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Short story about a hitman on a job.


Submitted:Jan 23, 2012    Reads: 28    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


The Job

His emotions left him as he awoke to the sounds of the worn out tires and impatient horns of the ever decaying yellow taxis on the narrow street below. The only time he ever felt emotion was in his dreams. That was part of the job. The cold water of the shower heightened his senses to their summit, preparing him for the day ahead and his most prestigious job yet:

The target was a small man in size; only 5 foot 4 inches with a slightly physique and a small childish face. The kind of face that helped him escape from tricky situations with anti government protestors. Along with his suave, sophisticated ability to make people believe what he wanted them to believe, if only for long enough so that he could disappear without further confrontation. Yet the man was powerful in stature. The way he dressed suggested that; always wearing as expensive a suit as he could find from one of the most expensive stores which his wealthy friends owned. Arrogant, smug, deceitful…and powerful. If the job was done correctly, he would no longer be arrogant, smug, deceitful and powerful. Rather he would be quiet, still….and dead.

His unshaven, expressionless face served him well this morning as it had done countless times before in his former life. If anyone were to compare his previous work to his current job, they would find it almost comical. A professional poker player. He had never been too keen on showing emotion. In fact he had practised for years not to feel emotion whatsoever, which is why today's job was his. He was the perfect person to take on the man who was an expert in exploiting so many fragile emotions. It was lucky that he did not feel anger, excitement, envy, hatred and all the other emotions which he had blocked out. If he had been able to feel hatred and anger, surely these would be aimed firmly at the target of today's job; the man who had done deals with terrorists and crooks to gain power. Though it was not emotions that would be aimed at the small, deceitful man.

Everything was set up and ready. From his brand new grey suit and authentic-looking yet fake security badge to the automatic sniper rifle which would be triggered by a small remote control that looked like car keys. He placed them safely inside his jacket pocket and stared at his unmoving, unnerved and emotionless face in the mirror. 'Just another job' he told himself. Yet he knew this was the most significant job he had had the fortune of being given and one which he could not afford to get wrong. Everything was ready. The gun was already placed on top of the adjacent building from the hotel where the target had a meeting with other powerfully placed and equally arrogant men at 11pm that morning.

The way he moved suggested to the outside world that he was shy; his head down and his shoulders curved, though his eyes, a grey that did not lean to the side of black or white, told a different story. His focus on the job shone past his pupils and it was almost obvious he had a job to do, although no one had dared make a comment about his unforgiving and penetrating stare, which looked past them and into his own directed thoughts. His silent feet raced down the old, cracked grey steps which were so similar yet so weak compared to the assassin's eyes. There were no cracks in this man's persona. No weakness was allowed and he knew he did not have any as he calmly wrenched the graffiti covered door open and took in the gas filled air from the exhausts of the taxis, still shuffling along noisily on the narrow road in front of him.

He turned left in the direction of his target's final destination and felt a strange calmness around him. Hesitation was not normal for this man, yet he did and looked across the narrow tar to the pavement across from him. His intuition told him something was wrong when he caught the gaze of a large built man in a brand new black suit with a charcoal black tie up to his neck. No one ever stared at him as this man did. The eyes of his spectator darted from his line of vision as they noticed his mood change. The mysterious stalker continued on, suggesting nothing had happened by the way he walked, in the same direction as the man in the grey suit, the deadly assassin.

He was across the road, a mere twenty feet behind the mysterious spectator within 20 seconds as his feeling of unease intensified yet still showed no sign of appearing on his face. Within five minutes both men were directly across the road from the Hotel La Grande, the destination.

As the man in the grey suit stepped up his pace towards his black tied stalker, a long black, polished limousine turned the corner on the opposite side of the street in front of the hotel's entrance. 'This is it. Concentrate', he thought as he reached for the remote control inside his jacket pocket. The target stepped out of the extravagant darkness of the car with a gleaming arrogant smile on his face and as he did so a familiar face was drawn to the assassin's attention. The strong jawed, smooth skinned face of his superior, the man who had given him this job, smiled with an equally arrogant expression on his face in the direction of the target, holding out his hand as a welcome gesture as he did so.

Emotion, for the first time in years, entered his mind. Anger and betrayal were the first feelings at the forefront of the previously stone cold emotionless killer's mind and as he stood in shock at what he was witnessing, the feeling of sharp cold steel embarked on the centre point of his back. Once…twice…three times.

The severity of the pain was like nothing he had ever felt before and as the mysterious stalker in the black tie stepped away from his own target, the assassin knew the feeling of anger like it had been there all along. The blood trickling gently down his back attempted to sooth the betrayal with its calm flow yet the hidden emotions which the man in the grey suit had long forgotten were once again fighting there way through. The stubborn grey of the assassin's eyes were overcome by the red pool of blood underneath him which was induced by the cold steel blade of the black-tied stalker. As his blood spilled onto the street underneath him, his anger also erupted somewhere inside his mind while his grey eyes deteriorated from a once stubborn grey, to a quiet, still and fatal black.





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