Falsettos one shots

Hiding in a hotel closet wasn’t exactly the way Whizzer Brown had expected to spend his Friday night, but that was where he ended up. He had planned on going out and getting railed, but when a favour calls, you answer.

Maybe I’ll bump into someone on the way out, he thought to himself, sighing quietly.

He knelt down in the darkness, slats of light from the wooden closet door pooling over his briefcase on the floor, illuminating the leather, and opened it.

He was used to the metallic smell now, liked it even. Whizzer reached in, gently taking out folded shirt after folded shirt until he reached the faux bottom. He slid his hand over his ass, until he felt the tight jean pocket, and reached in. He brought the small pencil sharpener blade out carefully, so he didn’t slice his leather gloves, they were expensive, and picked at the thin lining with a steady hand. It peeled up revealing the foam protective layer.

He was careful to be quiet as he assembled the rifle, flinching as each part clicked together louder than life. He didn’t need the light; he had practiced assembling and disassembling it blindfolded over and over again. He finished with a satisfying ‘click’ and held the gun up, checking through the sight. Off by a fraction of a millimetre and his own head would be on the line.

He smiled as he pretended to shoot it, god if only ten-year-old Whizzer would know how much better it all got. He gently put it back down and picked up the handgun beside it, slipping a silencer into place over the muzzle. He replaced the magazine, clicking back the hammer.

Maybe the closet would be better than the poor, meaningless fuck he had expected to go down.

He laughed to himself. Closet, hadn’t been there in a long time.

“honey, are you done yet?” Whizzer froze as he heard the man yell out from his east, and his hand clenched around the knife on his belt as the sound of dampened footsteps came closer.

They stopped as he heard the door creak open. He assumed bathroom, but he couldn’t be sure with it being such a large suit. “yes darling.”

He could almost hear the man’s breath being taken away as his words faltered for a moment, “ w-wow- you look—”

“stunning, yes I know.” The woman interrupted. Whizzer smirked; this was his kind of lady.

Pity she would have to die soon.

“well-“ he could hear the seductive tone in the man’s voice, ‘I was going to say ravishing—” Whizzer bit the inside of his cheek. English accents turned him the fuck on. “-but stunning will do.” The woman began to laugh softly, and Whizzer smiled, peering through the crack in the door, watching the pair sway back and forth for a moment as though they were slow dancing to imaginary music.

Nice way to spend your final moments.

He checked his watch. 8:42.

It’s funny how you get into certain businesses. You start by simply buying a small business in the wrong part of town and the next thing you know, your building is burnt to the ground and when you realise you got into some shady shit and call the man everybody’s been telling you about, saying you’re out of business, the guy at the end of the phone tells you thank you. We’ll remember this and if you ever need a favour, give us a call.

You call and suddenly you’re spending your Friday nights in a closet getting ready to assassinate people who had messed with the mob.

He was getting bored now, and picked up the hand gun, cocking it as quietly as he could.

He burst through the wooden doors, one shot, muffled by the silencer, came before they even knew what had happened.

Into her head, out through his chest.

They hit the ground instantly.

Dead.

Whizzer smiled at the shot, slowly approaching to check the bodies. He tilted his head as he stared at the woman, a dazed smile on her face, or what was left of her face, blood peppering and sprayed over her expensive white fur coat. Whizzer frowned. He could’ve taken it, she did look stunning after all, but not as stunning as he could’ve looked.

He turned to the man, he was face down, twitching slightly. Whizzer nudged him with his foot a couple of times before rolling his body over.

“ahhh shit, he’s hot.” Whizzer said to himself as he saw his face “if only I was a fucking necrophile.” He muttered to himself, chuckling darkly. He stared at the man and suddenly he gasped for breath, trying to move. Whizzer rolled his eyes, firing a single shot into his head. “not so hot anymore.” He said, staring at the gaping hole in his forehead, the blood trailing out from the corner of his mouth, the brains spilling onto the floor.

He checked his watch again. 8:45.

Whizzer went back to the closet, getting the semi-automatic, and cracked the window. He looked through the sight, his eyelashes twitching as he slowed his breathing.

One.

The taxi cab pulled up on the other side of the street, ten storeys lower.

Two.

Whizzer closed his other eye, training the sights on the cab.

Three.

