Dear Diary... Dear friend? Is that how you start a
conversation, or rather monolog with yourself? I’m new to this, and probably crappy as well.
But I just need to write it all down. I had
this urge to write it all down for such a long time now, because so much crazy
and intense stuff has happened, but I never got round to it. It was just way
too much to take in. And I never found the peace and quiet. But the New Year is here now and, well, New Year
means new start, right? And just like other girls, I need to write down my
feelings. So I guess I’m gonna tell it all to this invisible friend... or my
older self, who knows...
Anyway, it all
started this autumn, well, wait, summer really, when I got the job at Mister N.’s
club. That was when my life became exciting, for sure. And that was where my
career started, really. Sounds macabre
in a way, I know, but hey, we all have to make a living right? And why not do
what you are good at? Well, I’m merely quoting Mister N. here.
Seriously, before the club, things were pretty awful. I
never realised how shitty my life was before that. I really get that now. I was
miserable! I mean, I was doomed to do what all the other people had to do; Work!
In pointless jobs! Yeah, jobs and me seriously did not work out. From
when I was around 20 years old I was
just working all over the place, like shops, restaurants, a few offices, call
centres... trying to be a good employee, but hey I really wasn’t. I just couldn’t
bring myself to show up every day and be a slave. Everything within me was
screaming. I was angry, I was forcing myself to smile. It just wasn’t in my
nature. I could not take orders, or hang around all day for, basically, next to
zero cash. And the way those asshole managers treated me. I mean, they knew
they were giving me a hard time. They just didn’t like me; it’s like they were
jealous... or even scared of me. I so
hated those manager bitches. I just wanted to hit them in the face. Yeah maybe
they sensed that, haha. They had this so called ‘authority’ over me and it
really wasn’t right. I mean, a neurotic
little poodle does not tell a Doberman what to do right? It’s not natural. I
knew I was too good for this shit. That nagging feeling when you know you are
supposed to do something different, something better... and something much more
important. I just didn’t know yet what that was . So every time, I was usually let go after a few months, or sometimes
I just left, simply didn’t go back there anymore... I didn’t even bother to
call to say I wasn’t coming in anymore.
And mum and dad, fuck they were complaining their asses off,
like every time. “What on earth did you
do wrong this time, Ruthy Anne...??!” Yes,
that is my name unfortunately, now isn’t that plain ghastly, how can a mother
call her daughter ’Ruthy Anne’? How could she do this to me? ‘Honour her
grandmother Ruth’ she said. Really, the woman has no taste! But ok, that is a
different story. So mum and dad were
always on my back; whining and complaining... like, how I now was twenty
something years old, blah, blah,blah and still I have no proper education with
a good career in sight. They just didn’t get it. Work places did not like my
company. Not my fault, is it? “You have to be more of a team-player” mum said. She kept saying that something must be wrong
with my attitude or approach to my colleagues . Wtf! I got so angry, I couldn’t
stand her anymore, or anyone really. I just wanted to punch someone! Literally,
and it was such a life-safer that I was training at the local boxing club. I
loved it there. And I could release all my build up frustration. So needed
that. Funny, how I didn’t quite see the
connection then...
Anyway, enough of my ranting about bygone shit. I needed to
get out of this place quickly, so at some point I signed on welfare... medical
reasons I said, like depression, which kinda was true and shortly after, I
moved to the main city. Nahah... I can’t tell you which one, naturally, let’s
just call it the city with cute trams.... But soon after I got here, I was pushed into seeking casual
jobs, again. Yet, nobody would have me, not even a stupid cleaning company. And
thus, I was left jobless, penniless, all alone, miserable, on welfare,
contained in a council bedsit, living by society’s norm of a low-life. Twenty
five, was this my life??? No freakin’ way!!!
It wasn’t just the lack of money that drove me to
desperation, oh no. I had firmly made up my mind to never work in an enslaving
cattle job again. I knew I was better than that, or rather, “badder”. I needed
to be free, make my own living. I knew somewhere
I was meant to shine.
