4 The Man with a Dragon Tattoo

Far away from the city, right next to a serene lake, stood a marble mansion. Its baroque architecture and expansive grounds would have been inviting to visitors if not for the security measures visibly in place. Massive iron gates barred the entrance; beyond them was a constant patrol of armed guards. Ornamental streetlights lined the entry path, giving any guests the impression that they were being observed.

Today the path was occupied by a man in black, walking with a steady stride. Unmoved by the beauties around him, he neared the main entrance. The beak-shaped hood of his jacket concealed his face from the guards he approached. Yet they saluted from a distance, keeping their hands raised until he was beside them. One guard jogged ahead to open the front door, a massive, gate-like portal. But the man took no notice of the guards.

The interior of the mansion was both lavish and minimalistic. Past dark corridors, sparsely furnished rooms, and signs of cutting-edge technology, there stood a spiral staircase, carpeted with red velvet. Its marble railing was covered with a thin layer of gold.

The man proceeded up the staircase, progressing through a maze of long corridors on the second story. Interior guards saluted as he passed, holding their breath until he was out of sight. At last he stopped, knocking at a large wooden door. He entered without waiting for an answer.

Only after walking in did he lower his hood and look up at the man sitting at the desk in front of him. The man appeared to be in his mid-fifties, with a bald head and a dragon tattoo covering half of his face. The newcomer seemed not to heed the man's fierce expression, however, approaching the desk and depositing a small envelope. He turned smoothly, seating himself in front of a coffee table, and opened a bottle of whisky. As he drank, he watched the man rip open the envelope to study the photos inside.

"Outstanding work, as always, Blithe," said the man at the desk.

He continued studying the pictures. Eventually, a smile lifted the corners of his mouth and he stood, sliding them back into their envelope. The envelope flew into the fireplace, landing with a crackle and a shower of sparks.

The man picked up another envelope from the pile of papers on his desk and approached the assassin, now on his second round of whisky. He threw the envelope onto the table, letting it slide toward the man on the other side. As the assassin opened it, he poured a drink of his own. Then he sat down to observe the reaction.

The assassin studied the documents for a few moments before returning them to the envelope and hiding the envelope inside his jacket.

"You can keep your empty praises to yourself," the assassin rasped. "What's the time limit?"

"Not very talkative, Blithe. You know, that's the part of you that I really fucking hate. Why can't you have a little fun? I mean, isn't it fun? Getting rid of our adversaries and…"

"Your adversaries," the assassin interrupted. "I don't give a fuck about any of them. They're just marked targets that I get money for. And while I'm on the topic of money, I have yet to receive payment for the last target." The assassin raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his drink.

"Your payment will be transferred first thing tomorrow, I assure you. As for the time limit, for the first one, five days. For the second one. . . I don't think I need to explain that one to you, now do I?"

The assassin nodded and stood up from the sofa, prepared to leave.

"Oh, I almost forgot," came a condescending voice from behind him, just as he had grasped the doorknob. "How's Nathan?"

"I know you're a sly bastard, but you seem to forget about the delicate nature of this whole arrangement," Blithe growled, holding a knife to the man's throat scarcely a second later. "But mark my words, the day will come when Nathan is strong enough to take care of himself. And when that day comes, it will be the end of this company of yours."

He let go of the man's collar and sheathed his knife. In the blink of an eye, it seemed the knife had never been there. The assassin walked calmly to the door and left.

The older man remained, looking as imposing as ever. Only the most careful observer would have seen the slight shake of his arms, the faint trace of fear in his eyes.

'Monster.'

***

Nathan woke up early in the morning, his head pounding as though an elephant had stepped on it. He had spent the whole day prior crying and beating the shit out of all the RTDs until there were no functional dummies left. He'd gone to bed early, completely exhausted in body and mind, hoping that sleep would give him a new start. But his father's words echoed through his head as he drifted off: "You're still not ready. You're still not ready."

Nathan rose early, tidying his room and making his bed. It was still dark when he made his way downstairs for breakfast. He glanced at the microwave clock. 5:37.

Just as he had sat down with a plate of ham and eggs, he heard the jangling of keys at the front door. His father entered in the same clothes he had worn the previous morning. He pocketed his keys and looked up at Nathan in surprise.

"Why are you up so early?" he asked, ruffling Nathan's hair.

"Trouble sleeping."

Nathan took a big bite of toast. Silent and bleary-eyed, Blithe came in to make himself a cup of coffee.

"Why don't you go to sleep, Father?" Nathan asked between bites, half-hoping his father was worn down enough to reveal what he had to do.

"Nice try, kid. But I'd have to be awake for three weeks before that trick worked on me," he chuckled. He joined his son at the table. The careless innocence of the boy was almost intoxicating.

"Do I have something on my face?" Nathan asked, noticing his father's stare.

"No, no. What were you up to yesterday?" he countered. "And why are you up so early? Shouldn't a young man be sleeping at this time?"

It took effort to keep a strict fatherly tone. But when his straight face cracked a little, his chuckle nearly caused Nathan to choke on his toast

"I never thought I'd ever hear you say such a thing, let alone laugh like that. What happened to you, Father?" Nathan answered, his mouth full and his eyes watery.

"Nothing, Nathan… I just…" Blithe paused staring into the ground. "Sometimes I just wish we were just a normal family with a normal life, that's all." He said solemnly.

Blithe glanced out the window at the rising son, a faraway look in his eye. He forced a smile.

"I need to do something right now, but I have an offer for you. How about a sparring session later today? Of course, I need to get a good night's sleep first. I don't want you to think you're some hot shit just because you beat me when I was tired."

Nathan's eyes lit up. He nodded, hurrying to finish his breakfast.

"Good. I'll finish my work and head to bed, then. Please go and visit Ms. Valdez's shop when the sun comes up. She should have a fresh batch of goods today. You know what to buy."

Nathan nodded again.

"Good night, son."

Blithe stood up to ruffle his son's hair one last time before he disappeared to the back of the house.