Silas Grissomme, Chairman and CEO of Gristek Industries, looked around the conference table, face a mask of disbelief. The other executives looked back at him smugly. They`d just laid down their terms, absolute, unconditional, non-negotiable: tender your resignation or have your reputation ruined. Not that he had much of a reputation left, thanks to them and their machinations. The truth had come out in a rather gruesome fashion: Gristek had slowly become one of the biggest polluters in the Web, and had caused at least three thousand deaths in the past year, and projections indicated that number could easily double within the next year due to all the industrial waste and other materials they were dumping anywhere in the Web they could find a place to dump it. And now the Board had just laid all of the blame on him.

"You can`t be serious," Silas protested.

"As a heart attack." This was the voice of Alice Harris, Chief Operations Officer and spokeswoman for the rest of the Board.

"But this is my company!" A vein twitched in his forehead.

"Precisely," smiled Ms. Harris. "And thus, the blame should fall on your shoulders, shouldn`t it? After all, it is your company, and all the decisions come from you, don`t they?"

"Dammit, you`re as much to blame as I am!" He stood and flung the folder with their proposal down on the table. "Damn you! I won`t stand for it!"

"Then we`ll go public," Ms. Harris replied smoothly. "We`ll sell our stock, resign, and let Gristek just fall in the toilet."

"But," interrupted Adam Sattune, the Chief Financial Officer, "if you resign, we`ll give you your golden parachute, let you walk away, then turn this company around and become filthy rich."

"Either way," Silas growled, "you win and I lose."

"It`s your choice how much you lose," Ms. Harris said with that condescending little smile. She stood up along with the rest of the Board. "We`ll give you the weekend to make up your mind. After that, we go public. Good day." They filed out, leaving Silas alone.

He sat back down heavily in his chair, gazing at the files scattered on the tabletop. He was damned, and he knew it. If he stood firm and refused to back down, the Board would abandon him and let his company fall apart, leave him to face the public scrutiny and scorn and lose millions. If he gave in and let them take over, they would force him out, save Gristek for themselves, place all the blame on him, and essentially throw him to the wolves purely out of spite. It was no-win. They had him by the balls, and he knew it, and they knew he knew it. Sadly, he reached for his stylus and pulled the proposal to himself, preparing to sign it.

"You really wanna do that?" An unfamiliar voice interrupted his thoughts. Silas looked up, and saw the stranger leaning back in Ms. Harris` chair at the other end of the table. He wore a black suit, a gray dress shirt underneath it with no tie, black shoes propped up on the table, feet crossed, gray socks visible on his ankles. The stranger lit up a cigarette with a silver lighter, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. His hair was cut to grayish stubble, as was his beard, making it roughly impossible to determine his age. His face gave an impression of cadaverousness due to two thin scars tracing the lower curves of his cheekbones. The stranger somehow emitted an aura of cleanliness -- his suit was spotless and immaculate -- and slovenliness -- as his collar and cuffs both protruded from under the suit coat and were unbuttoned. He opened his eyes, which were dark gray, but lightened to an almost white color close to the pupil.

"I said," the stranger repeated, "you really wanna do that?" His voice betrayed education, but at the same time, it had a cockney accent that suggested street thug.

"Who`re you?" Silas demanded. "How did you get in here?"

"Y` call me Mister Bones," the stranger answered. "`Ow I got in `ere`s really --ing complicated an` I don`t got th` --ing patience t` get into it."

Silas reached for the phone on the table, but the stranger suddenly flipped a hand upward. A silver knife plunged down through the receiver, narrowly missing his fingers. The knife`s handle sported a grinning silver skull. "Don`t --ing call security on me," Mister Bones warned him. "It really --ing pisses me off."

The chairman shrank back in his chair, sweating as the stranger approached him. "What do you want?"

"What I want," he said, taking another drag on his cigarette, "s`a really loaded --ing question. But th` short version`s like this, mate: you wanna rid y`self o` th` --ing parasites, d`ya?"

"What?" Silas looked up at him blankly.

"The --ing Board, Mr. Grissomme," Mister Bones sighed. "F` Rainere`s sake, what I gotta do, mate? Draw ya`s a --ing diagram?"

Comprehension dawned in Silas` confused brain. "You`re a contract killer."