It was a lovely, warm, sweet-smelling early summer’s day, which
I would have enjoyed very much if only I had some cash to do something with. When it hit me. Pretty, but outcast, girls
like me, where do they work? Ah yes, of course! At the Eastern boulevard night
clubs, right? So I started to walk down there, standing curiously about in
front of neon-lit night clubs, porn shops, strip clubs and cinemas, walking up and down the streets,
constantly hit on by sleazy fat ole guys, which was really annoying. Yet, I
couldn’t bring myself to go inside anywhere to ask for a job. I was too
nervous. But the red lights fascinated me for sure. I knew I belonged in here
somewhere. Then one afternoon, when I
sat in a cafe bar after yet another failed attempt to ask for a job, I met
Cassandra for the first time. Cassandra is a busty, silver bleached blonde, who
seriously looks like one of those blow-up dolls in the sex shops. And, damn, she
had those cool tight black pants and stilettos I wanted so badly, but so could
not afford to buy. She sat down by the bar and had a late lunch, her red lipstick
all smeared around her chin but she didn’t seem to care. Confidence, right
there. Yeah, Cass was gorgeous that day,
I loved her at once. I smiled at her. Luckily she smiled back and I started to
chat with her for a bit. Turns out she works at that club down by the end of
the road. A fancy, purple flashing place, which I had been looking at several
times, because it kinda intrigued me. It was a strip club, but turned into this
hip night club with DJs every Saturday night...
And she said that she could take me there to speak to the bar manager.
Cass then said to me, ‘since I was so pretty, sexy and cool looking, I no doubt would get hired at the spot!’ Wow. I
got so excited! And then two days later, when she had a shift, I went down
there to speak with this guy Rob, and, to cut a long story short; I got a job.
Hostess slash dancer... well, you know. I was so happy!!!
I loved the job. And the job loved me! It was so thrilling
being there. Turns out I’m really good at sexy dancing, and I’m totally awesome
at entertaining customers, if you know what I mean. Turning on my charm... a
real charm yes. No fake politeness and stupid smiles at whiny, frustrated grannies.
And of course, I was damn good at taking care of myself if any guy didn’t
behave. In fact, I was allowed to punch customers if they grabbed my ass and then
have them kicked out of the club! Now how cool is that? Talk about customer
service as it should be, right? Haha. And I got paid! Real good! The money was
finally rolling in and really, money is everything. I was in paradise. Finally,
I could go shopping without feeling terrified, without turning every penny,
without feeling guilty for eating out, and I even could buy awesome clothes, do
my nails at the salon, hey, I could dine at restaurants... I was alive again. Just
seeing all that cash in my lap each night gave me a rush to my head. I just
wanted to work more and more shifts. Finally it was all worth it.
But hey, ok, this is where it all starts really. Because it
is here where I met Mister N. Now, Mister N. owns the place, the whole building actually, plus
the hidden casino in the back of the house. His office is at the top floor and
occasionally, he would pop into the club, chatting with Rob about business,
having a quick drink and so worth. Whenever I passed him by I gave him a cute
smile. He was the boss after all. But after a few times, I stopped by his table
and we had this jolly little chitchat. He asked me if I liked working at the
club, and I told him I loved it. He soon came down more often just to say hello,
and I talked to him after my shift, or even sat down with him for a drink. I really liked him. Mister N. is funny and he
looks just like this guy from TV, this Poirot character, seriously. A short
guy, with a belly, moustache, always dressed
very classy. And he really enjoyed talking to me as well, he said, I
made him laugh, I made him wonder... I was such a strange girl. He said that I
was unusual, and that I had quite intriguing topics to talk about. I took his
mind of things, he said. After a few of those entertaining chats we had, he started
to invite me up to his office for coffee ... the top floor, yes, where all his classified business deals took
place and his shady looking boys walked in and out of. I mean, I’m not dumb, I
realised pretty quickly that Mister N. was a descendent from a, let’s say, ‘traditional’
line of underworld. And it was exciting, for sure.
I grew very fond of Mister N. and also started to like his errand
runners, some of them which were seriously hot and handsome. Oh my gosh! The
other girls in the club downstairs were simply sticking to their job of stripping
and entertaining customers. That was it. They would never come up here. But I
was totally fascinated by what was going on behind the closed curtains. A whole
new and dangerous world opened up to me. And I realised I wanted to be part of
that underworld, like, for real. I wasn’t just a pretty chic. I seriously could
be tough enough to get in here. Hey, I’ve always been raw and angry enough
after all, fierce enough. And I said
that to Mister N. He would smile when I talked about it, when I asked
alluringly about the details to his trade. I confessed to him my dark and dirty
fantasies, yeah he liked that. Stuff about guns, violence and dead bodies... I
felt pretty confident that I could do some of the same tough jobs his gangster
boys did for him. I told him I could kill someone, without a problem. I’m just
like a feral cat, I would be a killer-cat, yes. And I was dead serious, I said! He looked at
me from behind his big, mahogany desk, amused.
Teasing me all the time ‘Ruthy, Ruthy, or should I say Ruthless... ay,
you are ruthless!’ I loved it, such a
compliment, something I intended to grow into. Ruthless. What an awesome name.
