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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2043848-The-One-Called-Fish
Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Action/Adventure · #2043848
An assassin's point of view.
The man on the stairs saw me come in. He knew right away.

I opened the door. The band was setting up and the bouncer was to my right. It was packed. And I mean packed. Filled to the brim with the kinds of assholes you don't ever want to fuck with. The air was thick and heavy, just like the trap being laid. Although it's funny how you never see it coming until it's too late. Like the net that catches the fish. And I'm the bloody fish.

The noise level alone was adequate. At least I had a good canvas to work with. As I moved in heads turned and the air got heavier inside. None would be the wiser in this place. Cigarette smoke and dangerous looks filled the air. I could smell an explosive potential, a lustful energy bleeding from the crowd. Everyone was ready to revel in their sin. Drinking, singing, screwing.

The bartender didn't acknowledge my entrance, she couldn't, there were too many people. Just perfect--it would it make it easier. I snaked my way through the crowd, to the back of the room, and through a small hallway. At the end was a drawn curtain that only reached a few feet above the floor. Approaching it I became light-footed, as if I were weightless. I could hear him talking on his cell phone. I looked under the curtain and saw only one pair of feet. I leaned in a little, just to make sure. His polished shoes were admittedly nice. I put the gloves on and the band began to play.

“This son of a bitch is going to get his.” He sounded pretty casual. “You just gotta give it time.” He said. “Fucks like this can't just do whatever they want and get away with it. You know as well as I do there's a time for everything and his time has come.”
In some way I wanted to believe him. Curious how that idea almost moved me. I think it's natural to have some kind of sympathy even for the worst people--especially in moments like this. I waited until the heels of his shoes faced me.

I was inside the room. I saw a fire alarm handle on the wall next to me and the back of a well dressed man. The suit fit him like my gloves. He definitely had style. I pulled out a four and a half inch wide, specialty-made strap from my jacket pocket and, as silent as the farts from a new date, I hooked it around his neck nice and tight. The metal lock clicked in place and that was it, the deal was done. His hands reached for the fancy new tie I'd just placed around him in what would be futile attempts to save himself. Apparently that's something he should have done a long time ago. He had plenty of opportunity before he met me. Let's face it, why else was I here?

He immediately dropped his cell phone. I knew he would and I was prepared to catch it mid-fall. This way it wouldn't hit the floor and bust to pieces. I knew it would come in handy and I needed it intact. I caught it with one hand and put it in my pocket.

He fell to the floor and I pulled the alarm. The whole room filled with strobes and sirens and beyond the curtain I could feel the crowd shift. I moved quickly and began to make my way to the front of the room. Through the panicked crowd I saw the man on the stairs. He hadn't moved. Not an inch. I started for the door but for some reason I hesitated. He had an indescribable look that caught me for a moment. I had a feeling I'd be meeting him soon. I went outside and my driver was waiting for departure, curb-side, nonetheless.

Open the door. Seat-belt on.

My driver gave me a sideways look. “Where to?” He said.

He knew by my demeanor. I didn't have to say it.

“Sushi. I think.” I had always loved a good sushi roll, and after tonight, it was time for a treat.

He slid the car into gear and we were off. Another slick night. I had just slipped that net again.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2043848-The-One-Called-Fish