"No, mate, `M an assassin." He pulled the knife out of the phone, and it disappeared in his suit coat. "Manta`s a --ing killer. `E does it `cos `e --ing gets off onnit. Meself, I do it solely f` th` money."

"You want me," Silas worked out slowly, "to hire you to kill the rest of the Board?"

"Bra, --ing, -vo!" Mister Bones applauded. "Took you long enough, mate."

"Why would you do that for me?" inquired the chairman.

Mister Bones rolled his eyes. "--ing `ell, mate, does it matter?" There was a pause, then he added, "Actually, it does --ing matter. Me services dun come cheap."

Silas groaned. He knew there was a catch. "How much?"

The stranger told him.

His eyes bugged out. That was a pretty major catch. "That`s outrageous!"

"Dun like it?" The assassin shrugged. "Roight, I can jus` show meself out..."

"No, wait!" Silas looked from the stranger to his stylus. He glanced back down at the Board`s ultimatum, mind whirling. Regardless of what he did, he was damned to pay for the damage Gristek had done. But if the Board was dedicated to ruining him, then dammit, he wasn`t going down without taking them with him. The assassin calmly took another drag on his cigarette. Finally, the chairman looked up. "Do you offer group discounts?" he asked politely.

The assassin exhaled a cloud of smoke. "We negotiatin`?"

"Always." Silas gave a ghoulish grin. "I`ll pay you sixty percent of your rate."

"Bollocks t` that. Ninety-five percent."

"Seventy!"

"Ninety."

"Eighty!"

"Eighty-five --ing percent," he said, "an` that`s cuttin` me throat, y` `ear?"

"Deal!" Silas stood and stuck out his hand.

Mister Bones smiled at last, his lips pulling back from his yellowing teeth in an even more ghoulish grin. "Roight then. It`ll be done in forty-eight hours."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Alice Harris pulled up in front of the old cabin and frowned slightly. She rarely came up here, and even then, the visits had`t always been pleasant. The mountain retreat was mostly used when Silas Grissomme wanted to get any of his execs out of the way for a few days so he could make a few controversial decisions without their protest. The e-mail she`d gotten from Adam Sattune had been unusually short for him. We deserve to celebrate about Ol` Griss` impending departure. Come on up to the old cabin on Mount Froyst. --Adam S While she was very confident in the way they`d backed Grissomme into a corner, she still felt it was too soon to celebrate. Silas Grissomme had built Gristek out of nothing, and he`d held his own against other, larger corporations with deeper pockets. If he was backed into a corner, he wouldn`t go down without a fight. Still, it couldn`t hurt to enjoy herself. There was always the contingency plan.

Adam`s aircar wasn`t there, so she figured she was early. The door to the cabin was unlocked, but that didn`t surprise her. The cabin held nothing for thieves to steal -- just old furniture, outdated (if still functional) kitchen appliances, a few sparse decorations, and an old speakerphone. The decor was homey, quaint, and rustic. Nothing a thief would have any interest in, unless they were aspiring interior decorators. All in all, the cabin was perfectly suitable for weekend retreats and getaways.

Alice stepped inside, putting the keys to her aircar on the table by the door. "Adam? You in here?" She shut the door behind her, putting her jacket on the coatrack and stepping into the living room. The coffee table was laid out with trays of crackers and cheese, deli meats, and fruit squares. An open cabinet in one corner held several bottles of wine and empty glasses. A quick check of the kitchen revealed it was empty as well.

Gravel crunched under footsteps outside, and then the door opened. She returned to the hallway to find Salvatore Giannucci, the Marketing Director, entering and blinking in surprise at her. "Alice? What`re you doing here?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing." She spread her arms in a shrug. "Adam sent me a mail, asked me to come up here."

"To celebrate about Ol` Griss leaving?" Sal asked.

"Yeah," she said, puzzled. "What`s going on here?"

"I know, it`s not like Adam to be so..."

"Brief?"

"Sal? Alice?" Another aircar had pulled up, this one for Harry Rolandson, the Human Resources Director, who stood in the hall with the other two. "Where`s Adam? He sent me--"

"--a mail?" Alice finished. "Yeah, Adam sent both of us one as well. But he`s not here."

"Maybe he`s upstairs?" Harry offered.

"His car`s not here either," Sal pointed out.

