Playing With the Colour Black

I'm a door-to-door saleswoman. My day job that is. I sell life insurances to people, profiting off of their love for the future of their families, their fear of the black-hooded Grim Reaper. Little do they know that I’m Death Incarnate. The business is simple and profiting in many ways. I sell life insurances by day and kill people by night. The increasing crime rate of murders in the neighbourhood manifest fear in people, so there has been a boom in the insurance industry, while at the same time, I kill people under contract to earn some pretty pennies. It was going all good and forth till I met the strangest client yet.

"I want to an insurance plan for 20 million." Said the guy in his mid-40s, grey hair lining forehead. His name was Madelaine Frost, a chirpy man for his age.

"Sure, I can do that for you sir." I didn't ask many questions, his profile fit the recent murder victims in the news, he was probably thinking he was next.

"There are a few legalities we will have to go through first though." He passed through the application questions like a champ. With his health and top-notch credit, and no thrill-seeking hobbies, he is a gold standard for his age of 46. I praised the guy for his lacklustre life and booked him to get a medical exam done. As I was leaving his house, the guy stops me by grabbing my arm.

"I also wanted to make another request." I was a bit peeved at the physical contact he made but forced a smile.

"Sure. What else did you want me to help you with?"

"I want to play with the colour black." He mutters, a bit hesitant and scared.

A mental switch turned on in my brain upon hearing the code phrase. Not many know of it, and it was only a phrase passed onto VIP clientele, of course with an extra premium charge.

"Ah..." I sighed, not bothering to keep up with appearances. "Is this why you requested me specifically to be sent from God's Plan?" God's Plan, the leading insurance company of the region, all thanks to my efforts.

"I wanted to meet with you personally."

"Who’s your benefactor, it seems they didn't tell you how this works." I plucked at the elastic band on my wrist and pulled up my hair into a ponytail. "I meet with the client, not the other way around." His face scrunched in worry and I pulled up my sleeves. I was irritated, just a tiny bit, but he was still a VIP client. "Anyways. Now that we've met, tell me your request.”

"I want to hire you to kill me."

"The fuck?" I looked at the guy with distaste.

"So, the life insurance thing was a sham?"

"No, that was real. I want the insurance."

"Oh?" This guy wasn't as lacklustre as I thought. "Then you want me to commit insurance fraud?" He fidgets under my gaze. "Double the crime is double the fees sir."

His face glowed in relief. "That's fine! I'm willing to pay whatever fees you want!"

"Ok then. I'll arrange a time sometime after you've paid for your insurance premium and my fees. If that's all then–"

"Actually! That's not all. I would like you to carry out a task for me." He scurries around his mansion, slamming drawers open and shut, looking for something in a panic, like a burglar. Upon finding it, he hopped his way back with the little black notebook in his hand. "Before killing me, I want you to investigate three people. These people will be receiving my inheritance and my insurance payout. I need you to investigate everything about these people and tell me if they deserve the money they will be receiving. Their names and addresses are in the notebook. If you manage to find one person who does not deserve the money, I will provide you their share of the inheritance. You will get $20,000 to do this."

"You drive a hard bargain sir. $20,000 for killing you, committing insurance fraud, and gathering information on three people?" I thought about it, a bit vexed at the fact that the rich guy was a stingy scrooge.

"Oh no. The $20,000 is to pay for your expenses while gathering information on the three people I've assigned to you. Of course, I assume your fees to be a separate transaction, will 100K do?" I blankly stared at the man. "It's too low? How about 200K?"

"250."

"Deal."

I couldn't help but laugh at blatantly stealing from the man, when I was just considering doing his job for only $20,000. He walks away and grabs a shoebox from the same drawer he got the notebook. He hands me the box and I open it to find bundles of cash stored in it.

"Your $20,000. I hope it helps you while you gather information. Write everything you learn about them in that notebook and deliver it to me when you're done. I'll contact you on what to do next."

"Ok then." I clutch the shoebox and black notebook at my side and begin to leave. "Since your medical exam is booked for next Tuesday sir, I will send it by next Monday."

"Good luck!" He called out cheerfully. I've never met a man more cheerful nearing his own death.

Anjelee Parsons, Gregg Tuff, and Byron J. Niphs, while investigating the three, there was no connections I could find between them and my client, on paper, my client shouldn't even know them. The only commonality is that they live in the same city and all of them are white as heaven.

