thismaz | Prompt 61 - A job worth doing

This one had me stumped. Right up 'til yesterday, I still didn't have a clue. Even this meagre offering went through about three manifestations, before it settled. It is very short, but I hope it works.

Title: A job worth doing
Fandom: original
At:

tamingthemuse
Rating: Pg
Word Count: 648

A job worth doing

Sitting on the edge of his bed as he finished pulling on his boots, Tom looked across the room at Jake and T. "I don't need a debrief," he snapped. "It happened. It's sad. It couldn't be helped. Move on! What matters is the new job. And I'll follow orders. The child was unfortunate, and I'm sorry, but accidents happen in this line of work. You know that. Collateral damage is inevitable."

He could tell that Jake disagreed, but he shook his head and held up a forestalling hand. "Don't look at me like that, please?" he sighed, the weariness of resignation taking hold of the marrow in his bones and freezing it. "Listen. I'll send some flowers to the funeral. I'll make a donation to which ever charity the family have named." He looked them each in the eye, in turn, feeling his resolve strengthen in the face of their disapproval.

It was always like this; something inside of him got its back up, when confronted by opposition. "It's not like I can bring him back." Trailing off, he glanced around. Ben was frowning, like he was about to say something, but Tom pre-empted him. "I know you disapprove. But you know it has to be this way. It's what I do, but it's a job, nothing more. Just a way to pay the rent."

There was no point to this discussion. They knew that, as well as he did. He got up and walked across to where his next job was waiting for him, ignoring them. Tipping the contents of the envelope onto the table, he spread the papers out with the flat of his hand, exposing the corner of the photograph he'd known would be there. He picked it up and inspected it. "Well, you won't object to this one," he observed. "I know this guy. He's been in the news - extortion, drugs, people. Looks like the powers that be have got sick of trying to make the charges stick." Thoughtfully, he studied one of the typed sheets of paper, it gave an itinerary for the target's predicted movements over the next two weeks. He frowned. Not much time to organise, but he'd done it in less.

Sorting through the intelligence, with half his mind he began to plan - scout the area, see if he could get a sighting. Didn't look like the guy travelled with any protection. And he was a man of regular habits. Stupid, given his line of work. Tom pondered for a moment. Yeah, drive-by would probably do it. Outside the man's house, as he left in the morning. No one would even be surprised. The papers would blame a rival and that would be that!

Resolved, he glanced round at a small sound from the group behind him. T had shifted, but he was smiling now, encouraging, and somehow that gave Tom the strength to voice his other idea. "I reckon, after this one, I'll have enough. That place in Spain? Or maybe the yacht. You could come with? We'd have enough to live on for years, maybe forever, if we're careful. What d'you say?" He gazed around at his friends and nodded. "Okay, it's a deal. Last job, then we're out of here!"

As the door closed behind him, Big Ted's eyes never wavered from their fixed and glassy gaze at Paddington's duffle coat button, just as they had all morning and for days and months before. Jake still leant drunkenly against the copy of The Golden Treasury of Poetry that Tom had been given for his seventh birthday and Piglet still sat, wedged between the pile of comics and the well worn copy of Catcher in the Rye. Only T moved, some stray draft or vibration overwhelming his precarious balance, and he fell sideways to lie on his side, with his head resting on Paddington's foot.

arctophile: n. person who loves or collects teddy bears.