The three of them checked the rest of the house and turned up nothing, so they returned to the living room and snacked on the food left out for them, exchanging small talk, discussing the reversal of Gristek`s fortunes after they took over. Before long, Bill Thurgood, the Public Relations Director, arrived and said -- to no one`s surprise -- that Adam had invited him for a celebration.

Ninety minutes later, the small talk had migrated from "So, how`s your family?" to "You seen those new JetBikes?" Alice stood up, her patience at an end, and starting to get irritated by Bill`s misguided attempts to flirt with her. "That`s it," she said sharply. "I`m calling Adam, and I`m finding out where the hell he is!" The other three cheered her on, with Bill raising his wine in a toast.

As she started to turn on her cel phone, however, the speakerphone rang. All four of them turned to look at it. It rang again. "Maybe that`s Adam?" Bill offered lamely. Alice shot him a withering look, then walked over and turned the phone on. "Adam, where the devil are you?"

"Sorry," came a cockney voice. "`E cain`t come t` th` phone right now. `E`s a little hung up."

Alice and the other three executives froze. "Bones!" she snapped. "What`s going on?"

"Oi!" The assassin`s voice snarled. "Me name`s Mister Bones! S`not --ing polite!"

"What`s going on!?" shouted Alice.

"Keep yer --ing voice down, luv," Mister Bones growled. "I can `ear ya`s jus` fine."

"We had a deal, Mister Bones," called Sal. "I haven`t heard of any apparent suicides lately."

"I know, Mr. Giannucci," the voice replied. "I jus` got a little question f` ya`s."

"And what`s that?" asked Harry.

"D`ya `appen t` know if yer check`s cleared yet?"

The four Gristek execs shared a look. Alice felt something pop, and realized she was clenching her fists so hard her knuckles were cracking. "You called us just to ask about your money!?"

"`M a --ing assassin, luv," Mister Bones replied. "S`always `bout money. I dun do a fing if I dun get cha-ching, know what`m sayin`?"

"We paid you," Alice said, voice rising, "to do the deed after our meeting with him yesterday!"

"I know that," the assassin told her. "Dun let th` voice fool ya`s, `m not as dumb as I look."

"So why the delay?" Bill asked.

"Well, tell th` truth, mates, I talked t` Mr. Sattune `bout renegotiatin`, an` th` --ing bastard decided t` try`n talk me down in price." The voice had taken on a chilling tone. "Ain`t nobody tries t` stiff Mister Bones wifout payin` th` --ing consequences."

Those words hung in the air as the four execs looked at each other in horror. Alice gripped the sides of the speakerphone. "Where`s Adam!?" she demanded.

"What? None of ya`s looked out the --ing window?"

Another shared look of sick realization, and then all four rushed to the window, Alice dropping the phone on the floor. Sal ripped the curtains aside, then screamed at the sight that greeted them. Adam Sattune, still wearing his suit from the day before, was in the nearest tree to the cabin. Although to say he was in the tree was inaccurate. He was on the tree. About three feet off the ground. Attached to it by a knife in the throat. Blood had covered the front of his suit and stained the ground under him, turning the roots of the tree red. Alice echoed Sal`s scream of terror as she staggered back from the window.

"I do --ing `ope none of you four`re plannin` t` stiff me either," came the voice of Mister Bones. "`Cos that`d make me cross. Very --ing cross indeed."

"You fucking bastard!!" shrieked Alice, grabbing at the phone and slamming it against the table.

"Oi! Watch your --ing mouth!" ordered the assassin. "I don`t say a filthy word like that `cos I got some manners.But you`re a --ing lady!"

"I hope you burn in hell!" she added.

"I take that back, then. You ain`t no lady, yer just a --ing bitch." Mister Bones sighed a bit. "S`pose I might as well get t` th` point. Mr. Grissomme made me a better offer t` do the deed t` you five instead of `im. An` th` fing is, `e paid me in cash."

Alice looked up in alarm. Sal was being violently ill in a convenient wastebasket, while Harry stalked out in the hall, yelling profanities at the top of his lungs. Bill was sitting on the couch, looking dazed. She put the phone down and grabbed Harry. "Shh, quiet." She listened carefully, then sniffed the air. "You smell that?" She thought she could hear a faint hissing noise.

"Smell what?" The HR Director sniffed as well, then paled. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah," came the voice of the assassin from the living room phone. "`Oh shit` is right. What you`re smellin` is th` gas from th` stove in th` kitchen."

