the hitman

The Hitman

The dark brown eye stared down the scope of the rifle. The man’s coat billowed around his dark form, creating a mysterious silhouette against the bright moon. He watched as the family sat together on a sofa watching television, a luxury the man never had. He watched as the woman carried the child off to bed, giving her husband a warm kiss before she went. Stephen lined the man up with his crosshairs and gently squeezed the trigger.

A loud crack sounded and the bullet emerged from the rifle, leaving only a puff of smoke behind. The bullet seemed to fly in slow motion, a moment Stephen never wanted to see drawn out. The missile gracefully parted the air, silently thudding into the neck of the man. Blood sprayed from the wound, the bullet continuing out of the neck and buried itself into the sofa. The man dropped heavily into the couch, breathing his last breath. Stephen held the gun steady for a moment to check his target before turning away from the image of death.

Stephen squatted on the rooftop, carefully taking his rifle apart, placing it gently into a long cedar box. Stopping a moment he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. This had been his third contract this month, a living he made for himself. He scratched his head through his thick brown hair, continuing to put away the gun. Flicking the clasps shut he stood and began to stagger towards the fire escape. He walked as fast as he could, dragging his limp left leg behind him, a reward from a previous assignment.

He climbed down the many flights of stairs and eventually entered into a dark alley. He gazed around at his surroundings: a few overturned garbage tins and several broken bottles. Heading towards the street he could hear the excited buzz of the city. Gradually the sound grew until he was amidst the sprawling metropolis. He stood awkwardly, gazing at the people as they rushed and talked around him, paying no attention whatsoever to his skulking form. He didn’t care, it was the way he liked it.

He limped several blocks and entered into a barren car park, searching for his ride home. Diving into his pocket he removed his car keys and unlocked his dark blue Lexus. The noise of the city followed him as he climbed into his car. As he pulled the door shut the noise stopped, he was alone again this is the way he belonged. He sat back in his seat and paused before placing the key in the ignition. He turned the key and listened to the placid purr of the engine before driving out of the car park.

He drove for close to an hour before pulling into the driveway of a small block of apartments. Parking his car in his designated space he headed up to his apartment. Sliding his key into the lock of apartment 6C he entered into darkness, closing and locking the door behind him. Flicking on the light switch he covered the room in light. He looked at his humble living room: an old table and several wooden chairs sat in the centre of the room. He staggered up to it and placed his rifle case on the table. He rubbed his eyes before walking into his bedroom.

It was simple and had only the basic necessities, which was more than enough in his case. A bed stood in the middle of the room with a hat stand and a wardrobe around it. He stumbled to his hat stand and removed his coat, revealing a gun holstered under his left arm. Hanging his coat on the stand he quickly removed the gun from his holster and threw the holster on his bed. Limping to the head of the bed and tucked his pistol under his pillow. He entered his ensuite and gazed upon his gaunt reflection.

He was late twenties yet his appearance told that he was late thirties. His nose was bent and scars lined his face. Most of the scars he received not from his profession but from the strict training his father put him through. His father had been a hitman also and was proud of his trade, teaching all he knew to his only son. However, Stephen was not proud of the trade his father gave him, wanting nothing more than to escape it all. He knew this was impossible, but that didn’t stop his dreams.

He gazed deep into his own eyes, and looked at the emptiness and despair within them. He had been a hitman for thirteen years but he was eight when his father first took him on assignment with him. Stephen had witnessed death at the age of eight and taught how to kill a man with a knife at nine. Killing was all he knew, that is what he did for a living. As a child most of his classmates wanted to be policemen or pilots but Stephen knew that dream wasn’t for him.

He returned to his bedroom and drew a mobile phone from his coat pocket. Hastily he dialed a number, and listen as the tone searched for the designated phone. A voice appeared at the opposite end of the line, “It is done” Stephen said. “That’s good news my friend,” said the voice, “the amount of six thousand US dollars has been transferred to your account as agreed.” “Good” replied Stephen. “I have already mailed the next assignment to you, this one will really test your abilities” the voice said. “No more Vincent” Stephen spoke closing his eyes. “What did you say?” the voice said angrily. “I can’t do this any more, I’m through.”

A loud thump sounded on the other end of the line, “Now listen here, I’m the one that decides if you through or not, not you, not anybody.” Opening his eyes Stephen stared at his holster, thinking of the gun that had kill hundreds. “My mind is set” Stephen said softly. “Well ok then, you know what has to happen then don’t you,” the voice said quietly as though someone might hear him. Gulping Stephen nodded “Yes, I know what has to happen.” “It was nice working with you Stephen, it was my pleasure to know you. I’m sending Bobby and Joe ‘round to say goodnight, I’m sorry.” That was all the voice said

Stephen sighed loudly and took the pistol from under his pillow, taking it into the living room. Sitting on one of the chairs he removed the clip from his gun and took the bullet from the chamber. Placing the gun next to him on the table he waited for Bobby and Joe, the last two souls to see him alive. He will greet them with open arms and take from them his way out, a bullet from a nine millimetre. Maybe he can live free in the next life, if not this one.