Short Story Saturday!

I liked today's a lot. It's a little different from what I've written in the past.

Today's short story is about a man who does some rather devious and underhanded work.




Paul Bouquet set down his briefcase beside the hotel bed, if you could call it a bed. The hotel was barely more than a motel stacked on its side. The room felt dirty despite its pristine appearance. The bed-sheets were tucked in an uneven fashion, the ashtray hadn't been emptied since the last guest used it (or ever for that matter, Paul Bouquet mused), and the light on the 1-cup-coffee-maker was burnt out. Paul Bouquet hated cheap hotels like this. He turned on the TV and started to watch The Simpsons in French. At least the TV still worked.

The phone rang.

Paul sat on the cat that was passing for a bed and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Paul Bouquet?"

"Yes."

"So you've arrived."

"I wouldn't be answering the phone if I didn't." Paul Bouquet didn't have time for this nonsense.

"They told me you were a no nonsense kind of guy."

"What's the job."

"We haven't decided if you're the right man for the job yet."

"Haven't decided!?" Paul Bouquet was outraged! They drag him all the way out here to tell him he might not be the right one for the job!?

"We just want to go over a few things, make sure we're on the same page here. Depending on your co-operation you'll either leave a very rich man, or a very poor one."

Paul Bouquet hated threats, but he knew he didn't have a much choice. They weren't bluffing. "Let's get this over with." He uttered back.

"As is the custom with this line of work we need discretion."

"Of course."

"This can't be traced back to us in anyway."

"I'm well aware. I understand the need for discretion. Any amount of attention could ruin me as well. Its mutually beneficial that I stay out of site." Paul Bouquet sighed. "As for it being traced back to you I assure you no one will ever know."

Paul Bouquet wasn't his real name. It was a pseudonym he used when he worked. He had to change it up every now and again but lately he'd grown attached to the name Paul Bouquet. He made a silent promise to himself to retire it after this job.

"Great. It sounds like we're on the same page. When can we expect results?"

"Tonight."

"That fast?"

"I'm the best."

"When your finished don't contact us. Plausible deniability."

"Your call."

"Now, if that's all."

"What about compensation." Paul Bouquet caught them. He didn't know how many times people tried to stiff him on the bill. They ended up paying more than his nominal fee in the long run.

"We'll contact you in a weeks time."

"That wasn't the agreement. Half now, half later."

"Look under the pillow."

Paul lifted the pillow to find an envelope of cash. A wad of $100 bills kept together with an elastic.

"We expect results tonight. We'll contact you in a week with the rest." And then the line went dead.

Paul Bouquet steadied himself. He had been doing this for years now and each time it could be his last. He sighed deeply and picked up the briefcase. He set it on the bed beside him. As was his ritual he put on his leather gloves and slowly turned the dials on the combination lock until the case opened.

He immediately pulled out a pack of sanitizer wipes and pocketed them. He had to remove the evidence after he was done. Even wearing gloves there was always some small thing that could give away his presence. He reached into the briefcase and pulled out his trusty tool. The one that never missed its mark. His monkey wrench.

He took a deep breath, and went to work sabotaging the plumbing of the hotel room.