Breakdown - 7. 06 The Plan

Cam took all of the papers back to Jared's place in the same envelope that Aziel had given him. Jared was out when he arrived, but Cam knew where he kept the spare key. Checking down the dismal little hallway, he pulled out the loose board that was close to the door and retrieved the golden key. He put the key in the lock and slipped into Jared's simple apartment.

Once inside, Cam looked down at the envelope containing the papers full of promises of a high school education. He couldn't wrap his head around it; why would Aziel go to all the trouble (and expense) of educating a... whore?

He sighed and made himself comfortable on the couch. He opened the envelope and started to more carefully read through the papers.

It's all paid for.

There seemed to be a couple programs that the school was offering. As he flipped through the pages, he found a form that had apparently been filled out in his name. It had the classes that he was registered in, as well as the schedule for when he was to attend. Cam had no idea what this place was, or what he was supposed to bring. Did he have to go? What if he chose not to take the courses? Would Aziel be angry?

Did Cam want to gamble on Aziel being angry?

The classes started next week. Apparently, he was starting at grade 10. Cam felt a flush of shame wash over him. He was how old and he would be taking grade 10 courses? How old were the other people in his class going to be? What were the classes going to be like? Would Cam even remember enough of his limited high school experience to do a good job with it? He felt a lump in his throat at the thought of going back to school.

Cam sighed heavily, running a hand through his blonde hair. There was something amiss with everything here. He didn't like it, but he was starting to get a little too deep now to back out easily. After all, Aziel had said he'd purchased him, hadn't he? That he belonged to him? And the offer of school...

Well, Cam thought, at least Aziel was attractive. And he paid well. If Cam got something out of it, like his high school degree, that couldn't be all bad, could it? At least once Aziel dropped him, he'd have more than when he started. Unlike before, where he was diminished each time some fat bastard finished with him. He could convince himself that he was moving up in the world.

Cam turned over on the couch and let the papers slide to the floor beside him. He was enrolled; this was just Aziel's way of letting him know about it. Class was in two days... Cam would show up to see what it was like. With some money in his bank account, he could afford some simple supplies.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep, and the sleep was as restful as one could imagine.

Aziel was sitting at an expensive restaurant called The Black Rose. His table was a small one in the corner, where the shadows were the deepest. He held a glass of white wine in one hand, his other hand below the table. He was wearing a very nice suit, the sports jacket open over his dark charcoal silk dress shirt. Mark was sitting across from him, likewise dressed in a suit and tie. They were enjoying a fine meal with a view of the lit city beneath them.

The Black Rose was situated in a high, glass skyscraper. The place had a general air of high class, although Aziel had certainly eaten at better in his day. It boasted a very elite menu (that much was true) in an elite atmosphere (that was less true). All the furniture was dark leather, and the tables were set with white tablecloths. Each table had a large silver plate on which was a folded white napkin. The wine glasses were fine crystal. Aziel enjoyed the place for its massive wine list, as well as its attention to detail. He never received poor service here.

Aziel watched everything without seeming like he was. He noted the small sign above the door that proclaimed that this place was under surveillance. He noted the small alcove that he was in was one of the few blind spots in the dining hall; mostly unnoticed due to the unimportance of a double-occupant table. He noted that the waiters here were all highly trained, and each of them kept a corkscrew and a bottle opener in their left pockets. Each of them knew the list of wines off by heart, and could have told you in the blink of an eye which wine would be best with which dish. They bore their burden of knowledge with an elitist, snotty smile that would be condescending to the common man.

He noted that the waiters paid more attention to him than they did to Mark.

Aziel also noted that the fat man sitting with five of his cronies was sweating profusely, maybe from the curry in his pasta, more likely from the drug that Aziel had slipped onto his plate when he had got up to go the bathroom. He noted the way the man's breath shook the mass of flesh that hung below his ill-fitting tailored suit. Aziel could almost hear the breath coming faster from the taxed, feeble lungs. Aziel took a sip of his wine, appearing to gaze out the window, but really watching the fat man's reflection. Each shudder of breath, and Aziel could imagine the deep folds of the man's body filling with rank sweat, bleeding out to dampen his shirt. He could hear his companions asking if he was okay.

He would protest that it was only the spice. These damn chefs; all the money and training in the world and they couldn't properly season a pasta.

