David Sorkin. Gun for hire.
David Sorkin smiled. On a typical day, the word smile and David would hardly be intertwined in a sentence. David wasn't the smiling type. Honestly, David wasn't the happy type either. It was only on rare occasions when he'd allow himself a smile. He felt that smiles should only be made in secrecy. After all, does a smile not give away your feelings? To David, one of the most dangerous things you could do was reveal your emotions. David would frequently use smiles to mask his true thoughts and feelings, which generally was a benefit. But at the moment, David was really smiling. He didn't know why, really. He suspected it was out of relief to be home again.
David squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. It felt strange. He hadn't sat in a chair for days, hadn't relaxed for days. He slept, of course, but sleep rarely relaxed him. Even when he slept, he was awake in the mind. Any unusual sound would awake him instantly. Some would say David was paranoid. After all, he kept a fully loaded glock sitting on his nightstand. Others would say David was smart, and kept himself fully prepared for any danger. But most would say that David was insane, and feared his own shadow. Not that anyone would tell him that, of course. Only a fool would insult David to his face. There were rumors going around about a man who insulted David, and then went missing two hours later. No one asked David if the rumor was true, most likely because they feared they'd share the same fate.
David liked to be feared. People gave him more respect. Only he knew that he had self-control, and that'd he'd never kill anyone over a pathetic insult. Killing wasn't something he particularly enjoyed doing, but no one else knew that. He didn't mind, though. It's not like the police could have thrown him in prison off of the hunch that the rumors were true.
The phone ringing brought David back into reality. Deprived him of the depressed thoughts that had been swarming in his head for far too long. He sighed heavily as he lifted the phone. For once, he was hoping that it was Jesse calling.
Jesse was a homicide detective. A good one too. Countless times he had tried to pull David into the career, but David always not-so-kindly declined. Jesse was a very intense law keeper, and David just wanted to help people in a quick efficient way. They had their differences, but they were brothers. They loved each other, even if their pride prevented them from saying so. On rare occasions they'd speak on the phone, usually about their mother who had been in the hospital for some time now. Or they'd talk about how their careers were going. Jesse bored David, honestly. At the moment, though, David would much rather speak to his brother then to another client. For once in a long time, he was tired.
His eyes shifted slowly to the Caller ID. It was a number he didn't recognize. David rolled his eyes and tossed the phone to the side. He sighed as he collapsed into his armchair.
The phone continued to ring.
David hesitated. He was being lazy, wasn't he? He couldn't have that. He stood up and picked up the phone. The ringing stopped. He set the phone down on his desk and sat back down. If it was important, they'd call back.
He waited. He waited for about five minutes, staring at the phone, his attention undivided.
The phone rang. David snatched it from his desk. He put it to his ear.
"Sorkin," he said quietly.
There was a pause, as if the caller was now suddenly changing their mind. Finally, a female voice said, "Hello Mr. Sorkin."
David gulped. Not out of fear, of course. Yes, he was uncomfortable, as he usually was around women, but he was merely swallowing saliva. Why he was uncomfortable around women, no one knew. David wasn't even sure he knew, for that matter. He suspected that he was shy, but he turned down that notion pretty quickly as being shy was considered a weakness in his mind.
The woman on the other line sounded calm. That was unusual. Most women that called David were distressed and were practically sobbing into the phone. His job wasn't necessarily an episode of Sesame Street.
"Can I help you?" David asked, expecting the obvious answer.
"Of course," the female voice said.
David smacked his lips impatiently. He didn't have time for dramatic pauses, but at the same time he had nothing to say. Well, nothing polite to say. He had learned to keep his mouth shut a long time ago. He had lost countless clients just because of his choice of words.
"Word on the street is, you're a gun for hire," she said, her tone revealing uncertainty.
David's eyebrow involuntarily raised. "Word on the street?"
Laughter suddenly broke out on the other side. "That does sound terribly cliché, doesn't it?"
David didn't reply. Instead he lowered the phone and glanced at the Caller ID. He still didn't recognize the number. He rested the phone against his ear once more.
"But you are," she began slowly, "a gun for hire, are you not?"
David opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He said, "Call me whatever you want, but please get to the point."
David's attention was dwindling. He was starting to wonder if this was some sort of prank call. "While I'm young," he said as his last piece of patience began to vanish.
The giggling ceased. "My husband is missing," she said.
David's eyes widened, but only slightly. It didn't necessarily surprise him, but for whatever reason the sentence intrigued him. "You don't sound too upset about that," he said quietly.
"I want you to find him," she said, completely ignoring his observation.
He blinked. "Obviously," he said. "But I hope you know how I work."
"And how is that, Mr. Sorkin?"
David cleared his throat. This was where the client would usually hang up. "I'm going to need heavy compensation."
"Will a thousand dollars an hour do it for you?" she said without hesitance.
It was obvious to David that she had called prepared. Maybe a little too prepared. Then again, most of his clients were very prepared to do whatever it took to achieve their goal. David found this a little more than mildly annoying.
"Two thousand," David finally said. He was asking for a lot, but he suspected that someone who was willing to pay a thousand dollars an hour could easily double it.
"Very well," she said. "I want to meet you in person. Can you drive?"
"I'll need your address."