Harry and Alice ran for the front door. She reached it first and yanked at the handle, but found it stuck fast, immobile. Sal joined Harry and together they tried to ram the door with their shoulders, but to no effect. "The windows!" she cried. They ran back into the living room, past the apparently comatose Bill, who hadn`t moved since seeing Adam stuck to the tree. The window, however, was locked as well. Sal pushed them back and grabbed a heavy lamp from a side table, striking it against the glass. It rebounded off, shocking the Marketing Director.

Mister Bones` voice taunted them again. "Did I f`get t` mention that th` glass in th` windows is one step down from th` stuff they use in spacecraft? Nuffin you got in that `ouse is gonna break it."

The gas was rapidly filling up the house now. Vapors drifted in the hallways, and breathing was becoming more difficult. Alice coughed and tried to swing the lamp through the window again, but to no effect. Harry staggered out of the room and ran upstairs, trying the windows up there. Mister Bones gave a cackling laugh. "Sorry it `as t` be this way, luv, but business is --ing business."

Coughing, she grabbed the phone and threw it at the wall with all her might. "Bastard!" she screamed, collapsing into a corner and sobbing as the vapors thickened. Sal beat uselessly at the windows with the lamp, then his bare hands, leaving sweaty palmprints on the glass. Upstairs, Harry`s feet pounded on the floor as he was apparently attempting to break the windows up there as well. On the couch, Bill simply stared at the wall, numb.

The second to last thing Alice heard was a sharp -crack outside, a gunshot. The last thing she heard was the whamming explosion of the propane tank next to the cabin as the bullet pierced it. The last thing she saw was the walls of the cabin disintegrating and the air around her catching fire.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Mister Bones calmly picked dirt out of his fingernails with the point of his skull-headed knife as he sat in the empty Boardroom of Gristek Industries. A cigarette smoldered between his lips. His feet were propped up on the conference table, face unshaven, suit immaculate, but shirt collar and cuffs unbuttoned as usual. He puffed out smoke and glanced up as the doors opened. Silas Grissomme walked in, looking at a business news-sheet, reading it aloud as he walked. "`Explosion at Mountain Retreat Kills Gristek Senior Execs.`" He looked up at the assassin. "Beautiful work!"

"S`not a problem," Mister Bones replied coolly. "It`s me --ing job, y`know."

"You even made it look like an accident!" The chairman chortled as he walked over to the table. "I mean, sure, there might be some questions asked about the timing and everything, but my lawyers can put a spin on the whole thing, and I`ll come out smelling like a rose!"

"Right foul-smellin` one at that," the assassin put in, flicking dirt off the tip of his knife.

"You say something?" Grissomme asked.

"You ain`t gonna come out smellin` like anyfing but garbage, Mr. Grissomme, `cos that is what you are. Garbage." Mister Bones shook his head and picked another bit of dirt out of his fingernails.

"Look here, I`m the one who`s paying you an obscene amount of money!" Grissomme leaned in and sneered in his face. "So you better be plenty fucking polite to me, Bones."

-Whisssssk-THUNK!- The chairman gagged as his tie was pinned to the tabletop by the skull-headed knife. Mister Bones stood up, taking a deep breath through his nose as he did so. "Two fings: One, you watch your --ing mouth aroun` me. An` two, it`s Mister Bones. Remember that. S`not polite." He pulled the knife free and stepped back, walking over to the windows, looking down the thirty story building at the streets below. "I figger I did th` world a right nice favor last night, takin` out those five shites for ya`s."

"Couldn`t agree more!" Grissomme said, coughing as he loosened his tie. "Did me a nice favor too."

"Nah, y`dun get what`m sayin` `ere, Mr. Grissomme." Mister Bones glanced at him. "Gristek`s one o` th` worse dumpers o` toxic waste an` shite like that in the whole --ing Web. And them` five`s among those`re responsible, right?"

"Right." Grissomme`s voice turned fearful. Mister Bones approved of fear. It went very well in his line of work. A scared target often made the job more fun.

The assassin went on playfully. "So, by gettin` ridda them five, much o` the problem`s gonna clear up, `m I right?"

"Quite right." Grissomme was sweating now.

