Rufio Wallace, Hitman.

Rufio Wallace Goes to the Mall

By: David McGhee

It was an unusually balmy day in Jefferson County, Colorado. It was in the middle of a hot (if not the hottest) summer. The kind of time any sane mortal human male would think about wearing shorts and a short sleeve t-shirt outside. The kind of day when you'd put on your sunglasses and forget about combing your hair. Rufio Wallace did none of this. As usual he wore a nicely tailored sports coat with a white shirt underneath. His black converse sneakers were a great match for the dark blue jeans he had on. Not a very tall man, he ultimately won people over with his wit. When it came to being intimidating, Rufio wished he was taller but everything was properly managed by the things he did when it came to critical thinking. A college professor of his had instilled in him the doubt it took to do what he did, and he did it well. So well that in fact he was in demand by the elite that knew what the kinds of jobs he did do. A man with some bargaining power he was.

Yoda is a slutty monkey lug nuts.
Grab the force!

Rufio smiled at this as he was in the middle of parking his car in the far out regions of the vast Colorado Mills outlet shopping mall parking lot. There were no signs telling him where his car was. He just had to remember that it was way out in front of the Target attached to the place and hoped to Allah

*From Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Cameron's barritone, “Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, swing batta!”*

that he could find it again.

He was actually on two missions. First he had to do what he had initially came to do, which was to take down a young man who had knocked up an arm's dealer's daughter and her father didn't take it lightly. But it was going to be an easy fifty thousand.

Then he was to get a Blu-Ray DVD for his wife. Shelly. She really didn't care about what he got as long as it either had Edward Norton or it was in some way arty. Rufio enjoyed the kinds of films that Shelly liked. Although sometimes when you are saturated with heavy thinking thrillers and indie comedies, a man had to have some explosions and titties.

The last movie he had gotten her had been Fight Club, which had explosions and titties. Rufio had read the book before and had liked it a good deal better than the movie. The part of the protagonist was interesting because the guy never told you his name. Nowhere in the book or the movie does it mention the protagonists' name.

Edward Norton had portrayed the main, nameless character with great aplomb. His wife always raved about his acting in this one. To be true Rufio could believe that he was an office drone with no life and an affinity for random street violence. So infacto, it had something for the both of them to enjoy.

Sometimes Rufio wished he could be Edward Norton. Not just because he was tall and handsome and could hold his wife's attention for more than a quickie, but because the man had notoriety. He could get into the fanciest of restaurants and do the coolest of things, like be in the movies. Rufio smiled. He never got any credit for what he did except for the people who knew what he did. He was in the business of killing ass and business was good.

Rufio sauntered down the lot and into one of the many main entrances to the mall. He went to the video store first. As he looked around the place it became apparent that the business catered to the lowest common denominator. They even had a section named “Emo movies.” He had to do a double at first. The place was selling a shit ton of reality TV on DVD. What ever happened to scripted television? Smart, edgy, predictable fiction that may rehash old jokes, but they spit shine them into something vaguely reminiscent of jokes you already knew and loved, only new and therefore refreshing. Such skits as the father who realizes that his prodigal son is more or less hung than he is. Hilarity ensues. Or who couldn't remember the old scene when someone video taped a conversation and the final result was a mismatch of quickly edited takes that equaled up to the video of the guy saying things that he didn't mean to say.

Oh he could be a writer for television! But the problem was that reality TV didn't need writers.

Or production values.

Or sense.

They were cheaply made and captivated audiences the world over.

On some level, he sort of wish he had made a show videotaping a little fat kid making a complete hog of herself ala' Honey Boo Boo. He still could. But then if he did it without the corporate backing he would just be considered an asshole who over fed and under paid his star.

He hoped that the guy he was sent here to kill was a fat kid. He fucking hated fat kids. Fucking parents gave all of them cake and they got fat. Rufio could eat a pizza whole every night of the week and never gain weight. He didn't care how lucky he may be. There's just something morally right about maintaining a certain level of fitness. Or at least there should be.

Fat people pissed him off.

Rufio wondered why, if Honey Boo Boo was so famous, that her family didn't run screaming out of their shit hole stink house and into something nicer and a little more modern. Like a basic suburban apartment in a basic suburban apartment building in a basic suburban area just outside the city. Rufio had money. Lots of it actually. Although most of it was hidden away from Shelly in offshore accounts. He had shit all over the Caymen islands. He'd learned a lot of what he did via both his financial adviser to the billionaires and also by reading John Grisham novels. He learned (probably by the latter) that the Caymen's had the best banks if one were to ever squirl away billions at a time. He didn't have to do what he did anymore. Putting him in harms way every waking moment of his life as a trained killer. But darnit! It was fun to take out enemy's of the rich and petty.

Then you got paid the money that went into the Caymen Island's which would accrue and one day make him one of the richest hit men in history.

As far as it came to where the best place would be, Mr. Grisham had yet to lead Rufio Wallace astray.

