Long Story Short

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Shorts:  

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Series:

Ghost Stories

An action packed series centred around a young woman called 'Ghost' who shows up out of nowhere and disappears just as quick, sometimes someone ends up dead, other times, saved. It all depends who has hired her.



The Triad Hit - Clip. 1

  “Fuck,” It’s a profanity that barely escapes my mouth as I slowly and cautiously move around the huge perimeters of the Chia house, holding my breath ‘cause when you’re several feet in the air, you can only focus on one thing at a time. It’s like trying to hug a chubba chub, you never quite reach your other hand, and I felt stretched to my limit.

    I scrape my chest across the wall, on the ledge one foot next to the other until I’m on the outside railing of the little brat’s window, and when I say little brat, I’m referring to my target, only this time I’m under strict orders not to play with my guns, the kid stays alive. Ugh, it makes my gums itch; firstly, you can’t ask a hitter not hit someone, just like you can’t ask a paedophile to stop staking out at parks. And secondly, you don’t ask a hitter for a favour, chances are you’ll be disappointed with the results and resort to retorts such as “if you want a job done right do it yourself,” – my sentiment exactly.

“Sleeping tight, are we?” I mutter to myself, swinging one leg followed by the other over the railing of his balcony. I’m already regretting helping my dad out.

            I like to find my own jobs, so I wasn’t best pleased when the former Colonel Kane confused me with someone he could send out on missions.

“I just need you to watch him, nothing else,” Kane had said, watching me through those feminine curly lashes, while cleaning his KSG shotgun. I tell you that man was more gentle with those weapons than any woman I’d ever seen him with, save for his wife, you know, when she had that breathing thing down.

            “I’m not a babysitter, when did I get demoted?”

“You’re not demoted, Ghost.” There was a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I stood up, taking to pacing the floor. “What would you call it?” I have to admit, it made me nervous to even consider this job, I wasn’t trigger happy but I wasn’t gun shy either. The Beretta was a part of me, it reacted to irritation, took charge of my hands every time, and now I was supposed to ignore it.

“I’d call it a favour,” Kane joined me standing, a humongous black guy with about as much charm as a snake, but somehow, whenever it comes to me, he’s just dad.  I rolled my eyes when he turned, giving me his back, it was a practiced method of manipulation and I hated him for it.

            “Okay, fine. I’ll watch the brat, but if I get bored I’ll have to at least poke him.”

Kane glanced at me over his shoulder. “Do not poke him,”

            “Do not poke him,” I mumbled behind his back. I admit I resorted to childish antics there but he was pushing it, no poking, not hitting and no gun play. “You know the only reason we work so well is because I’m the bad one and you’re the good one.” I added a smile when he turned his body to me.

He gave me that watery stare, filled with pity, regret and guilt. I know the man so well it irritates me, so I took a few steps back before he could even contemplate walking over to stroke my cheek. “You’re not as bad as you think you are,”

            Colour me insulted. “Michael Jackson bad?” I teased.

“Ghost,”

            “I know. I’m simply misguided,” I corrected with humour in my voice. “You know, misguided is sleeping with a boy because he tells me I’m pretty.” I walked over to the wardrobe, prying the doors apart to search through my gear. “Bad, well, that’s wicked and being wicked is wrong. That’s makes me a wrong’en,”

“You weren’t always this way, you know?” I felt his voice closing the distance. “You weren’t born bad.” The colonel has such a loose tongue. I’m not stupid, I knew that. Nobody is born bad, we’re all victims of our environment and mine, well, from what I remember of it had a hand in my rebirth.

            Ugh, shoot me. “You can’t become something if you’re not meant for it. If I was meant for the good life, I would have it. Life would’ve led me somewhere different but it didn’t.” I pulled from the hanger, my butter soft leather jacket and swung it over my shoulders. “I like the life I have. Don’t shit on it because you feel guilty about my comfort level,”

“I worry, that’s all,” He pulled me into him, planting a kiss on my forehead before I could oppose. He knew full well, I only enjoyed hugs after a few shots and by then he was the last person I wanted for the job.

Alas, it was too tricky to turn down the person who had saved my life. He used to be in the Military, pulled out the whole “What did I ask you to do, don’t talk back, am I clear?” crap. I was amused, he knew it, but should I tell you what I knew? Colonel Kane could kick my arse into next week if he felt like it, so yeah, I’d do what he asked me to do without talking back, and I was more than clear about my mission.

                                                                           *

Okay fine, I couldn’t do as I was told without talking back, orphan, remember? I did try and the attempt at least was worth a mention, right?

        By the way when you’re rock climbing up the side of someone’s house, there is a limit on the things you can bring up with you, rope, water, whatever rock climbers need. Me, well, I had to narrow it down to hitter essentials, gun, extra clip, gun and hip pouch with my hitter toys.

Don’t try this climbing business at home, okay? I’m a skilled thief among other distasteful skills, I checked alarms, counted armed security versus unarmed, eyed at least 2 escape routes and well I don’t get caught. There’s the term amateur and pro for a reason.

Guess where amateurs like you are kept? You get to stay in the car and keep watch. Having fun yet?

                                                    End of clip.


Clip 2 :