"But, there remains one little --ing detail I f`got t` mention," Mister Bones said, turning to face him. "I was `ired t` kill you, too. By them five." There was a pause, during which Grissomme paled considerably. The scar-faced assassin added, "But it gets more complicated`n that, too. I was originally `ired t` kill the `ole --ing Board, you included."

"Who-who paid you for that?" the chairman asked nervously.

Mister Bones shrugged. "Buncha environmental an` ecological concerns. Some`a th` more radically-minded, o`course. They figger that you an` them five`re th` most responsible for the dumping an` what-all that goes on. So I did me `omework, whaddaya know, they`re --ing right." He examined the window again at length as he spoke next, digging his knife into the seam of one of the panes.

"So..." Grissomme had decided it was time to reassert himself. "Why did you let yourself get hired by your targets?"

"Oh, that`s simple enough," the assassin replied, cutting away the sealant on the window seam on the bottom. "S`more money innit dis way. I knew from me `omework that them five were really --ing impatient an` greedy. They wanted you completely outta th` way, `cos if they jus` let you --ing walk away, you could always go public wif your own knowledge of what was goin` on and ruin`m all. So I approached`m right before that big meetin` y` `ad wif`m. I pitched me case, an` they `ired me on th` spot. Wanted it t` look like a suicide. Y`know, like y` `ad nuffin else t` live for, shite like that."

Grissomme reached for the table phone. "I see... and after the meeting you talked to me?"

"S`right," Mister Bones answered, working up the other side of the window with his knife. "`Cos I knew from me `omework that you`re as bad as they are. Only diff`rence is, yer way more --ing subtle`n they were. You`d been very --ing careful in not linkin` y`self t` anyfing like what they were blamin` y` for. They hadn`t been as careful as you, an` so they were innit far more --ing deep`n you are. I mean, it`s a total ethical --ing wasteland up `ere! And so `elp me Rainere, if you call security on me, I will --ing eviscerate you." He turned and glared at the chairman, who froze with his finger on the call button.

"Hang it up," the assassin ordered. Grissomme did so, pulling his hand back moments before the skull-headed knife skewered the phone again. Mister Bones walked over to him, shaking his head. "We ain`t so diff`rent, Silas. We both sell death t` people. Only diff`rence is, I sell it in small, concentrated doses t` select individuals, while you sell it in bulk t` thousands ev`ry day an` you dun give a shite. Me, I do care." The assassin looked down at the astonished Grissomme, then added with his skeletal grin, "Not very --ing much, mind you."

"So..." Grissomme swallowed nervously, sweating as Mister Bones brandished the knife in front of him, "what`re you going to do now?"

"Finish what I started," the scarred man said coolly. He took one of the other chairs from the table and put it in front of the window. Standing on it, he reached up and cut away the sealant at the top of the pane of glass. Nodding approvingly, Mister Bones stepped back down, putting his knife away in his suit coat. Then, in one swift movement, he grabbed the chair, swung it around, then hurled it through the window, which shattered and fell out into the cool air. Grissomme shouted in alarm as the assassin jumped back beside him. "C`mon on now, Silas, it`s your time now!"

The chairman pushed him away, getting up, screaming, "Security! Someone help m--urgk!" He clutched at his throat, which fountained blood onto the floor. Mister Bones frowned, dragging him back over to to the window.

"Now you`ve --ing done it, mate," he sighed. "You got blood all over me suit." He grasped the croaking Grissomme by the back of the neck and his belt, then hurled him bodily through the broken window and toward the street thirty stories below. Mister Bones sighed and looked at his bloody suit. "--ing `ell. S`gonna take f`ever t` get this shite outta my suit."

The door opened and a secretary poked her head in. "Mr. Kellington? I thought I heard screaming-- OH MY GOD!" She ran for the window and gasped in shock as she looked down the building at the dark splotch below that had once been Silas Grissomme.

Mister Bones sighed, sniffing a bit. "Dunno what came over `im," he said, working up some fake sobs. "`E just alluva sudden took a runnin` leap through th` --ing window."

"D-do you need help, Mr. Kellington?" the secretary asked.

"Nah," he sniffed. "`M alright, luv. Jus` need t` clean up a bit. If anyone asks, tell`m I went back t` me `otel t` change." He headed for the elevator as she fretted after him, then flashed his ghoulish grin as the elevator doors closed. "An` th` name`s Mister Bones, luv."

---