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If there’s one thing that Harry hates, it’s getting his clothes dirty.
If there’s one other thing that Harry hates, it’s murder.
Unfortunately, right here and right now, Harry’s clothes are dirty, and he’s murdered someone. So. It’s not a great day.
“Ugh,” says Harry. “Yeargh. Bleh.”
“Oh stop,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “If you didn’t want to get your clothes dirty, you should’ve let him run away first.”
“I’m allowed to complain,” Harry says. “This was a new top! I don’t exactly have the budget for new tops every time someone gets blood on them!”
“Wear black. That’s why everyone wears black around here.”
Harry doesn’t want to wear black. He wants to wear fun pink frilly things.
“Just help me dump his body in the river,” Harry says, pouting. “I need to go home and take a bath.”
—
Harry does not get to go home and take a bath.
He slips a boring navy blue hoodie on over his nice pink frilly bloodstained top, and he dumps a body in the east river, and he stops at work just long enough to pick up his payment (in cash, because Venmo will shut down accounts claiming to exchange money for murder).
But then he has to kill some more people. It’s a whole thing.
“Whoa!” Harry shouts as the doors close behind him and he’s suddenly face to face with three guys in all black and ski masks. “What, do you think you’re robbing this building? Who’s good idea was it to rob an organized crime syndicate?”
“Shut up,” one of the Ski Masks says. “We’re getting revenge!”
“Well you’re not doing a very good job,” Harry grouses, lifting his hands in the air just enough to look compliant. He hates when people tell him what to do. “It’s Sunday, you dumbasses. Nobody works on Sundays, it’s the Lord’s day.”
“This is an organized crime syndicate!” Ski Mask yells back. “You don’t go to church!”
Au contraire, Harry thinks. Because where else would he get to wear a pink frilly top? The old ladies at church really appreciate that sort of thing.
“I think you should try going to church,” Harry says. “The stained glass really does things to a man.”
Ski Mask is pointing a gun at him. His buddies are also pointing guns at him. It’s overkill.
“You know, my buddy Liam — who also goes to church, because he’s a good church-going boy — is supposed to be back any minute too. Are you prepared for there to be two of us?” Harry asks.
“We’ll kill you and your friend,” Ski Mask says. The other two don’t seem to be talkers.
“I’ll take that as a yes, although so far you’re not doing a great job at the follow-through. Have you considered getting jobs as doormen? The intimidation factor might work better on people who haven’t just killed your boss and dumped his body in the river.”
“What?!” Ski Mask’s friend yells. “You haven’t done that!”
Harry rolls his eyes and then pulls up his hoodie, to reveal the bloody frilly shirt. “Do you think I dress like this for fun?”
Ski Mask has gotten out his phone and is ringing someone, probably his boss. In the near empty room, the dial tone echoes. It goes to voicemail. He looks nervous.
Or, maybe he looks nervous. It’s hard to tell in a ski mask.
“Right,” Harry says, pulling his hoodie back down. “Are we done here? We’re done here. Go on, it’s not like you’re getting a paycheck anymore anyways.”
He hits the accessibility button that powers the door (because organized crime syndicates should still be ADA compliant), and stands still while it vrrrrrrrrr opens.
Ski Mask stands still, gun still pointed at him, phone in the other hand.
Friend number one cracks first, making a run for the door. Friend number two follows him.
Harry smiles at Ski Mask and does a little bow. “Your decision,” he says.
Then he pulls out his fun little Pocket Gun and shoots him. Ski Mask goes down hard, phone and gun scattering across the tile floor.
Ugh. Yet another body to dump in the river.
—
On Monday, when people really are in the building, Harry comes back.
It was a lot of annoying work, cleaning up after Ski Mask. DNA is harder to get rid of when you’re inside, which is why he likes to do most of his work down by the pier. Unfortunately, he’d been completely bluffing about Liam coming soon after him, because Liam goes to the evening church service so he can flirt with the organist, Zayn, so he had gone home to get cleaned up. So Harry had done all of that hard work alone, and he’s hoping to get a bit of a bonus for going the extra mile and not just leaving loose DNA around for anyone to find and question.
“Hello Phyllis,” he greets the tiny old woman who stands by the front door. She’s employed entirely to push the accessibility button and let people in, because Harry’s boss has a weak spot for old women. And old men. And children. It’s a wonder he’s able to build any sort of crime empire, the amount of money he gives away to those in need.
Phyllis smiles at him and pushes the button.
