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The Perfect Crime
My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I shifted the bag to my other hand and tapped my Bluetooth headset. It was, predictably, Sophia.
"Where's my Reuben, asshole?" she snapped.
I forced myself to stay calm. Forced a smile to my face. Tried not to think about what I was about to do to her, which would have made the smile both more genuine and more sinister.
"The deli didn't have it ready when I arrived," I said half-truthfully. They'd been wrapping up the order when I walked in, but she didn't need to know that. "I'll be out of here in two minutes, back inside the building in eight, and upstairs in ten."
She was silent for a moment, then grunted. "Fine. This time. But don't clock in until it's in my hands. And you'd better believe I'm going to check your timecard. We don't pay you to loiter."
I raised my eyebrows. She was clearly in a good mood, and I almost felt guilty for a moment. Almost. But it wasn't about me—or even, really, her. My boss ran the division of the company whose sole job was to shift funds between various offshore accounts until no government on Earth knew how to tax us. She was greed personified, stiffing entire nations for the benefit of a few big-shots who were already impossibly rich. I was doing the world a favor.
I fast-walked back to the office, getting waved through the fast-track security line—and after a body-scan, a patdown, and a chemical sniff, was hustling toward the elevator to the executive penthouse. I checked my watch. Seven and a half minutes. Just enough time.
When I got out of the elevator, I palmed the credit card from my back pocket and walked down the empty hall to the janitor's closet in between the two bathrooms. It was locked, but there was plenty of space between the door and the frame, and the card popped the lock trivially. There were security cameras in the hall, yes, but to all but the most detailed examination it would look like I was simply going to the bathroom, and I'd have a few seconds of guaranteed privacy.
I closed the door behind me, carefully unwrapped the Reuben, and extracted a small bottle of eyedrops from my briefcase. Or what looked like eyedrops, anyway. I allowed myself a smirk as I uncapped it, levered the sandwich open with the back of my fingernail, and squeezed a single drop onto the corned beef. Then I carefully re-wrapped everything and put it back in the bag.
Odorless. Tasteless. Undetectable. It was the perfect poison.
It was the perfect crime.
"Hey, Tanner," Riggs said through a mouthful of BLT as she stared at the security monitors. "Remember I had you scan that guy's meds in the fast-track line?"
Tanner walked over, crossing his arms. "Yeah?"
Riggs grinned and pointed at a screen. "And remember I told you about our penthouse murderer? Check it out—he's at it again."
Tanner glanced at the feed from the penthouse janitor's closet and raised an eyebrow. "I don't get it. That eyedrop bottle is water. Literally water. Not even spit—it swabbed clean of DNA."
"Ah," Riggs said, lifting a finger. "But our perp did some of his web research from the office. What do you know about homeopathy?"
Tanner thought. "Medical pseudoscience. Something about 'like cures like'—diluting harmful materials which cause particular symptoms in order to cure those symptoms instead."
"Extremely diluted materials, to the point where there's not a single molecule of the original substance left." Riggs grinned. "You might say, literally water."
"Huh. So he's, what…" Tanner trailed off.
"Trying it the other way, we think." Riggs leaned back in her chair. "Diluting something which normally heals, to slowly poison our Financial Services head over time. Three weeks ago, he bought a bottle of antivenom online."
Tanner laughed incredulously. "Wait, you weren't kidding? He's actually trying to murder her?"
Riggs laughed back. "Harmlessly and entertainingly."
"Still," Tanner said, "shouldn't we be arresting him before he decides it's not working and tries something else?"
"And get chewed out by Queen Bitch for sacking the longest-lasting assistant she's ever hired?" Riggs asked. "Besides, what's he going to get through security?"
"Where's my Reuben, asshole?" she snapped.
I forced myself to stay calm. Forced a smile to my face. Tried not to think about what I was about to do to her, which would have made the smile both more genuine and more sinister.
"The deli didn't have it ready when I arrived," I said half-truthfully. They'd been wrapping up the order when I walked in, but she didn't need to know that. "I'll be out of here in two minutes, back inside the building in eight, and upstairs in ten."
She was silent for a moment, then grunted. "Fine. This time. But don't clock in until it's in my hands. And you'd better believe I'm going to check your timecard. We don't pay you to loiter."