Aziel thought that was a shame; his last meal and he wasn't enjoying it.

"Thanks for bringing me here, Aziel," Mark chirped. He was hastily devouring his food, as Aziel had known he would. He would be finished in about five minutes at the pace he was going.

"I thought you might like a night out," Aziel replied, a small smile on his face.

"It's nice to go out when you have the time," Mark replied. "It seems like you're away from home more now."

Aziel bowed his head. "I apologize for that," he replied.

"No, it's okay," Mark replied. "As long as we get to do this when you're back, I don't mind. I mean, it's your job, right? You can't cater to me all the time." He grinned. "Besides, I don't get much work done myself when you're home."

The assassin looked down at his plate, setting his wine aside. Slowly, he slid his knife through the tender steak on his plate. It had been cooked perfectly; pink in the center and oozing red. He inspected the small piece on the end of his fork before sampling it and chewing thoughtfully. A piece of asparagus was next. How much time did he have now? He hoped he could finish the steak, at least...

The man was really sweating now. Aziel heard the man excuse himself, and he lifted his eyes to the man's reflection in the window. He watched as the man huffed and puffed his way to the bathroom. Aziel returned his attention to his dish. He sighed heavily, noting that he would have to leave some of his steak behind.

The waiter appeared. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir? More wine, perhaps?"

Mark shook his head, leaning back in his chair.

Aziel looked up at the other with his eyes like ice chips and shook his head. "Please place the bill on my tab for month's end," he said. He stood up and the waiter bowed to him. Mark seemed startled at the abrupt departure, but didn't question him.

"Of course, sir."

Aziel glanced at his watch. Ten minutes since he started in on his plate. The fat man was probably sitting in one of the cramped stalls near the back, grunting and heaving on the toilet, wondering why his lungs were refusing to inflate. Alcohol would only aggravate his condition, his breath wheezing between his fatty sinuses like a snore. Aziel exited the exclusive, high-rise restaurant with Mark on his heels. He didn't need to wait until they found his bloated whale of a corpse wedged in the stall at the end.

A fraction of what that pig had eaten would have killed him. It would have taken a few days, but it would have done the job. With the way the food had been passing his thick jowls, it was a wonder he made it to the bathroom before his heart gave out with one final, pattering whimper. Aziel tilted his head to the side. Perhaps it had been a waste, but some part of him enjoyed the sterile ease of using poisons. By the time they did an autopsy, the drug would have dissolved into a simple alcohol. The coroner would write "heart failure" across his file.

And no one would be surprised.

Aziel strolled easily to the elevator. He pushed the button and waited, looking up at the lit numbers. Blue eyes, calm and serene, took in the hallway on instinct. He entered the elevator and pushed the button for the main floor. Mark stood beside him, looking up at him curiously. It was unusual that he had taken a job so close to home; usually he didn't like rousing this much attention in his home territory. However, the unique challenge had been something of an interest to him. Besides, the fat bastard had been shoveling food into his mouth here on more than one occasion when Aziel was present. It was a favor to the human race, really.

And this way, Mark didn't complain that Aziel was out of town.

"Didn't you enjoy your meal?" Mark asked. "You left pretty quickly."

Aziel turned to him, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Mark seemed immune to their cold. "I would rather take you home, and have you to myself," he replied.

Mark flushed and nodded. As always, that flush pulled a reluctant smile to Aziel's face.

Jared found Cam passed out on his couch. Normally, he would have immediately roused him, but he checked himself and guessed that Cam might have had a rough night with his customer. While Jared didn't understand why Cam was getting so deep into something so dangerous, he could respect his reasons for doing so. There was so much crap in the world... and you catch a glimmer of hope and you run for it.

Jared looked down at Cam's sleeping face. Lightly, he pulled the blankets up over him, tucking them around his shoulders. Jared sighed as Cam shifted, his dark lashes fluttering. Jared leaned against the back of the couch.

He'd always liked Cam. From the moment he saw him, he liked him. He was honest, and that was a hard thing to come by. Despite the street and despite the hardships and the crap, Cam was still a good guy. Perhaps that was what bothered Jared so much about this guy that Cam was seeing. It didn't smell right, and while Jared was pretty sure that Cam didn't deserve to be lost on the streets, he was equally sure that this man wasn't the answer.

"Sleep well, friend," Jared said softly. He moved away from the couch, letting the whore sleep.