Nightfall: I. A nocturnal rendezvous at the rubbish dump

Cursing, Jean Scarroneye crushed the fat rat as it tried to crawl up his leg.

"Bloody bastard!"

Disgusted, the rubbish driver, who at least in terms of character traits and girth bore some resemblance to his latest victim, tossed the dead animal onto one of the numerous rubbish heaps at the edge of the stinking dump. Well, given the dilapidated dump, the mutant specimen of the local fauna, which unfortunately perished in a lethal encounter with its distant relative, was not much of a surprise.

Groaning, the frail Jean, weighing 160 kg, heaved himself into the cockpit of the less than beguiling smelling rubbish truck. However, the cleaning employee did not register the foul stench, as his own smell and years of habituation had desensitised his face's own enormous sniffing organ.

Mmh, actually the new trainee should have turned up by now. Jean grunted discontentedly like a boar with digestive problems, the stupid chick was going to mess up his whole schedule. Well, at least he could treat himself to a quick nose.

Our disposal specialist had just unpacked his pocket mirror and formed his lines with a razor blade when it banged violently against the passenger door. Damn, his treat almost landed on the dirty floor in shock! For want of a twisted 100-Dollares note, he quickly licked up the high-energy white powder and hurriedly stowed away the coke equipment.

After Scarroneye reluctantly opened the door, he was presented with a surprising sight. The new slut looked nowhere near as fucked up as the tarts with whom he had previously had the dishonour of a professional relationship. The young professional also seemed quite young to him - probably in her twenties.

"Maria M. Bluetooth?"

The woman-understanding Jean's voice sounded coarse and slightly shrill.

"You're late."

"Exactly! Who else would I be? But the meeting point was at the north entrance of the landfill, I had to look for you first!"

Damn, the bitch was right, maybe the pre-service shot wasn't such a good idea after all. When he stared at the girl, she actually looked pretty horny and seemed quite confident. Probably the little whore would pretend to fight back!

The experienced instructor enjoyed it when things got a little more brutal during the intimate get-to-know-you session after the tour!

Tender Jean made an inviting gesture and literally undressed his trainee with his eyes, finally grinning greasily.

"No problem, no master has fallen from the sky yet. You can make up for your mistake later. You look really hot, you'll surely think of something! But for now we're going to the Smrow Central Hospital for our first job. There you can meet the rest of the crew, Scarface and One-Eye. By the way, my name is Jean Scarroneye and I run this all. You can call me Boss!"

Without any response, the object of desire boarded the dirty rubbish truck and sat down next to the littered prince charming.

"Uh, Boss Jean Scarroneye, I don't see any seat belts here?"

Without comment, the coarse Don Juan started his shabby dirty truck.

The rubbish truck ride to the central hospital initially passed in an oppressive silence, interrupted only by the rattle of the decrepit engine and the squeal of the worn tyres. The cunning Scarroneye braked abruptly several times, hoping that the cheeky trainee would experience an unpleasant collision with the windscreen. The dull stench of rubbish hung heavy in the air, mixing with the damp haze of the autumn night. In addition, the extreme inherent smell of the junky driver did the rest to create a special ambience and make the littered journey an unforgettable experience.

"Can I ask you something personal?"

Maria replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Do you actually like older men with big dicks? I mean, you young things don't see it so closely."

Trainee Maria M. looked at her less than gallant admirer, whose fat face bore witness to a malicious satisfaction, completely expressionless and refrained from any retort. However, this did not prevent the verbally eroticising rubbish man from continuing to pour out his vulgar wisdom about his female passenger in a greasy, greedy voice.

Although the trainee reacted with complete disinterest as the journey continued and looked bored out of the side window, our sensitive Don Juan remained true to his nature. The toxic anti-Casanova could not refrain from harassing Maria with his crude and sexist remarks. Misinterpreting his trainee's reaction, he finally made an offer in a hoarse voice to stop immediately followed by sexual intercourse in the rubbish truck, expecting a positive reaction, of course.

"Tell me, Boss Scarroneye," Maria M. asked in a cool and distant voice, "what are the working conditions like for a body disposal specialist and professional killer like you?"

"Uh what? Uh...."

Scarroneye was caught off guard by her unexpected question and searched for words. His macho facade crumbled for a moment as he tried to mentally grasp the nature of her request. Also, his unimpressive privates, which had reared up mightily by his modest standards after all the profanity and all the unwarranted hopes of the customary 60-second coitus, collapsed miserably. Our bedraggled Casanova emotionally resembled a mutt in heat over which a bucket of ice water had been emptied. He had never met anyone so unimpressed by his crude advances.

What a fucking bitch! But okay, after the job he would show this frigid slut!

"Well, um, it's a dirty job, if you know what I mean," he muttered as his confidence dwindled and he struggled to maintain his composure. "Long hours, grim sights and occasional encounters with danger. But there's mighty dough if you've got the stomach for it."

Maria's graceful features showed no emotion as she continued her embarrassing questioning.

"And what does it take to be a successful hitman? Are there any special skills or qualities that one should possess?"

Scarroneye, still off his masculine mental balance, struggled like hell to regain his composure. He had not expected to have such an unusual conversation with someone he regarded merely as a horny fuck rack. So the little wise declarer stammered away like a teutonic foreign policy disasters in an executive capacity, searching for words that could reach the unexpected intellect of the questioner.

"Well, um, you need...uh...crass...uh...thick balls...uh...I mean, nerves of steel, quick reflexes and the ability to adapt," he finally managed to say, his voice devoid of its usual hubris.

Maria M. replied with a discreet superiority in her voice: "I understand. It takes more than brute force and empty macho airs, doesn't it? To excel in such a profession, one must have intelligence, adaptability and a deep understanding of human nature."

Scarroneye's eyes widened in surprise and expressed some confusion. He could not understand how a woman could dare to challenge his ideas of what it meant to be a professional killer. His sexist and simplistic worldview crumbled before his eyes like anti-business laws of incompetent economic ministers.

"So, Maria," asked our mouthy light torpedo in the manner of a reprimanded primary school pupil, "are you really determined to go the way of a contract killer?"

The trainee in the lethal services sector replied in a completely relaxed manner and without pulling a face: "Let's just say, Boss Jean Scarroneye, that my ambitions go far beyond your restrictive, cognitive abilities."

The words hung in the air and carried a weight that weighed as heavily on the filthy macho king's self-confidence as the globe on Atlas' shoulders. Our murderous representative of patriarchal excesses had not quite grasped the meaning of the words uttered, but even his limited intellect made him realise that they were probably not so much flattery

That smart-ass little bitch! How he looked forward to how the cunt would collapse when it came to the crunch.

Scarroneye's toxic masculinity just limited his thinking to a one-dimensional perspective. So our special kind of rubbish driver remained silent, emotionally vacillating between wounded vanity and confusion. The incarnation of annihilated male dominance then also limited himself to merely interacting with his nemesis with uncertain and insinuating glances during the rest of the journey. Maria M. was little impressed by this and preferred not to pay any attention to her self-appointed boss.

Finally they reached the hospital, where Scarface and One-Eye were already waiting for them.

To be continued

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