Soo much better than Ruthy, for sure. Yeah, I was gonna become that... No more strange,
out of place Ruthy, but cold-blooded Ruthless. I told Mister N. I would change my name to
Ruthless for real. He just laughed.
Yes, Mister N. is such a sophisticated man, and he loves good
old culture. Begin of September he took me to the opera. I can’t say I enjoyed
it very much, but I was pleased to be escorting Mister N. on a night out, wearing
my brand new, gorgeous red satin dress that I had bought for the occasion. I
surely felt special that night.
Not long after that, Mister N. agreed to let me run a few
errands for him. No biggies, but obviously, I had to earn his trust first and
the confidence that I could handle the nature of his business. I would be delivering
parcels for him, pick up stuff with one of his cars, hand out messages to his guys,
see to his special guests back at the
casino... and I was dedicated. After all it was good money I got. I mean, the
stripping money was real good, but now we’re talking even better cash in hand. Soon
I was allowed to stay in the room when the big guys had their business
discussions. I was doing well here, like I said, I always knew I would be good
at doing bad shit. I left an impression on everyone, I got respect and Mister N.
said I might have quite a talent for this. Hell yeah! I begged him to give me some real assignments.
He was still amused by my unusual fierceness. He liked it as well. And then there
was a close call shooting incident down at the club, which I might say; I
handled really well. I do have fighter skills, basic instincts and really, potential
for the big game. I was made for this! Mister N. was very pleased and he said
he would help me develop my talents. Well that’s not the exact words he used,
but: Yay! So exciting!
I realised more and
more that I had a natural born hunger. This instinct to kill, the adrenaline,
the ability to survive danger... damn
why didn’t I ever think of that before? That’s why I never was one of the herd.
I’m a predator at heart. Mister N. understood what I was. He then had this
serious sit down with me at his office one stormy, grey autumn night, saying that
what I wanted to do is not just a hobby or some short-lived adventure at all.
He said this is not a thug life. He said thugs are those dumbasses that mess up
everything on their highway to jail. If I’m going in with the big guys, I’m in
all the way. One wrong step, and it’s over and out... and he wasn’t talking
about the career, but my life. I paused a little and said ‘sure’. And he looked
at me with his small glasses and said that I must be mad indeed... but the best
people are.
So by late october I stopped working at the club downstairs
altogether, which was a little sad, but hey, I moved up, quite literally, up
into the top building, working for Mister N.’s office. Oh, and I moved to the
good side of town as well, with gorgeous jugendstil buildings, lovely streets,
parks and alleys and now I have this cute, stylish two bedroom apartment with
big windows on the fourth floor. With
each assignment, even though still pretty harmless stuff, I got paid and it
would only get better if I would be able to do what I really wanted.
I still would see the girls of course, I was often
downstairs in the club to say hello . None of them had any idea what really was
going on in the office, and I said I was Mister N.’s office assistant, answering
phone calls and stuff, which they happily believed. Except Cassandra, she basically
has a foot in the backdoor as well, hanging out with the boys upstairs, working
back at the casino, and she has good contact with Mister N. Obviously Cass has
quite a regular taste for the white candy herself, which she distributes
amongst her own personal clients. Bad bitch...
I now was put into, well, ‘training’ with Jamie and little Paul.
This was so exhilarating, seriously! Jamie,
now he is one of Mister N.’s best guys, he’s the head of security and personal bodyguard.
He is seriously hot and fit, I so fancy him. A blonde dude, looking like one of those
actors so popular these days, with surfer tan, great arms and abs to die for! He
is damn serious about his shit, he knows what he is doing, and still he is so
charming, funny and polite. A good businessman he is as well, just like Mister
N. said; this is no thug life, high crime has class. Jamie is co-owner of a MMA
fighter club near by the warehouses where he trains up his guys at the quiet
hours of the night in a special basement room. And, as far as I know, he also
funds this illegal cage fighting network, which is pretty awesome. So now I was
training hard, seriously I thought I could box and defend myself, but what I
learn here, oh boy! That was so hard in the beginning, I felt sick to my
stomach. But it needed to be done, even though I really wonder: some of the guys working for
the big men have serious beer bellies and sweaty, unfit bodies...ugh. How come
they don’t need to do any fitness training, duh, but anyway, I got to trust Mister
N. ‘s plan and I really should not complain. I’m in the best company and really
want to be here.