As soon as the head appeared, Whizzer took a shot. The man crumpled to the ground and he checked his watch again as he heard shrieks from below. Five minutes to get the fuck out of there. He disassembled the rifle in seconds, slotting each piece into the foam moulds in the briefcase.

Then he stripped, changing out of the all black and leather entourage and folded them as fast as possible, stacking them into the case over the fake bottom. He changed his black leather gloves to white, silky ones, putting on a burgundy bell hop uniform and black dress trousers over the pair of fishnet stockings. The black cap was the final touch, and he pulled it down, so it was covering the majority of his face.

He clipped closed the briefcase and rushed towards the door.

He stopped as he saw the mini bar, turning back to look at the corpses, “not like you guys will need these.” He joked to them, taking out a couple of mini bottles and shoved them into the blazer pocket. He waited at the door, pressing his eye to the peep hole. He huffed, looking down to his watch.

He was late.

Whizzer looked back through the hole when he saw a bell hop stop along the hall, knocking on the door the suit along. As soon as he disappeared into the room, Whizzer swung open the door, tiptoe sprinting along the hall and threw his briefcase onto the bag trolley, pulling his hat forward again.

He set off down the hall to the service elevator, nodding politely to passing workers, and took a conspicuous look over his shoulder, winking at the bell hop who he had taken the bag trolley from. The bell hop saluted, turning to get out his own way. He used the card he swiped from the woman at the front desk, calling the elevator, and tapped his foot as he waited for it to arrive on his floor, watching the numbers rise.

It opened on the floor with a loud ‘ding’ and Whizzer coolly wheeled the trolley into the lift. As soon as the doors closed he took off the blazer, stuffing it into the briefcase and hung the hat onto the railing. From one of the other suitcases he had stolen, he took out a bright red trench coat and large glasses that almost covered his face. He slipped out of the comfortable trainers, ripping down the black trousers and discarded them in the suitcase, zipping it closed.

He winced as he took out the mini skirt and high heels from the second case. Whizzer hated walking around the streets of New York dressed as a woman, he certainly admired the way the real women in his life were able to ignore the abuse and catcalls, but he wasn’t built like that, or rather he wasn’t used to it.

He pushed the feelings away, stepping into the black denim skirt, pulling it up, fumbling for the cool zipper. He frantically tucked in the dress shirt and buttoned the long trench coat, positioning the padding so it gave the illusion of breasts. He held onto the railing as he slipped his feet in to the five-inch sparkly gold heels, instantly feeling the blisters being rubbed raw again.

He grabbed the large red leather handbag that was hanging off of the railing of the trolley and from inside, pulled out a long blonde wig that was cut so it framed his face perfectly, showing his more effeminate features, trying to place it as perfectly on his head as he could from just looking at the shiny metallic elevator interior. He finally stuffed the briefcase into the handbag as best as he could, covering the top up with a well-placed scarf.

The key was to hide in plain sight.

The elevator door opened and there stood Whizzer, cool as a cucumber.

The first step he took was always shaky, the heels something he never got used to. “and that, ladies and gentlemen, is what you get when a person who dreamed to be on Broadway works for the mafia” he muttered to himself, strutting out with all the elegance he could muster, ignoring the screaming and yelling around him.

He pushed through the glass turning doors, one hand clutching his handbag, the other falling to his thigh so he could feel the knife attached to the garter. Women’s clothes were uncomfortable as fuck. As soon as the cold, damp air hit him, he let out his breath, taking a single look right before strutting down the road to the nearest crossing. He removed the sunglasses, putting them on the top of his head, it would be suspicious wearing sunglasses in the dark.

But that was when their eyes met, and Whizzer almost froze in the middle of the cross walk.

His target. The man with the ugly clothes and beautiful eyes that Whizzer had been trailing for weeks, the man who’s hair was almost curly, but not quite, the man whose face was slick with tears, the man whose son, who looked just like him, lay dead at his feet, brain’s spilling over the pavement as his wife screamed into his chest.

The man he was meant to kill, alive, and innocent blood spilled on Whizzer’s hands.

“oh fuck.” Whizzer muttered to himself before he turned and melted into the crowd.

This was going to cause him several rather large problems in the shape of three bullets. One to his head, one to his heart, and one to his dick.