Harry comes in to a bustling office and greets Greg, Scott, Chris, Vic, Jordan, Arielle… Too many people, honestly, all doing mysterious crime things that he assumes are mostly tax fraud, because if they were all doing as much murder as Harry ends up doing, the city would be starting to be quite light on people.
Not that Harry sets out to kill people, to be clear. It just happens sometimes.
He makes his way up the spiral marble staircase with little handmade stickers on the banister that say things like Crime Pays and Stairway to Heaven and Fuck MLMs and Yeah we’re evil but at least we’re not capitalists.
At the top of the stairs is the big wooden door that leads to the Big Boss’s office. Or, it would, but this is a crime syndicate and that’s a very big target so instead, the big wooden door leads to their Room Of Guns, where they keep all their guns. If anyone is ever ambushed in the Room of Guns, at the very least they will be able to defend themselves (with guns).
So instead Harry takes a left, and goes down the hall to a small unsuspecting door near the end. He knocks three-to-five times, as instructed (it’s four times, to be clear), and then waits until he hears an “Enter!” from the inside.
Pulling open the door, Harry slips in. Usually it is just the Big Boss in this room, the Head of the organization. But today when he comes in, he stops just inside the door because Big Boss is there with Niall — who is a Fairly Sized Boss — sitting across his desk from him.
“Niall,” says Big Boss. “You remember Harry, don’t you?”
Niall turns in the nice leather swivel chair that he’s sitting in. He’s dressed like he’s going to head to the golf course. “Of course!” he says jovially. “You’re Harry!”
Harry nods. “Hello Boss Niall,” he says, then turns to the Big Boss. “Hello Big Boss.”
Big Boss rolls his eyes. He’s wearing a slim three piece suit, but Harry can see his neon green sneakers under the desk. “I’m not going to call you Underling Harry,” he says. “I do enjoy knowing that people respect me, but for the love of god please just call me Louis.”
“I like being called Boss Niall,” Niall muses.
“Anyway,” Louis throws his arms up and slaps his hands on his desk. “Harry! Come in! Shut the door!”
Harry does so, letting the door close behind him. It gently whumpfs instead of slams.
“Niall, did you know that Harry here is excellent at killing people?” Louis asks.
“Why, I’d heard a rumor,” Niall says, leaning back in his chair.
“Payne helps,” Harry points out. It’s polite.
“Payne is squeamish. Love the man but he’s never been good with blood. That’s why I told him to always wear black.” Louis shakes his head. “Good man, don’t get me wrong. But you.” He looks to Harry with bright, shining eyes. “My star underling. The best of my goons. Niall, this man here came into the office on a Sunday, on the Lord’s Day, and offed a guy who’s been sending threats in weird newspaper arts and crafts for months.”
“Oh I hate those,” Niall says. “No class. At least use a typewriter.”
“This is what I’m saying.” Louis shakes his head. “But no matter. Harry’s fixed our little issue, and I’m over the moon about it.” He leans forward in his chair, now looking directly at Harry as he speaks to Niall. “And Niall, I want him treated like a prince.”
“Oh,” says Harry, “You really don’t have to do that! I’m just here for a paycheck to ask if I can get my drycleaning on the company card.”
“Of course you can,” Louis waves his hand. “That’s a given, we all know how annoying blood is to get out of things. But I have to reward loyalty! I have to do good by my people! Niall, write this down. I want Harry promoted. I want him to have whatever he wants from the company catalog. I want him showered in those little mini wine bottles from the counter at the bodega.”
Niall is furiously scribbling this down.
“I want his car cleaned and detailed! I want his cat given a new cat tree! I want him loved! I want his apartment manager threatened to within an inch of her life until she fixes the mold issue in his bathroom! I want his cat given treats! I want him loved until he can’t take it anymore!” He stops. Squints. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?” he asks.
“No I am not, sir,” says Harry.
Louis steeples his hands. “We will make sure you are loved regardless,” he says. “Niall, you’ve got all that?”
“Cat, landlady, loved, check,” Niall says. He stands. “I’m on it!”
Then he leaves, giving a little salute to Harry on his way out.
“I’m really just here for the paycheck,” Harry says. “I only killed one extra guy, Big Boss. I’m not sure that deserves all this.”
Louis scoffs. “That one extra guy has tried and failed to send me anthrax four different times,” he says. “He’s just terribly incompetent about it. If he had ever gotten smart I’d have been in trouble.” He points, menacingly, at Harry. “You deserve everything that’s coming to you, you got that? And I want you to report back when everything’s been done, you got that?”
“Yes sir,” says Harry.
“Now go. I need to concentrate on my sudoku.”
“Yes sir,” says Harry again.
He leaves.
The door whumpfs behind him.
