A Long Career by frogbook
Truly, I grow tired of this job. I try and can't think of how many years it's been or how many "jobs" I have completed. I'm known as being reliable and not turning down a task.
I arrive at the opulent mansion of my latest contractor. I am buzzed into the gate, but pass the ornate house and drive to a small boathouse. There I meet the man who has hired me. He is fat, wearing a custom-made Armani suit, and smoking a stinking cigar that makes me want to retch.
"So, you are the great one," he says appraising me like a bug under a microscope. "Looks like you are getting, how do they say? A little long in the tooth?"
He can't be younger than me. I want to say so, but instead, I spit out, "Do you want the job done or not?"
He and his slick-haired lackey give me a look, that I suppose is meant to threaten me.
I shrug. "Yes, or no?"
The large man picks up a small stack of photos and another larger stack of cash.
He hands me the pictures first. "This is them."
I don't flinch when I see a striking brunette and her curly headed toddler.
"This needs to be done tomorrow," the man says.
I take the money, but then I decide I want to know. "Why them?"
"Revenge, if you must know. Her husband screwed me on a business deal that haunts me every day. Now, I want him to suffer as I have."
I say nothing, but I realize I am angry. Comparing suffering of losing a business deal to losing a family. What an ass, but who am I to question a choice. Without the ruthless, I would be out of business.
The house I approach the next evening is the opposite of the one the night before. It is a warm and cozy looking Spanish style home with a large patio and gaily hung lanterns. Lively Latin guitar music wafts through the window, pulling at one's soul with its sweet notes and a singer telling of romance.
I see her. She wears a brightly colored skirt and white peasant blouse, draping around smooth mocha shoulders. She holds the toddler and dances, both laughing.
I hesitate only a moment before raising the gun and placing the sight on the woman's temple. I have a job to do.
I again approach the mansion of my latest boss. The rest of the money is due now. We meet in the same boathouse.
"Is the job done?"
"I am done."
"What does that mean? Did you shoot them or not?"
"Not," I say, as I quickly shoot both him and his partner.
One last very special bullet. I will go to the hill and look down again on the beautiful Francesca and her smiling child as the last sight I will see. That is where I will do it. I am tired of this work.
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