2Author's note:
Oh goodness! Thank you for clicking! Well - Cedric is my brain child, and if you take him so help me I shall eat you. This is one in many chapters of his misadventures, and I sincerely hope you enjoy it. Please Read and Review, and I will of course return the favour.
Cedric was dressed his best for the particular bloody occasion.
"This one's a businessman." Elliot informed, handing him his dapper bowler hat.
"Not a very honest one, neither. Sells men's cologne, tests on animals. I know it's not a really big deal," he lamented.
"But, hell I like cats!"
"Well - we'll soon put a stop to that won't we?" Cedric replied, pulling on his classy overcoat.
"So - you're going as a rich investor are ya? Good luck with that. How are you going to act rich when you've never been close to it?" Said Sydney, before giving Finn a kick in the ribs to get up.
"Haha…" Toller replied sarcastically.
"I'm off." He closed the door behind him.
"Oh yes - one more thing - please behave like the gentlemen I know…well - that you're not. Play nicely!"
He then exited. He looked quite confident - and I doubt there are many confident killers out there.
As Cedric strode down the street, very little ran through his mind. His hands were placed in his pockets, his face was resolute, and his feet moved like a blur. He tried to imagine what type of personality the man had… whether he was meek, smart, cowardly, angry or fearless, he had to know. That was the most important factor. As an example, if he were bold and confrontational, the ordeal may require a gun. He hated them. In his humble opinion, they were awful little instruments, causing more noise than I would in a china shop. Not only that, but the job would be far more bloody than he would undoubtedly prefer. It left far too much evidence, and far too many suspicious neighbors.
The door of the poor bludgeoned car opened. Yes, he dared to venture off with it, putting dealing with Sydney until after he was finished.
As soon as the vehicle started so stir, Toller could see why he coveted it so. It was a peppy little London Crossley, and not only that but the exterior was perfectly preserved throughout the time Sydney had owned it. The only hint of abuse was the dent Cedric had inflicted upon it during his last venture out.
The drive was at least twenty minutes long - yet it seemed to him closer to twenty seconds. Every possible detail spun around in his overly large brain.
When you look at people, you can often tell how they are thinking. When I ask the doctor about blood tests, I become silent, purse my lips and clench my brow. You can nearly literally see "the cogs turning", although I must say Cedric's cogs turn far faster on a regular basis than mine ever will.
Staring at the snippet of paper on which Elliot had written the precious address, he suddenly looked up, and pulled the car to an abrupt halt.
Riding along he saw much trivial action. From a piteous little child dropping his ice-cream on the sidewalk, to a couple of old braggadocios on the patio of a quaint café arguing over politics. Again, it was opportunity to note these queer people, leading out their queer lives, and acting in the queerest of ways. This never failed to intrigue him.
He observed one of the gentlemen, though frail in looks, spring up and slam his fist on the table, insisting he was correct.
Thud.
The car jerked throwing Cedric forward, and releasing him to fall back.
"Oh dear." He thought, imagining a stark raving mad Sydney watching the scene. No matter. He could handle him, no doubt.
"Oi!" shouted the owner of the car in front.
"Oi! Hey! I'm talking to you!" he yelled from his car.
"Yes?" Cedric smiled, his large, white teeth glimmering in the sun.
"Oh…hello Cedric!"
He knew the voice sounded familiar. There was only one man with a voice so slimy. It was Leland.
"Right on time," Cedric called. "That's an adjustment."
"Meet you at that house in say…ten minutes or so?" the vile - voiced gentleman asked.
He nodded in agreement.
The plan was perfect. This man lived alone. Rather a hermit, only to emerge from his shell for posh business meetings. There was no doubt that nobody would be there to take mercy on him. However, there was one thing missing. The murder implement!
Musing over his flawless plan, this struck him. Quickly, he shot to the right street, tires squeaking, nearly missing the turn that needed to be taken in order to find the mischievous little shop in which one could find such things.
Each city has a little eerie, run - down area in it. Usually I feel quite uneasy in such places. Perhaps because of my acute sense of paranoia, because I've been told people who reside there are perfectly harmless - most of them.
The suspicion any normal person would have known venturing into such an area; Cedric did not feel at all. He was perfectly at ease with anybody in his profession, although he certainly preferred the more civilized ones.
"Where was this little sin - shack?" he thought, digging through all his past memories of driving up there. He vaguely recalled a large, but very rusty blue sign on it, yet he couldn't for his life remember what it said.
He drove by it. His memory being fully restored, he hastily turned towards it, parking right in front of the old establishment.
Walking into the shop, the musty smell of old books, and the horrid stink of smoke was apparent.
There was a weasely little scrap of a man leaning upon the glass counter. Thoroughly dusty, it encased various sizes of guns and other instruments. Almost his entire lengthy body was sprawled on the case. Through the transparency, his tattered suit was being given a hefty coating of soot.
"Oh! Oh! Oh, oh, oh!" he exclaimed. His imminently French accent adding the most appropriate drama to his speech.
"Look who comes back after so many years!" he said teasingly.
"Yes…it's been rather long hasn't it? How's your mother, Ayer?" he replied.
"Oh dandy…yeah just great. Doing real well…"
The evil demon of Uncomfortable Silence then struck the room.
Ten seconds passed with more than a few awkward smiles passed between them.
That was always the worst part of speaking to people for me. Especially when on the phone. I always worry that I'll say something foolish and they'll hang up. However…usually I sound far less intelligent when I ask them how they are for the third time.
"Alright, why are you here?" he snapped suddenly, drawing back.
"I'm merely looking for a few bottles of Larmoxodyl. Don't be frightened. I'm perfectly harmless." Said he in a toying tone, which didn't in any why make this little man any less afraid, on the contrary, it made him feel even more disconcerted.
He fled to the wooden cabinet, hastily grabbed at least a dozen bottles, bagged them, and thrust them into his arms.
"Could I get one of those pistols…some bullets as well please?" he asked, rummaging through his wallet.
"Twenty aines…" said the tender, as he reluctantly brandished the materials.
"That's a little steep no doubt. I'm not paying that much for it."
The squeamish man snatched the bag back.
"Too bad then, looks like you can't murder anybody today."
"How about…I decide not to shoot you with the gun you just handed me, and we gentlemen let bygones be bygones?"
Ayer hesitated, and reluctantly held out the bag.
"Alright, alright, alright!" he exclaimed.
"Good boy. I knew your cowardly nature would come in handy to me."
While he exited the shop Ayer muttered contemptuously; "God, what a snide little devil he is!"
"Language, Ayer, language!"
Cedric climbed back into the car, nestled the gun into his jacket pocket and began to drive.
He knew very well that the clerk wouldn't dare tell the authorities - partly because he actually was dead according to the government records - and partly because he knew that Cedric had a way with words, and pistols.
The gun was just in case. Just in case his victim was a particularly violent man. He certainly preferred poison though. What a sticky mess people are! I despise blood. I could never pull a trigger, even if my very life depended on it. Perhaps you could, reader, if you are more stout hearted than I am. Which - of course - is not a hard quality to achieve when compared to me. However, for Cedric, it was like popping a zit. It made no difference.
He tapped his fingers in a rhythmic fashion on the steering wheel. He fidgeted with excitement, knowing that his poor victim had a substantial house and an even more substantial purse.
He only hoped that he wasn't a man of great size. "Although large people have a pleasant disposition," he thought, "They positively murder my back!" No matter. Leland was strong as an ox, although lanky and skinny in stature. There would be two slightly less stiff backs if he had anything to do with it.