I also received a lot
of intense lessons from little Paul, he’s such a cute, short Italian guy, quite
skinny, but hell he is good. He is a wizard with the knife, an excellent get-
away driver and a hell of a good sniper from a long distance I’m told. I
thought you could just take a gun and shoot it, but there is much more to it. Weapon
training really would be my thing. It was shooting that I really wanted to do.
We would shoot every weekend at this old factory in the countryside where no
one would hear the noise. That feeling of power when you shoot a gun is just
wow! Awesome. I become more confident and powerful by the day.
During that time I was also dragged along to quite a few
dirty street jobs, like meetings in dark alleys and the occasional visit to
unfortunate loosers who could not pay back their debt to Mister N., even though
those jobs were generally ‘taken care of’ by the mean bully boys, lead by this
really big, brute, bold, tattoed torpedo from Poland called Roamer. Yeah, I came
along to a few meetings by the docks and witnessed him in action. Crazy
motherfucker...! I was shocked by the
brutality, but “I needed to become street smart”, Jamie said. Some of the
things that I saw, huff, not pretty, but hey some of those punters, they
deserve it. I mean, how can you be so stupid and loan big cash from gangsters
and then be too stupid to pay it all back..?! Those guys are just pathetic with
a big P. To be honest I felt no sympathy for them and well, I almost enjoyed
kicking them in the gut. The guys and me always went for drinks afterwards and we
had a real good laugh. I know it’s mean, but hey...
Whenever we had to make a ‘house call’ or do a smash down job,
little Paul took his ‘nosefill’ to clear his head before stepping out of the
car and he offered me several times to join him. Jamie said that really wasn’t
necessary. He didn’t like drugs on the job. He said to do what we do, you have
to be calculated, smart and clear in the head... or either you’re just a little
psycho. Paul, clearly, was a little psycho, Jamie stated convincingly. Paul
waved it off and said he was a cute little psycho at least, and he made me
agree. I seriously was trained for the job. How awesome, though this job
description would never be mentioned at any employment office. Slowly but surely,
I learned all about the need to have different cell phones, even different
laptops for all the jobs, code names, how to smell out undercover cops... boy,
organised crime really is organised! Exhausting.
On the other hand, a lot of times, we just have dead time
and we’re just hanging out, like at Jamie’s gym, at the cafe, or at the office,
or, at Jamie’s house. I love that. It’s so much freedom. And yet, we’re at the
job 24/7. Mister N. would call if he needed something done. Jamie and Paul actually
spend a good amount of time watching movies, and they are really into those
stupid, cheesy, romantic comedies, like seriously, I tried to suggest a REAL film and Jamie said he
doesn’t like to watch action films, drama or horror because he finds them too distressing
and upsetting... Ehm? Say what? I mean
really, how ironic is that? But, yes, Jamie is a sensitive guy, aww, how cute
is that? He doesn’t live too far from my new place. Anyway, I really have fun, I like hanging out
with the guys like that. I feel so lucky.
And then came that fatal day, really not that long ago; It
was already chilly outside. Dark and wet were the afternoons, sharp and crispy the
air, cold but wonderful. So atmospheric, winter was here for sure. Me and Jamie
were out driving, and we had just picked up a couple of Mister N.’s suits from
the dry cleaners - well yes, we have to do that too sometimes... but
anyway, we had just stopped by Starbucks
to get those yummy seasonal spiced lattes. I was standing in the queue when
Jamie got a phone call. His face turned very serious and then he told me to
hurry because we had to leave at once. So I hastily grabbed the coffee and my bagel
so that I could eat it in the car and we drove across town, down to the
containers by the docks. It was dark and deserted there, really spooky, and I
got a bad feeling at once. Down by the water there was a car parked in the shadows,
and I saw the shape of a guy standing next to it. As soon as we came close, the
guy was waving his arms around, shouting and screaming, acting really pissed
off about something. I had no idea what the problem was, and I didn’t get the
chance to ask Jamie either, because as soon as he parked next to him, Jamie ordered
me quietly to ‘stay in the car’ and he jumped out to talk to the dude. A second
later, bam! Jamie just shot the angry guy in the head. Whoa, the dude didn’t
see that one coming. Like a big sack of potatoes he fell hard to the wet,
concrete ground.
Then there was immediate silence, all we could hear were the
faint sounds of the horns from the boats and the trains that echoed in the
distance. I was perplexed, I was totally stunned. Jamie called out to me, to
come over and help him. I stepped out of the car, like in slow motion. There
the guy was lying dead in front of me, my first dead guy. Wow. I did not react, in fact I did not feel
anything, no anxiety, no shock, no disgust, nothing. I thought that was so weird.