I raised my eyebrows. She was clearly in a good mood, and I almost felt guilty for a moment. Almost. But it wasn't about me—or even, really, her. My boss ran the division of the company whose sole job was to shift funds between various offshore accounts until no government on Earth knew how to tax us. She was greed personified, stiffing entire nations for the benefit of a few big-shots who were already impossibly rich. I was doing the world a favor.
I fast-walked back to the office, getting waved through the fast-track security line—and after a body-scan, a patdown, and a chemical sniff, was hustling toward the elevator to the executive penthouse. I checked my watch. Seven and a half minutes. Just enough time.
When I got out of the elevator, I palmed the credit card from my back pocket and walked down the empty hall to the janitor's closet in between the two bathrooms. It was locked, but there was plenty of space between the door and the frame, and the card popped the lock trivially. There were security cameras in the hall, yes, but to all but the most detailed examination it would look like I was simply going to the bathroom, and I'd have a few seconds of guaranteed privacy.
I closed the door behind me, carefully unwrapped the Reuben, and extracted a small bottle of eyedrops from my briefcase. Or what looked like eyedrops, anyway. I allowed myself a smirk as I uncapped it, levered the sandwich open with the back of my fingernail, and squeezed a single drop onto the corned beef. Then I carefully re-wrapped everything and put it back in the bag.
Odorless. Tasteless. Undetectable. It was the perfect poison.
It was the perfect crime.
"Hey, Tanner," Riggs said through a mouthful of BLT as she stared at the security monitors. "Remember I had you scan that guy's meds in the fast-track line?"
Tanner walked over, crossing his arms. "Yeah?"
Riggs grinned and pointed at a screen. "And remember I told you about our penthouse murderer? Check it out—he's at it again."
Tanner glanced at the feed from the penthouse janitor's closet and raised an eyebrow. "I don't get it. That eyedrop bottle is water. Literally water. Not even spit—it swabbed clean of DNA."
"Ah," Riggs said, lifting a finger. "But our perp did some of his web research from the office. What do you know about homeopathy?"
Tanner thought. "Medical pseudoscience. Something about 'like cures like'—diluting harmful materials which cause particular symptoms in order to cure those symptoms instead."
"Extremely diluted materials, to the point where there's not a single molecule of the original substance left." Riggs grinned. "You might say, literally water."
"Huh. So he's, what…" Tanner trailed off.
"Trying it the other way, we think." Riggs leaned back in her chair. "Diluting something which normally heals, to slowly poison our Financial Services head over time. Three weeks ago, he bought a bottle of antivenom online."
Tanner laughed incredulously. "Wait, you weren't kidding? He's actually trying to murder her?"
Riggs laughed back. "Harmlessly and entertainingly."
"Still," Tanner said, "shouldn't we be arresting him before he decides it's not working and tries something else?"
"And get chewed out by Queen Bitch for sacking the longest-lasting assistant she's ever hired?" Riggs asked. "Besides, what's he going to get through security?"
Did he buy that antivenom from the office? I thought this guy was smart, in any case, you should make it look as if whomever is in the position above you seems like the guilty parte. Then, whether or not the murder attempt succeeds it doesn't matter, your superior is getting the boot.
Boom! Instant promotion.
What was I saying? Ah, right. The story.
I enjoyed it, solid characterisation for the characters and a quirky and somewhat clever plot.
Boom! Instant promotion.
What was I saying? Ah, right. The story.
I enjoyed it, solid characterisation for the characters and a quirky and somewhat clever plot.
Like the others, I thought this was a clever take, but... I don't know, it just didn't do anything for me. The second half felt quite congested/info-dump-y, and I felt my immersion wavering somewhat. That could be down to reader preference over anything you're actually doing/not doing, Author.
Not for me, but I suspect I might be in the minority there. Thanks for sharing your work.
Well, that's my slate clear. Time to see what fics lie beyond the wall.
Not for me, but I suspect I might be in the minority there. Thanks for sharing your work.
Well, that's my slate clear. Time to see what fics lie beyond the wall.
I guess I recognise Horizon’s hand here.
Interesting plot and take on the prompt. The pacing is great, at least until the final section where the two guys discuss the ‘merits’ — or rather lack of – of homeopathy. I suppose your goal wasn't to relaunch a flame war about the effectiveness of homeopathy, but the way the last section is thrown in almost makes me think it was an aside of your plot.
