told him so.”

Anatoli blinked, slowly. “Well, yes. I happen to like it here. My tastes always did run towards the more subdued -”

Eyes darted across Anatoli's form. “You are not lying, friend. So, your employers felt that this damp patch of earth was worth killing for?” He shrugged, that smile still fastened to his face, while he rocked slightly on the chair. “I prefer to kill men in the tropics, personally. At least there are coconuts trees. I like the way they flow in the wind.”

Once again, Anatoli found his teeth clamped together in the back of his mouth. “Different strokes, of course, Yuri. And yes. The kill. I'm afraid a point of contention has arisen with my backers.” He winced at the memory of his father telling him of the assassin's conduct on the mission.

The man leaned back, placing his hands behind his head.

“Ur.”

“What?”

The smile had finally left.

“Ur. My name is Ur. Not Yuri.”

Anatoli struggled to think of an appropriate response, failed, and blinked again.

“Um. I am sorry. I was told... never mind. But... it is an unusual name. Anyway. The job, you see-”

“My father was obsessed with with Sumer. Lord knows why, it is another cheerless place. Very dull afterlife.”

“Ur, that is not important right now-

“No, but it has always annoyed me when people say my name wrong, and I am seldom presented with the opportunity to get these things off of my chest.”

“Ur. Please. The topic at hand!”

The assassin sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and resting his chin upon his clasped hands.

“Yes, yes, Anatoli. So impatient! Were you not the one who opened our dialogue with an inquiry as to the comfort of my journey? And now it is all business! Ah, very well.” That smile had returned. “Your employees have taken issue with my job. What is the problem? Was the target not dead enough?”

Anatoli opened his case. He hoped that Ur would not notice his hands shaking. It contained a collection of files, one of which was he flung upon the table, spilling a number of black and white glossy photographs in front of him. His finger pinned one of them to the hard surface.

“Look.”

Ur craned his head forward.

“A butterfly?”

The grinding of Anatoli's teeth were becoming audible, now. “It's you, Ur. It's you killing the Marshall.”

“Ah!” The reverberation caused by the exclamation was very loud in the tiny room. “Excellent! Then you will not have to be taking my word for it!” The smile may have gotten bigger. It was hard to tell.

“We wanted him dead, Ur. We wanted him out of the way. Discretion was advised-”

“But not required. I remember. And I did not feel like being discreet that day. I was bored, so I decided that I would do the job in as amusing a way as possible.”

“I see,” Anatoli said, flatly. “So you, let's see -” He was flicking through the glossy's like a child's note pad. “-you walked up to the Marshall” - flick - “and appear to talk to him for a moment” - flick - “then he hands you something,” - flick- “and you thrust it into his neck.” - flick -

“Yes! Is a fine job, do you not think?”

The air expelled from Anatoli's nose ruffled the glossys' in his hand.

“It was reckless, Ur. These were taken by a nearby journalist. Your face is going to be everywhere.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, you are right. Most unfortunate. They are terrible pictures of me -”

“That not the poi-”

“And those papers, they never get my jokes.”

That stopped the middle man cold. He forced his next words out with a truly herculean effort“You... talked... to... the... press?”

“What? Do I appear foolish? No, no. Look, Money man, look here.”

Ur had laid his finger on one of the glossy s'.

“What is this?”

Anatoli ran his hands over his face. “It's the Marshall, Ur.”

“No! No!” Ur was almost frantic. “This! This!”

The smaller man peered from out between his fingers.

“It's the Marshall's sword. He almost always has it on him on formal occasions.”

“Yes!” shouted Ur. “Yes, exactly! So, do you not see?”

It was all Anatoli could do not to stop himself collapsing on his own case. “No, Ur. I don't see.”

“I asked him for his pen, Anatoli. I did not think he would give me his sword.”

“I don't -oh.”

Ur was positively vibrating in his chair “Oh? Oh indeed! I chose the mightier weapon, did I not?” His smile had seemed to grow to impossible dimensions.

Despite himself, Anatoli let a haggard bark escape his throat. “I... very clever, Ur.”

“Yes, I thought so,” and he stretched his arms out to their considerable distance.

“However,” the middle man began as he collected himself, “I'm afraid this may turn out to be a somewhat expensive piece of humour for you.”

That cut the smile short again. “Will it.” There was not question there.