Rufio spotted American History X and picked it up. He examined the backside of the box to see whether or not it would be a good investment. He was sure his wife had seen it. She's probably seen more of Mr. Norton's work than he ever had. Rufio measured himself against the DVD rack and disappointingly fell short of the display's height.

I Bet Mr. Norton never feels short.

Fucking tall skinny men of the world.

Tall skinny men pissed him off.

With a sigh, he read the back of the Blu-Ray DVD. Something about racist people kicking black ass. He turned the box over and inspected the cover a little closer. He couldn't recognize the man on it. He was built like a race horse and had a goatee. He had to double check the credits that yes, yes indeed, that was Edward Norton all right. Should be interesting, Rufio thought to himself.

Edward Norton, racist black person beater upper!

He brought the DVD up to the register and after three people and an endearing twelve year old Aryan in front of him, Six minutes and twenty seven seconds of his life that he would never get back. He paid for the item that would surely get his dick wet tonight and the lady put it in a blue plastic bag. The bag was pretty big and it felt almost like a waste to put such a miniscule item in this large container. But it did the job, and it was blue. Rufio liked blue. It was the color of people who had their oxygen supply cut off from them.

Hey kid. I'm gonna have you shitting your own intestines in a few hours.

The thought made him smile.

Ever since he was a kid he knew he was special. He may not have been as big or as strong as the other boys. But he did do one thing great. And that thing had become his entire career. That was of course first to his second, and more legal, line of work. By all accounts he was a data specialist by day. But he didn't consider himself a nerd much but he had to admit that he had worn the Spock ears and such whenever Comic Con came to town. He remembered that his wife had been a Klingon. The implication that Spock would fuck a Klingon was just funny to him. He laughed out loud with some very concerned patrons passing him by in the mall. He didn't care though. He was so plain looking that he was sure no one would even remember his face if questioned later.

He adjusted his glasses, which he wore for the occasion. In fact everything about his appearance was a fraud. He most liked to dress in a nice salmon (not pink) button up dress shirt, a black skinny tie, and some nice higher end Target black slacks. Also his nose was a tad larger than natural today.

Rufio walked about half the length of the mall to get to his final destination. The Buy-A-Bear workshop. He looked up at the green and brown awning and smiled coldly. He walked into the bear stuffing and assembling facility and began browsing the selections on the wall.

I'm just here for my niece. He thought with a sinister giggle. No one paid attention to this plain man. A man who, in due time, would end the life of one of the lucky hormone driven gangsta men in the hiz-House.

He could have a worker bear, complete with a plaid shirt and blue jean overalls. Or he could have a nursey bear. That would be cute. Or he could have a Dr. bear. That would be just as nice as well.

In fact, he had hundreds of identities in which to choose from and give one of the five different types of teddy bears to choose from. Rufio wondered why they didn't have a dominatrix outfit for the bears to wear. He was sure that that would big a big ticket seller for those young and horny and those young and horny at heart.

Rufio imagined a black vinyl clad teddy bear with a play sized whip smacking the ass of Mr. Dr. Bear M.D PHD CAC III. Them med school graduates were all sick and twisted fucks. He knew. They had stolen his appendix when it wasn't even giving him any trouble. He had had it taken out when he complained from burning pain in his stomach for years and they had given him exploratory surgery. When he awoke from his anesthesia induced coma, he had discovered via a very excited surgical intern, that his appendix had been successfully removed. When he asked why on Earth they would have done such a thing, the Attending Dr. had told him that it was better not to have it than to keep it and one day just have to get it taken out. Nobody in his family have ever had an inflamed appendix. Nobody that he knew of in the last two generations on either side of his family at least. Go back any further than that and you have doctors relatives prescribing leech treatments.

Rufio settled his eyes on a little bear suit. It was called “Business Bear” and it came in two colors. Business blue or basic black. He smiled and picked the card out of the slot full of priced cards and went over to the bear body section. They had tan bear, brown bear, gray bear, white bear, and for some off reason green bear. Maybe it was left over from Saint Paddy's day or something. All Rufio knew was that he hated it.

Green bears pissed him off.

Rufio snarled at the bear shaped piece of cloth in front of him.

A tall blond teenaged boy with mild acne walked up to him, smiling broadly and said “Don't like the green one huh?” He asked, his mouth too big for his face. He sort of looked like Andy Samberg but with a narrower face and he came with less of them Jewishy features that the aforementioned Samberg consisted of. Probably Nordic or something if he could figure right.. Mike noticed that the boy had very large hands. There was a connection, he read, about finger and toe length being correlated with penis size. Since the gene that controlled how long your features were also concerned itself with that one special and oh so important feature on a man.

The thought made Rufio angry. He wasn't about to be outdicked by a kid. It took everything in him to smile and reply. “No sir.” He said. “Thinking about the gray one for my daughter.”

Tall boys with big hands pissed him off.

