Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1812198-Hitman
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
Rated: 18+ · Chapter · Drama · #1812198
What happens when you're hired to kill someone, but you fall for them instead?
Name; Alex McAvoy
Age; 26
Occupation; Hit man

I know what you're thinking. I'm a jumped up shit who enjoys - and not to mention, gets paid - to maim people. Well you're wrong, I mean yeah I kill people and yeah I get paid for it, but do I enjoy it? No. I hate what I do, but lets face it, without people like me we'd live in an even more fucked up world than today. There are perks to the job, don't get me wrong, I keep in shape, I get good pay and once in a while I defeat a bad guy - like in the movies - I save the world but nobody knows.
I bet when I say perks the first thing that comes to your mind is that it gives me sexual appeal, helps me with the ladies. All I can say is, if you think that the sight of a gun makes a woman want to fuck you, you're wrong. If anything, this job ruins relationships and all chances of getting laid. You've got no time for them...and even if you did who would want to get all snugly with a person who's CV reads murderer?

I could just imagine the conversation.
"Honey I'm home"

"Have a good day at work?"
"Oh you know, same old really, shot a guy in the head. Which remind's me, you need to get the brain stain out of my clothes"
I don't think so.

If I could go back ten years and refuse recruitment, believe me I would.
I remember my first job. I was 16. Its weird; I don't remember the date or time, but I remember the house. The way the smell of cigars and whiskey mixed together to create this horrible funk. I remember holding the gun to the guys head. I remember the look in his eyes...the sheer panic. I'd never seen a grown man cry before. He begged and begged. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, urging me to pull the trigger. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched. So I succumb to the urge and shot. The sound, it rang in my ears for days, I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt and I swore I would never kill another person as long as I lived. But I guess that after a while you become numb to pain you inflict on others and you don't see it as a crime or as murder. You see it as a job. And that's what it is. Just a job.
I'm just like any other business man, but where your briefcase is full of paperwork and bills that you're trying to pay, my briefcase contains one thing and one thing only. Artillery.
Sure, say what you want, but guns are much easier and less messier than hacking someone up with a blade.

I've been in the business just over ten years now, I was recruited when I was 16 and from then on I was a completely different person. As I said earlier, this line of work holds no time for relationships, so with nothing to do, every hour of my day is consumed by work.
I'm in no position to judge when I'm hired. I was taught to never ask questions, to just follow orders. You can't afford to have an opinion in this job. If you think something wrong you keep it to yourself , your messing with powerful people who just want a simple job done.

My Motto; Never get personal with the job.
Such a cliché, but hey it worked. I was strict with myself, i was taught to find out my targets and get rid of them without leaving a trail, without getting involved.
This all changed when i met James Fenner.

Name; James Fenner
Age; 56
Occupation; He ran a few of his own businesses

All I knew about Fenner was that somewhere along the line he'd struck gold and was pretty wealthy, so when he hired me I thought nothing of it. But you see, I ran into a little problem whilst carrying out this particular mission.

I got personal with the job.

"Alex Mcavoy?" A deep voice mumbled down my ear.
"Depends who's asking" I replied.
An exhale burrowed itself down the phone line, I could tell this guy was in no mood for jokes.
"I'm in need of your assistance. Will five grand do it?"
Money signs lit up in my eyes.
"Must've pissed you off pretty bad if you're paying five to get rid of them"
"Why I want rid of them, sir, has nothing to do with you. This is a simple yes, no answer. Are you willing to co-operate?" The tone grew more forceful now.
"Eh, why not?" I smiled, knowing full well I was pushing his buttons.
"Meet me at the restaurant Kong inside Novatel Hotel. 9am sharp" Before I could answer the phone went dead.
I sank into my leather armchair, a huge grin plastered across my lips, took a sip of gin before dragging myself off to bed.

Pushing my shades onto the tip of my nose I entered Novatel. The smell of disinfectant quickly clawed its way into my nostrils, followed by, what I can only assume was, burnt toast. I turned towards the elevator that stood between two large pillars. Flicking my watch into view, I smiled.
9.01. Boss man won't be too happy.
I casually strolled into the elevator and pressed 'floor 2'. As the doors shut I caught a glimpse of myself.
Not bad.
My hair was a shaggy bush of curls that, despite their messy nature, looked suprisingly fastidious. My black suit made me look efficient yet none threatening and my briefcase, held neatly by my side, completed the suave, professional look.
The door slid open again to reveal a Chinese style restaurant. Pretty petite geisha waitresses donned tight little outfits and swanned around, more than happy to pander to their customers needs.
As the elevator door shut behind me I saw one of the 'geishas' somewhat gliding toward me .
A pearly white smile stood before me. Her tight little number made her pert breasts look like gracious mountains, the hem of her dress sat lightly on her tanned thighs. I smiled as I imagined her in compromising positions.
"Can I help you?" she smiled, a hand resting on her tiny waist.
Yes. I thought. You can help me alright.
"Here on business" I smiled, pushing the raunchy images from my mind.
"Oh, Mr Mcavoy? The boss is waiting for you, please this way"
"After you" I smiled, catching one last glimpse at her perfectly rounded arse.

"Ah Mr Mcavoy, better late than never" The balding man stood to shake my hand. "Please, take a seat".
I sat in the nearest seat available and placed my briefcase by my leg.
"Let's get down to business. You don't need to know, what, my problem is but with, whom, my problem is. Andi Deyshenel. Let's just say she's been a pain in my ass recently, and I don't like pains in my ass...well, what man does?" he laughed, thinking his joke was remotely funny. "Anyway, she's an easy target. Got no fight in her, this job is simple. I don't care how or where you do it, hell, I don't even give a shit if you're caught. What I don't want is for my name to be dragged into it. After I pay you we never speak again, other than when you tell me your job has been executed without a hitch."
"I don't mean to overstep my ground, Mr..?"
"Fenner, but please call me James" he beamed, his coffee stained teeth on full show.
"Very well, James, If it's such a simple job why are you getting the...'Big Guns' out to deal with it? And why pay so much?"
"Look kid, I've got a reputation to protect. I don't want my name dragged into it. I'm willing to pay as much as possible to ensure I am out of the picture. I'd prefer to be...anonymous, if you will, and having someone who doesn't know me take care of the job makes me an unlikely suspect if you are caught, which I highly doubt will happen seeming as you are the 'Big Guns'" he coughed.
"Okay, well if you're going to pay me first, how'd you know I won't just take the money and skip the job?"
Fenners eyes squinted and his brow furrowed. "Trust me kid, you won't mess me about"
"Say no more" I smiled in an attempt to relieve the tension. "All I need now is some basic information on the girl. Address and such"
"Right here" he exclaimed, sliding a brown envelope across the table to me.
I opened the envelope and was satisfied with the information I saw. Even more satisfied with the five grand, cash.
"If that's all Mr Mcavoy. Pleasure doing business with you" He stood and shook my hand before waving me off out the door.
© Copyright 2011 ChelseaBates. (chelseabates at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1812198-Hitman