—
Harry goes straight home from the office. The train isn’t even particularly behind schedule. Yet, somehow, when he gets home, there is already a fully set up cat tree in the middle of his apartment. Paolo is sitting atop it, looking very proud, as if his little kitty paws had anything to do with it.
“Paolo, you let strangers in our home?” Harry asks, scratching him behind the ears. Paolo leans into it, and then promptly falls off of the cat tree when Harry moves his hand.
There’s a new box of cat treats on the counter in his kitchenette.
He’s just checking out the ingredients (it’s an expensive brand) when a knock sounds once and a note gets slid under his door. It’s from his landlady, saying that a repair man will be there by Monday to fix the ceiling in the bathroom.
Big Boss Louis sure does work fast.
Paolo comes over to sniff at the letter, finds it unsatisfactory, and chews on the corner.
Harry walks through to his bedroom and then stops.
His bed is. Covered. In toys.
Inappropriate, adult sort of toys.
And, okay, he’s glad that Big Boss Louis did not choose to hire him a personal mistress or something of the sort. That would have been awkward for anyone and everyone involved. But by the look of these toys and the sheer number — and also the fact that they’re all still in the packaging — he thinks that a personal mistress might have been a cheaper option.
There is, among the toys, a note.
Harry walks over and picks it up warily.
Underling Harry —
I hope these are to your liking. Please take a day off. If you desire, when you return, we can also provide you with a proper partner. For instance, one that comes with a new title (how does Mr. Big Boss sound)
(That doesn’t make a lot of sense; if you were a dame I would say “How does Mrs. Big Boss sound?” and you would have understood. But you’re not a dame, and that makes the wordplay harder. If you would like to be Mrs. Big Boss, though, you may still take that title. Mr. Big Boss works fine, though.
Regardless, I will not hold it against you and will still treat you as before if you do not want either title. If you doubt this, you can take it up with Nick in HR, who will assign you to our branch in the neighboring city — I just ask that if you do that, that you send me pictures of Paolo sometimes, because I grew rather attached while building the cat tree).
Yours in Blood (as we have all made an unsanitary blood pact), Big Boss Louis.
Harry puts the letter down.
He runs a hand down his face.
Welp. He’s going to have to report back to Big Boss Louis how everything went, so he might as well get started.
He kicks Paolo out of the room and feeds him a new cat treat.
Then he picks up the first toy to unbox.
—
Throwing open the door on Tuesday morning (it slows with a whumpf sound), Harry bounds into the Big Boss’ office.
“Harry!” Big Boss Louis shouts as he swivels around in his chair. “How are things? Was everything done to your satisfaction? I’m willing to get your car detailed again!”
“I don’t have a car,” Harry says. “You detailed my neighbor Mitch’s. I do drive it sometimes, though.”
“We’ll have to get you a car,” Big Boss Louis says, turning to his notepad.
“I got your note,” Harry says.
“I assumed so,” Big Boss Louis says. “Think carefully on your answer, or else someone will be sleeping with the fishes.”
“I assume you mean that new cat tree with the hanging fish mobile that you circled in the work catalog,” Harry says, pulling out the tear-off that had been slipped under his door at some point in the night.
“I do!” Louis says, delighted.
“But I meant the letter on the bed,” Harry continues.
“Ah yes,” Louis says. “Much more serious. Yes. Do you have an answer?”
“Maybe,” Harry says. “I have a condition.”
“Share.”
“I get to keep killing people.”
Louis blinks. “Of course,” he says. “We are a crime syndicate and you’re quite good at it.”
“I shot a guy this morning,” Harry says. “In case you were going to say no.”
“Was he a criminal of some kind?”
“He was trying to rob an old lady,” Harry admits.
“Oh, good job then. I’ll get Mitch’s car detailed a second time.”
Harry nods. “Thank you,” he says. “So, when does the promotion happen?”
Louis thinks. “This Sunday after church, I’d reckon. Since we’ll already be in our Sunday best, we can just head down to the courthouse and sign the license.” He thinks some more. “I’ll get a second nice fancy chair for my office.”
“And a cat tree for Paolo?”
“A crime office is no place for an innocent little cat like him.”
“It’s okay,” Harry says. “His two fathers are crime bosses. He’ll survive.”
Nodding gravely, Louis agrees. “He sure will.” He writes something down on his notebook. “Was every reward listed done to your proper enjoyment, then? Were you properly loved?”
“I— yes.” Harry’s ears are red. “It was a little overkill, even,” Harry says.
“Just like you, then,” Louis adds.
Well. Harry can’t argue with that.