The setup was rather intriguing: a society whose business is to dispatch escrow funds in tax heavens countries and a sort of SJW as the personal assistant to the boss. Did the Panama papers stroke you that much? Is that a self-insert fic?
Quite high on my slate because of the execution, fast pacing and vocabulary, but could've been higher without the final rambling that comes somewhat out of left field.
Interesting plot and take on the prompt. The pacing is great, at least until the final section where the two guys discuss the ‘merits’ — or rather lack of – of homeopathy. I suppose your goal wasn't to relaunch a flame war about the effectiveness of homeopathy, but the way the last section is thrown in almost makes me think it was an aside of your plot.
The setup was rather intriguing: a society whose business is to dispatch escrow funds in tax heavens countries and a sort of SJW as the personal assistant to the boss. Did the Panama papers stroke you that much? Is that a self-insert fic?
Quite high on my slate because of the execution, fast pacing and vocabulary, but could've been higher without the final rambling that comes somewhat out of left field.
I think what's most amusing to me here is that this guy is thinking 'it's the perfect crime', even though he's apparently been doing this for weeks. I get this picture of him gloating and smugging every afternoon, while dripping water onto someone's sandwich. :P
Anyways, yeah, that last half/third really causes problems with the infodump. It would be better, I think, if you could somehow move that to the first half of the story, I think, but... I'm not sure how you'd go about doing that.
Still, this was pretty entertaining, all told.
Anyways, yeah, that last half/third really causes problems with the infodump. It would be better, I think, if you could somehow move that to the first half of the story, I think, but... I'm not sure how you'd go about doing that.
Still, this was pretty entertaining, all told.
I absolutely love the twist here. Homeopathy as a poison, and therefore a miserably failing assassin. But... the reveal/twist feels poorly executed. We need more lead-in to see it coming. The audience feels smarter if they've almost figured it out themselves before the reveal. Here, the reveal is just a big info dump from an external perspective. Maybe show things from the first characters perspective as he does the research, or maybe as he's diluting the antivenom, at least enough to make us feel "that's odd" before the scene cut and infodump.
Homeopathy? Seriously? Homeopathy? You sir, are the worst assassin EVER!
Though I suppose it provides a bit of catharsis for the poor soul, which explains why he's the longest running assistant the boss has ever had...
Though the beginning kinda bugs me. We're shown that his boss is a real asshole based on the phone conversation... But then our protagonist tries to show just how truly evil she is! She works for a giant corporation! And her job is moving money around, so they don't have to pay taxes! She's a greedy monster! Why, she practically eats babies!
I know that there are people out there who actually believe that wealthy people = evil monsters. (Unless, of course, those wealthy people are funding one of that person's pet causes, in which case they get a pass.) But that kind of thinking annoys the heck out of me. I would have instead focused on things that make his boss such a horrible person personally. Denying vacation, forcing people to work overtime without pay, firing them for insignificant reasons, buying a puppy every week just so she'd have something to strangle at work to relieve tension... You know, evil things! Rather than "Not only is she mean, she's also a _____! (Lawyer/Banker/Oil Tycoon/Politician/Whatever.)" Though I suppose picking a stereotypical disliked group does have the advantage of being concise, always a useful trait in a mini fic! :)
Though I suppose it provides a bit of catharsis for the poor soul, which explains why he's the longest running assistant the boss has ever had...
Though the beginning kinda bugs me. We're shown that his boss is a real asshole based on the phone conversation... But then our protagonist tries to show just how truly evil she is! She works for a giant corporation! And her job is moving money around, so they don't have to pay taxes! She's a greedy monster! Why, she practically eats babies!
I know that there are people out there who actually believe that wealthy people = evil monsters. (Unless, of course, those wealthy people are funding one of that person's pet causes, in which case they get a pass.) But that kind of thinking annoys the heck out of me. I would have instead focused on things that make his boss such a horrible person personally. Denying vacation, forcing people to work overtime without pay, firing them for insignificant reasons, buying a puppy every week just so she'd have something to strangle at work to relieve tension... You know, evil things! Rather than "Not only is she mean, she's also a _____! (Lawyer/Banker/Oil Tycoon/Politician/Whatever.)" Though I suppose picking a stereotypical disliked group does have the advantage of being concise, always a useful trait in a mini fic! :)