“Yes, Ur. My employers -  he winced again - felt that this job was much too brazen. They have directed me to slash a third off the initial price.”

“Have they.” No inquiry there, either.

“Yes. This is non-negotiable. You must take this payment or go home empty handed.”

A low rumble filled the killer's throat. “I did the job within their specifications.”

“Yes, Ur,” and Anatoli's tone was almost pitying, “but they felt that they didn't have to specify common sense.”

The smile had completely vanished, and all movement had stopped. Then, slowly, Ur's head raised itself to match Anatoli's eyes.

“So. How do you intend to pay me.”

The next words were said with the utmost caution.

“Bank bonds, Ur. You've done this long enough to know what to do with them.”

“Bank bonds?” Ur seemed surprised. “How you get those?”

Anatoli hesitated, then: “I do some work for one of the major lenders around here, and he lets me use them to move money around.”

“Ah. I see. Ah.” His gaze fell, then once again his eyes met the money mans'. “So. You would have to be doing much paper work.”

“Yes, Ur, but that's-”

“So you would always carry pen.”

Anatoli became very still. “Yes, Ur.”

Ur was speaking quite slowly. “I think I would like to see your pen, Anatoli.”

Not a movement. Anatoli just stared straight ahead, his eyes seemingly focused on a point past the killer's shoulder. He turned it all over in his mind. He could not beat the assassin in a fight, of that he was certain. Also, this room's design prevented him from leaving in a hurry. He briefly considered pinning Ur to the opposite wall with the table, but he had the feeling that Ur had already ran all of this through his head long before Anatoli had even entertained the fancy. Then, a slightly manic grin spread across the middle man's features.

“I'm sorry, Ur. Do you expect me to deny myself my strongest weapon when I'm sharing a room with a professional killer?”

Suddenly, the smile was back, larger than ever. “Well, then, Anatoli. It seems that you have me at your mercy. What would you have me do?”

The money man thought for a second. “I would have you take my employers” -one more wince. He really needed to get out of the habit of doing that when he thought of his father -  “money, and leave this room.” And he retrieved an envelope from his case, then passed it across the table. Ur took the envelope, and tucked it under his arm.

“Very well, Anatoli. I can not argue with a man who wields his best weapon so forcefully.”

Once again scraping the chair's legs across the floor, Ur stood up and made his way to the door. As he passed through the door way, he stopped. And once again, there was no question in his voice.

“The pen, Anatoli.”

Quickly lifting it from his pocket, the middle man tossed the pen at the assassins' back. Without turning his body, Ur's hand darted back and snatched the pen from the air, before sequestering  it somewhere on his body.

'Take care of that, Ur,” said Anatoli, once more narrowing his eyes. “It was my father's.”

Ur looked over his shoulder. “Really, Anatoli? It would seem a pity to deny you a family heirloom.”

“No to worry, Ur. My father is a dick head.”

Ur's body heaved in what might have been a laugh, then sauntered through the door.

Anatoli was pretty sure that the last of his bodily fluids now lay in a sheen across his brow. He mopped it, collected his things, and started thinking about how, exactly, he was going to leave this life. Proper banking was sounding better all the time. Sure, his dad liked keeping him under his thumb in the organization, but this was getting beyond the pale. With his case under his arm, he made for the exit.

-----------------------------

Ur watched Anatoli leave the building from the back seat car his driver had parked across the street. Ur looked away from Anatoli and examined the pen that he'd been given. More specifically, the name that had been engraved on the side.

“Well. It seems that Anatoli was right. His father is indeed a dick head.”

His driver turned to face him across the chair. “I'm surprised you let the guy live, Ur. They stiffed you. You don't usually let people do that to you and get away with it.”

Ur put down the pen and smiled. “I was thinking about it, Pieter. But I decided I liked the fellow.” He took a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it. “Plus, he got my joke.”

“Ah,” said Pieter. “Say no more. Where to, then?”

A slow smile crept across Ur's face. “I think I am going to return this pen to it's original owner. The man who employs his son in his organization and then makes the experience so unpleasant for him that the son cannot even think of his father without grimacing. An accounting should be made, do you not think?

“Hey, whatever you say, Ur. Do you think he'll get your joke?”

Ur breathed smoke out the window, watching as Anatoli disappeared around a corner.

“I believe I am sure of it.”