Watch Your Tongue, Mr. Miller

From the pub, I ride my bike to another corner of the city. Thirty minutes later, I'm already squatting in the dark, waiting for someone to arrive. I'm still five minutes early. 

A man walks into the opening of the alley, about 20 meters from where I squat. He's young, maybe in his early twenties, dressed in a formal suit with loafers. But instead of carrying a suitcase like most workers, he's holding a huge paper bag. 

Less than five minutes later, he reappears at the alley's opening, now empty-handed. He walks straight to a car parked nearby and drives off. 

I wait another five minutes before making my move. I walk into the alley, ensuring no one else is around. To be certain, I gave a homeless man some cash earlier and asked him to take his friends out for dinner and drinks. 

Near the end of the alley, there's a garbage can. That's where my feet lead me. Standing in front of it, I lift the lid and find the paper bag inside. I reach into the bag and grab a random bunch of money from the middle of the pile. I smirk with satisfaction at the sight of the crisp bills in my hand. 

I pull the paper bag out and place it on the ground. Squatting, I take off my backpack and lay it next to me. I need to transfer all the money. 

While my hands are busy transferring the cash, I hear footsteps behind me, about ten meters away. The steps are cautious, placed as quietly as possible. 

As the footsteps get closer, I can hear the man's breathing, exhaled as silently as he can manage. He's about 5'10", judging by the sound of his breaths. This isn't the same man as before—the first guy was only about 5'8". 

The man is just two meters behind me as I finish zipping up my backpack. There's a brick lying beside it. I grab it. 

"Don't—" 

Before he can finish his sentence, I toss the brick backward with my right hand at just the right angle and strength. I'm sure it hits his face. He wails, clutching his face with both hands. 

Taking advantage of the moment, I stand and snatch the gun from his hand. It's as easy as taking candy from a baby. I unlock the safety and point the gun at his head from behind. That's right—he didn't even unlock the safety himself. *Amateur.* 

"No... no... please," he begs, turning his head to plead. 

"Don't look at me, or you'll die instantly," I whisper. He freezes and puts both hands in the air. His left eye is bleeding. 

"Don't kill... don't kill..." 

"Who sent you?" I ask. 

"I... I work for Mr. Miller," he blurts out. I grin. *Miller shouldn't have hired this amateur.* Judging by his voice, he's just a kid in his twenties. 

"Please... don't kill me, sir... please..." he stammers, his entire body trembling. 

"Would you spare me if I begged you not to kill me?" I whisper into his ear, my tone making him giddy. 

"Per... perhaps," he stutters. 

I laugh at his naïve answer and pat his shoulder a few times. 

"Have a good sleep," I say softly before pressing my index finger to the point between his earlobe and jaw. A second later, his body collapses to the ground. As I grab my backpack and prepare to leave, I hear him snoring. 

---

"Hi, Thief," I greet the person I call as soon as the connection goes through. Since I'm riding my motorbike, I've already slipped a Bluetooth headset under my helmet. 

"Hi, Score," a teenage female voice responds cheerfully. 

"What are you doing?" 

"I'm trying to survive dying of boredom," she replies. I chuckle. 

"Good. I have a mini-game for you." 

"That's awesome! What is it?" she asks excitedly. 

"Can you hack the security at Martin Miller's mansion?" 

She laughs. "No problem." 

---

I arrive at the west side of Martin Miller's mansion. The small lane is lined with bushes and trees—a perfect hiding spot for my motorcycle. 

"I'm ready, Thief," I say, but she doesn't respond. 

"Thief?" I call again. 

"Yes... sorry. Edward, my butler, suddenly showed up," Thief finally responds. "Okay, are you ready? I'll turn off the electricity for thirty minutes. Will that be enough?" 

"More than enough," I assure her. 

"Okay. Here we go." 

Suddenly, darkness envelops the other side of the wall I'm facing. It's an eight-meter-tall wall with an electric cable running along the top. 

I step back to gain momentum before running and leaping high enough to grab the wall's edge. Don't ask me how I know how to do this—I have no idea myself. I just know I'm capable. With a little push, I manage to jump over the wall and land smoothly in Martin Miller's yard. 

"Are you in?" Thief asks. 

"Yes." 

"Good. Head straight north. There's a back door that leads to the kitchen. Right now, there's only one person inside the house—on the second floor. Three others are outside; they're probably security. The person inside must be Miller," Thief explains. 

"Okay, thanks," I say as I move in the direction she indicated. Hearing footsteps, I hide behind a large statue. Once the steps fade away, I continue. 

Soon, I'm inside the kitchen. 

"There's a staircase to the second floor behind the door," Thief informs me, and sure enough, there it is. I ascend the stairs. 

"Miller is in the last room on your left," she says again. I head in that direction. 

"Someone's coming upstairs from the other side," Thief warns. 

I see what she means a second later. The glow of a candle moves parallel to my position before shifting toward me. 

I lie flat on the floor silently, knowing the candlelight won't reach me at this height. Heavy footsteps approach. I extend my hand to the side, tripping the man as he nears me. 

He falls with a loud thud, and the candle extinguishes. I quickly pin him down and press his sleeping point before he can make a sound. 

The door to the last room opens. 

"Victor... is that you?" a man calls out. Silence is his only answer. 

Sighing, the man closes the door. 

I approach the door, open it, and step inside. 

"Victor?" the man asks. 

"No, Mr. Miller," I reply. Martin Miller gasps. 

"Scor... Scorpion?" he stammers in horror. At least he remembers my voice. 

"What... what are you doing—" 

"Here? Instead of dead?" I cut him off. 

I close the door and approach him, shining my smartphone's flashlight in his face. 

"So, are you telling me it wasn't you who sent that pitiful young man to kill me in the alley on WL Avenue?" I ask, my tone icy as I sit on the desk in front of him. 

"No... yes... I mean... it's not what you think..." 

"Why did you do it? Is your father's legacy not enough to pay me?" I demand. Miller sweats excessively, just like his father. 

"No... no... it's not about the money. I... I was afraid you might denounce—" 

"Me? Denounce you? Did you forget our agreement?" 

"No, I didn't." 

"What is it?" 

"That... that I'll take the secret to my grave... and you'll take it to yours." 

"I'm willing to keep our secret, Mr. Miller. Are you?" 

"Yes... no... I mean—Scorpion, please, have mercy on me!" he pleads. 

"Not that easy, Mr. Miller," I say, feeling along his desk. I know there's a cigar cutter on it. Miller is a heavy smoker. 

"You betrayed me, Mr. Miller. Treason always has consequences," I continue. Finding the cutter, I hold it up to his face. 

"What... what are you... no... NO!" Miller's bloody scream pierces the night. 

---

"What did you do to him?" Thief asks once I'm on my bike, riding home. 

"I just cut the tip of his tongue," I answer casually. 

Thief screams. "That's worse than killing him!" Then she laughs. 

---

**QUICK QUIZ:** 

Before you read the next chapter, can you guess Thief's background? Leave your answer in a comment below. ^_~