So I helped Jamie to carry the body into the trunk of the guy’s car. I was a
bit clumsy because my high heels made me lose my balance and I didn’t wear any
jacket and it was really freezing cold out here by the waters. I never got a
look at the guy’s face. I didn’t want to either. Then Jamie slammed shut the trunk
door and got into that car. Told me to drive his own car back to my place and
park it there. He said he would come by later to pick it up. And just like
that, he took off in the guy’s Volkswagen.
Speedily I jumped into the driver’s seat of Jamie’s BMW, locked the
doors and made a quick exit as well. I really did not want to hang out here
alone for another second. But boy, my mind was racing now, my hands were
shaking at the wheel and I really tried to remain calm. As I drove through the
city and its neon-lights, it really hit me; I now officially am a really bad
girl. A criminal. This is for real. My head was spinning and yet, I felt
nothing.
I parked the car in my street just as Jamie had told me to,
went upstairs to my flat and waited for him to call. God I waited painfully
long, I just sat there on my little balcony, having one cigarette after
another. I was so nervous. Around 10 pm Jamie finally sent me a message saying
I should come down with the car key. I rushed down the stairs to meet him in
the streets and he told me in his calm manner that he had sorted out everything.
Before I could ask a 1000 questions like ‘what the hell happened there and’...
he said quietly, ‘this is how we do things Ruthy; order, target, done. We never
ask why and we don’t talk about it’. God, he was so sexy when he said that. I
just stood there in the cold night, shaking and breathing smoke. He got into
his car and then rolled down the window. He asked, ‘so are you doing alright
Ruthy?’ I leaned into the window, looked at him as nonchalant as I could and just
said ‘Hey, it’s Ruthless’. And I turned to go back upstairs, smiling inside.
Now I really was restless. I went down to the store to get
some food, but I really wasn’t in the mood for making any dinner. I was in the
mood for something else. So I went out. The
air smelled so sweet that night, even though it was freezing. I just started
walking towards town and then went into the nearest night-club to dance my head
off, drinking a few pricy cocktails and then I took a random dude into the
bathroom with me for a quick, sleazy fuck. I did think of Jamie the whole time
though, but hey, it was still real good. I felt like I was on top of the world.
I so badly wanted to tell people ’hey, I’m
a real tough chic, hey I am a gangster, hey I’m a killer in training, and we just
shot a guy today... ‘ but I knew I couldn’t. My secret life was here for sure. I went home
around four in the morning, drunk and high on power. I promised myself to take
life easy from now on, to see the great irony, to be a real freakin’ crazy chic
and not fear death. Life could be over in an instant. I witnessed that today. Did I feel bad, or even guilty about the dead
guy??? Nope. I’m sure Mister N. had his reasons. And Jamie or me, we are just
the tools.
Next morning I got a message from Mister N. asking how I was
doing. Aww, that was so sweet of him! I texted back ‘I feel great!’... smiley face. He just replied ‘Ruthless!!!’
So anyway, this is more or less what happened so far. Mister
N. gave me my career. He saw me, the real me. So all the stupid jobs I had and
all those that turned me down, well,
maybe they smelled it out too, the real me. No matter how I disguised it. Because
people like me, that are outcasts, they are often the raw, street-smart individuals,
those that can survive in the jungle. They are the true top dogs. The work managers
and shitty bosses I had, they are kinda the omegas of the flock really, that is
why they are so passive- aggressive up there in their unnatural power positions,
right? I mean, look at politicians. So thank you all yer stupid jobs! Oh and
hey, Jane from Intershoes; I slept with your husband at the Christmas office
party that time. God I so wish I could tell her that... Maybe I should pay that envious bitch a visit,
show her who I really am. Freak her out a little.
So it’s the end of the year now.
I’m home for Christmas, staying at mum’s and dad’s house, really bored, this is
why I have the time now to put it all down to paper. They have nooo idea of
course what I’ve been up to lately. If only they knew what has become of their
daughter. Well, let’s hope they never find out. I told them I got a job in an
office, hiring out limousines. No idea how I came up with that one. They were
impressed that I finally got my life in order... that I have money and could
buy them nice presents. I just bought brand
new cute dresses and boots as well, which I have to talk more about, got this
cool new hair cut, with a little silver colour at the ends. And finally I have gorgeous
nails. Love that bright red nail
varnish. God, it feels so good to have money. With dread I think back to the
days when I just had nothing; no money, no opportunities. I can’t wait to start
the New Year. Doing what I am born to do.
I am Ruthless, and I’m on my way
to be a contract killer. (I got to learn to rock that attitude...)
(c) I Am Ruthless! - from Ruthless' diary.