Rufio noted the boy's name tag. “John.” What an unspectacular name it was. John. How droll, Rufio thought. He had never been a fan of the name his parents had given him, but at least it wasn't “John.” Boring.

Rufio mouthed his name. He had to be the one. He had been told in cryptically coded correspondence that the guy he was looking for was a tall blond teenaged boy named John who worked at Buy-A-Bear workshop. He smiled and pointed towards the gray bear. “I want this one.” Rufio gave the teenaged boy the little card with the barcode on it that indicated that he wanted the bear to be in the business suit. The tall, thin, and obnoxiously handsome young man smiled and took the card to the cash register. He scanned the card and looked up. “Did you get the card for the gray bear body?”

Rufio shook his head. “Sorry.” John smiled and said it was no problem. He took the ten steps to the left and retrieved a card from the little pocket next to the gray bear mock up on the wall. John walked back to the register and scanned the card.

Rufio looked around to see if anyone could have been following him, a nervous habit that never proved fertile in similar situations before. He looked back up at the kid and started whistling the funeral march. The boy took no notice as he pressed buttons on the computer touch screen.

“That will be fifty three dollars and twenty six cents.” The teenaged male told Rufio. He laughed and made a comment about how there was no shame in the consumer market today and took out his wallet. He handed the boy a credit card that read “Nathan Benet.” Rufio smiled and put his hands behind his back, the wallet being in the right one.

The boy took the card and continued to stare at Rufio. “Sir...” He started. “In this store we require ID.”
“Oh.” Rufio was caught off guard, suddenly nervous. “Okay.” He smiled and took an ID out of his wallet that said the same name. Although the man on the picture looked enough like him, he was indeed a totally different person. Rufio had hundreds of IDs that looked exactly like him but weren't exactly him. His employers, instead of making up a bunch of new cards, just gave him ones of deceased people. Although the deceased were still alive and well according to national databases. Some even still drawing aid from government assistance. All of this taken care of by Big Brother. He wondered if they were watching him through tiny cameras, seeing if he would fuck this simple task up.

They were always watching... Sometimes to the point where one would have to wonder why they needed people like Rufio to begin with. If they were everywhere, then why all the sending out for something you could make at home? Of course this was just a thought. Even with them there, he got paid handsomely for the simplest of tasks. Including the one he was about to embark on.

Rufio began to sweat. It was always the thrill of the hunt that got to him. That and he should have been back by now. His wife had made sweet potatoes and was probably still keeping them warm in the oven until he got back. Whenever that would be, he thought sourly.

This young man with the big hands pissed him off.

Wasting his time and such... Pissed him the hell off.

The boy looked over the ID and thought it to be a reasonable likeness. So he processed the transaction. Rufio was pleased to see that the foreign credit card had gone through, yet another sign of the greatness his employers exuded. It was amazing the documents they could make for him. Why he could be Bill Gates of Matt Groening if he wanted to.

D'oh!

The boy handed him back the two cards and took a key from the desk and walked to the other side of the store, where he got the costume and the bear body. Rufio followed him to the stuffing machine and watched in horror as the bear suddenly came to life before him. Writhing and inflating with air and white cotton / polyester stuffing. The boy expertly dressed the gray teddy and used a staple type gun to secure the suit to the bear. Then Rufio was led back to the counter where the bear was placed in a large cardboard box that said “Buy-A-Bear Workshop. Adoption Services”

The teenager handed Rufio the box filled with his newly purchased teddy. “Thank you sir.” The boy said awkwardly, as if desperately seeking Rufio's approval. “I hope you have a good day.”

Rufio smiled and extended his hand. “And a good one to you too!” The young boy shook his hand and drew back as if he had just been stung. “Sorry.” Rufio said. “Sometimes other people's skin get caught under my wedding ring.” He smiled and the kid waved it off.

“It happens.” John said good heartedly and with a big warm smile. The kind of smile that probably got him a shit ton of blow jobs.

“Good bye.” Rufio said. And he meant it too. Because on his ring was a tiny needle with enough radioactive poison in the tip of the already microscopic nail at the end of his wedding ring to bring down a full grown elephant. That is, after an agonizing three days of internal bleeding and shitting yourself, losing your hair, and finally collapsing within your own body. Of course that is if your skin didn't melt off first.

Rufio was happy to get rid of another young slut monkey.

“Hope you have a good day!” Rufio repeated sourly to himself as he walked out of the Buy-A-Bear Workshop he took a look back at the young man who had helped him. He was still as breathtaking a young male further away as he had been up close. No doubt he would of have a great future as a ladies man and climb the corporate ladder to success and had fifty babies and eventually would have voted Republican. Rufio headed out of the mall humming the funeral march. Stupid kids, they are all filthy man whores. He smiled. He was probably going to get some dick wetting tonight when he showed a half naked Edward Norton to his wife, in hi definition no less.

Back at the Buy-A-Bear Workshop, John, the tall blond good looking all American boy that he was, coughed a few small droplets of blood into his hand.