Ripped To Shreds

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“Listen, I’m giving you a lot of money just for this one little job. Just accept it all ready,” Richardson said, adjusting the diamond cufflinks on his hand tailored suit.

Anthony narrowed his eyes. “That depends on what the job actually is.” Richardson was obviously feigning nonchalance. Anthony could see the sweat on his forehead and the slight shaking of his hands. It was never good to take a job from a nervous client.

“This woman, Josephine Mason,” Richardson said, handing Anthony a photo of the woman, “she’ll be wearing a watch.” Another photo was slid across the desk, this time of an expensive looking watch. “I need you to get it from her.”

“Can I ask why?” Anthony said.

Richardson frowned. “That is my own business.”

“Then at least tell me why do you need to hire a Rip to get it,” Anthony said.

“It was destroyed. On the same day I need you to retrieve it. June 17, year 3105.”

Anthony looked at his own watch, a necessity for every Rip. It read; March 3, year 3108. Not too bad a jump for this kind of job.  And he needed the money. “All right,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

Richardson relaxed slightly and leaned back in his chair. “Excellent.”

“I’ll be back in…” Anthony checked his watch again, “…five minutes.” He turned the face of the watch counter-clockwise five times and pressed his hand down on top of it, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt the familiar wrench in his gut, and when he opened his eyes, he was still in Richardson’s office. Only now, it was empty. He could hear the distant clinking of glasses and laughter from downstairs, a sure sign of a party.

He exited the office and descended the stair down into the party. There, a younger Richardson, with significantly less grey hair, was dancing with the woman from the photograph. Josephine Mason. She wore a deep green evening dress that shimmered with diamonds and her hair was pulled up so that only a few blond tendrils fell into her face.

Anthony strode across the ballroom floor, approaching Josephine just as the song she and Richardson were dancing to ended. He bowed to her, extending a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Josephine looked up and down at his scuffed shoes and poorly made suit. “Of course,” she said with a tight-lipped smile that suggested she would be less than pleased to be dancing with him. Richardson looked mildly disgusted at Anthony’s appearance.

Anthony’s eyes found the silver watch fastened around Josephine’s wrist. He let his hand close around it lightly to place her hand on his hip. He unfastened it deftly without her noticing and slipped it into a ready-made pocket in his sleeve. The musicians began to play a lilting waltz, but Anthony stopped in the middle of the floor. “On the other hand,” he said, “I must be going.”

He released Josephine and left her, mouth gaping open and face flushed in indignation, alone amidst the other dancing aristocrats.

Anthony took the stairs back up to Richardson’s office two at a time.

Five clockwise turns, and he was back to March 3, year 3108.

He turned to look at the place where Richardson had been sitting and let out a strangled gasp.

Richardson was sitting in his chair, half collapsed on top of his chest.

A gaping bullet hole straight through his skull.