Heart's Passage

Chapter Two

And then, fatally, she had gone to the cops when he'd beaten her within an inch of her life just once too often.

Jo had fielded the phone call from her boss at 1am on a cold, wet and unforgiving winter's night.

"I want the little bitch taken care of, Madison," he had barked. "I want it public, I want it messy, I want it untraceable. You got me?"

"Trying to send a message, boss?" she'd asked.

"Just do it. I'll make the usual arrangements for your payment. I want her gone, Jo."

She'd hung up and collected the tools of her trade - a custom-handled shimmering blue Colt Commander tucked into a discreet holster on the back of her hip, a wicked, thin-bladed knife on her other hip and a piano-wire garrot, her weapon of last resort, hung from her belt.

She didn't feel any different, had no inkling that this would be the end of the line for her, the changing of her life, as she stepped out from her warehouse apartment deep in the back alleys of King's Cross and walked off into the night.

Jo had found the girl, much as she'd expected, sitting on the pavement in front of one of the all-night coffee shops on Oxford Street, sharing a joint with a thin beautiful gay boy, fresh from the dance clubs.

Too stupid to know she's in trouble, Jo had thought as she stood across the street, watching from a darkened doorway. Or too stoned. Time to make this happen.

She had shrugged herself upright and stepped forward into the light, waiting for a break in the traffic and beginning to cross the road. The girl caught sight of her and Jo had stopped, letting the wind heighten what was already, she knew, an intimidating sight.

The girl had seen a tall, gothic figure in black from head to foot, ice-cold blue eyes boring into her, hands slowly flexing into fists and opening again by her sides, the wind whipping her long black hair around her face, and her full-length black coat around her legs. She knew Jo, knew what she did, and had felt the chill as realisation hit. Her male companion had been a beat ahead of her, and was already making a hasty retreat.

Jo had waited. She knew there was no rush and she knew the ending was inevitable. She just had to let it happen in its own time. Slowly the girl stood, unsteady on her feet from the hash and the fear.

"W-what do you want?"

Jo let an almost feral grin cross her face.

"You."

That did it. The adrenalin had finally kicked in for her quarry, who took off down Oxford Street towards the city centre. Jo didnžt rush but followed at a light jog, knowing at this time of night there wasn't much of a crowd for the girl to lose herself in. She saw the girl duck into an alley and almost laughed at the simplicity of it all. It was a dead-end with nowhere to go but oblivion.

She had slowed to a walk as she entered the alley, ignoring the stench from the piles of garbage. One foot kicked aside a rat carcass, and ahead Jo could see her quarry crossing the pale yellow pool of light thrown by the bare bulb above a doorway. She walked on through the light herself and into the murky depths of the end of the alleyway.

The girl shivered, her back pressed against the damp brick wall. The woman walking towards her never slowed for a moment and the girl had squeaked as a large, powerful hand wrapped itself around her throat, lifting her bodily. She felt the pressure build in her head as she fought for breath, her own hands fluttering uselessly against Jo's.

"Stop fighting. I will make this quick if you just stop fighting," Jo had muttered harshly. The girl went limp and she dropped her, drawing out her gun as the junkie crumpled in a heap at the base of the wall. The assassin stepped back, cocked the Colt and took aim. Green eyes welling with tears stared back at her along the barrel.

Then the unthinkable happened. For the first time in her career Jo had felt a trickle of sweat down the back of her neck. That awareness made her hesitate. The tear-stained, elfin face at her feet sensed the hesitation and took its chance.

"Why?" the girl had whispered.

"You know why. You donžt fuck with Tony."

"N-no. I mean, why you? What did I ever do to you?"

The words had cut through Jo like a hot knife through butter.

"SHUT UP!" she had screamed. Jo surged forward till she was crouching in front of the girl, the muzzle of the gun pressed hard against her temple. Images of another time, another child - darker, younger even than this one, and another killer's gun, flashed before her eyes. "Just shut up -"

Jo had fought for self-control then, her finger pressuring the trigger slowly, her gaze full of her victim's imploring, tear-filled eyes. She was dumbfounded by the uncertainty and - horror? - welling up inside her. Never had she felt such doubt. She had always been the cold-eyed killer who felt nothing, but this waif had reached in and squeezed her heart, somehow.

Again Jo had hesitated, torn and bewildered by her own lack of resolve. But then the decision was made for her, as footsteps hurried up behind her and stopped.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" She barely recognised the voice as one of her boss' henchmen. "Finish it, Madison, for christ's sake."

"Get lost Marco, I've got this," she threw back over her shoulder, the gun muzzle still pressed cruelly into the young girl's cheek, where a trickle of blood was showing.

"Doesn't look that way to me. Looks to me like you were about to let her go."

She had rounded on him then, standing tall, besting him by a good few inches, pressing the gun into his gut. His breath reeked of garlic and stale beer.

"I said fuck off Marco, this isn't your concern." Her voice was low and threatening. But for once, the thug wasn't intimidated. He had sensed her hesitation, had heard the quaver in her tone and now he drove home his advantage, like a sword into an armour's chink.

He slammed her back against the alley's side wall, wrenching the gun from her hand before pistol-whipping her viciously with the butt of the grip. Jo was stunned, not by the force of the blow but, as her world began to go black, she realised she hadn't offered any resistance. Jo Madison, assassin, had allowed herself to be overpowered with barely a whimper. Her last thought before oblivion swallowed her was 'perhaps this is what I wanted'.

She had come to slowly, achingly, with a mouth full of filthy street water from the puddle she had landed in. Hacking away the foul taste, Jo sat up groggily, grateful at least that Marco had disappeared. She sat back against the wall, rubbing her forehead ruefully, her fingers coming away red from the lump she felt there. Then she caught sight of her gun, and beyond that a crumpled, bloodied form, now unrecognisable as human.

"Oh no."

Jo stood up slowly, using the wall for support. She waited until her stomach stopped its flip-flop and once she was sure she wasn't going to throw up or faint she made her way over to the girl. There was no doubting she was dead. Her face was unrecognisable - just a mess of destruction. Jo guessed Marco had emptied her gun into the girl and then inflicted his own signature brand of violence upon her, probably with his steel-capped boots, just for his own jollies. Her stomach rebelled again and she turned aside and vomited convulsively, splattering the wall and her own shoes.

"God, I'm so sorry ..."

What happened here? Jo struggled to understand how the girl had reached into her psyche and woken her from a 10-year spell. Whatever happened next, Jo knew she couldnžt keep doing this. There was nothing left inside her except pain and remorse and darkness. She wondered at the tears streaming silently down her cheeks, helpless to stop them.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and reached for her cellphone. No doubt Marco was already telling her boss the good news in person. She knew she didn't have much time. She dialled a number from memory and waited for it to be answered. Eventually a sleepy, gruff voice picked up.