Anjelee Parsons, a young blonde nurse that works at the old age home, Living with Grace. She is a diligent woman, fresh out of college and already earning a living. She's quite fond of the elderly, possibly because she was raised by her grandparents from a young age. No significant hobbies, asides from the occasional writing in her diary and her unhealthy obsession with playing Jelly Smash (while drinking her caramel macchiato from MoonMoolah).

Byron, he is a sultry man, not young but lively. A kind of guy that drinks margaritas while wearing a Hawaiian shirt. His blonde goatee and sandals fit the typical beach boy/hippie look, except the man hates surfing and is plenty rich. They say when you're at a certain age, you start to do things differently. Is it a mid-life crisis or impending sense of imminent death, I don't know, but Byron James Niphs was as laid back as could be? Apparently, he wasn't like that about a year ago. He was a serious guy, all business and no fun, that's why he was rich, but also lonely. Perhaps he woke up on the wrong side of bed one day, when he stopped wearing suits and designer watches to work and began wearing printed shirts and crocs to vacations.

‘Undeserving’ huh? I might have a shot with Gregg Tuff. He was a different kind of character. Strong, level-headed, and gruff. A 'veteran with a hand missing', his words, not mine; loves to call himself Captain Hook, though he has no hook. He complains often with the neighbours, his family, and his poor old wife, mostly petty complaints. 'Why you let your dog shit on my lawn,' and 'I told you I want pumpkin pie, not soggy apple', etc. He's also a heavy smoker, but somehow hates alcohol. I guess everyone has their own choice of poison. The guy is no Prince Charming, I could have a shot. I could search for some skeletons in his closet. Though is he bad enough to lose his chance at winning the lottery? I could try, maybe I'd get his ticket.

I look at the mean old face of his, sipping at tea. The poor wife was sleeping on the rocking chair on the balcony while he sat on the sofa. Some flies flew around and taking a bundle of newspaper, Gregg swatted at the flies. And then, as if by habit, he fanned the newspaper towards his wife. The damn old geezer.

The only connection, that I know of, between the three people was that my client knows them. He knew them well enough to entrust his inheritance to them. But how? I came to know soon enough. I sent the black notebook as promised, along with the $20,000 and a letter.

Dear client,

The investigation has been completed and my report is written on the notebook as we had decided.

I wanted to inform you that I won’t be taking upon your request any longer. I sent your money back along with the notebook in hopes that our contract has become null and void, I’ll also not be asking for fees for my completed work so far. You may be wondering why I have backed out of our deal, or maybe not? You are a crafty man I've learnt. As you will read in my report, I believe none of the people I was told to investigate are 'undeserving' of your inheritance. They are good people, as you know.

Anjelee Parsons, a humble and hard-working young lady. Her moral compass works straight as an arrow. She won't kill people for money, unlike me. But you know that. Of course, you do, the same goes for Gregg Tuff and Byron Niphs. Those three people, they saved you. All three of them did. Anjelee rejected killing you when she was your nurse. Euthanasia? You should've known better. Though she refused to do so and saved you from taking the meds yourself. Then there's Gregg, Gregg is your AA sponsor. When I asked him about you, he had only curses to say, but he pitied you. I know because his curses were rather mild and meek to his usual swearing. He knows about your family, how they died, how you feel, your depression, your anger, your alcoholism, everything. His pity for you probably gave you some solace. He told me about your suicide attempt and how he couldn't let you die. Then Byron, your source of inspiration. He was the one that told you about me. He gave you the key to Death's door, your benefactor. Though we both know that wasn't his intention. The man is terminal, due to die in a few months. He wanted a surprising and painless death, so he could die happy, that's why he was considering contacting me. He was trying to inspire you into living your life to its fullest but instead he inspired you on how to die. Don't take irony so seriously mister, I'm sure Byron would go berserk if he knew. Anyways, I know. And I don't want to be a part of your pity party.

Do you know why my service is called 'playing with the colour black'? Have you ever tried to play with black sir? Ever tried to paint using black paint? Black is the kind of colour that absorbs light. It's the colour of shadows, the dark, the colour you get when you mix too much of other colours. When you paint with black, if you make a mistake, it's hard to fix the stain it leaves. You have to cover it up with a brighter and opaquer colour. That's what you're getting by being involved with me. Of course, I do my job perfectly fine, but the stains I'm talking about are ones left on the soul, heart, and conscious. Some people aren't affected, but some, they aren't so lucky. Life is hard, for sure, but death is harder. I know, I'm in the business. I work as the Grim Reaper.

Call me again after 30 years or so, offer me the same deal and I won't hesitate. But for now, I think you still have some life left to live. Don't devastate Byron for giving you wrongly taken advice.

With regards,

D. Black