Hitman’s Prize

Javier

The snow crunches beneath my heavy boots. Through the darkness, nothing is guiding my path but the sliver of moonlight seeping between the drift of thick clouds. With so much white falling from the sky, it’s a challenge to see more than twenty feet ahead.

While I walk, I bury a frozen hand into my pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Trying not to crush one, I put the pack back and shove the hit of nicotine between my lips. I need a nice long drag if I want to ease the migraine that’s been throbbing since this morning. After tonight, I don’t have an excuse to feel any pain like this anymore. I’ll be done with all of these jobs.

Hiding the flame from my lighter with my hand, I hardly feel the heat lick my glove as I light the cigarette. It’s a bad habit I need to kick eventually, just not today. Not when one inhale is all it takes to ease the tension in my shoulders. I’m tired and ready to relax. Getting out of this hellish weather is at the top of my to-do list, outside of the whole killing part.

There’s a house up ahead, hardly illuminated. At this hour, I’m not surprised. My target should be sleeping soundly. After all, to his knowledge, this night will be the same as his previous ones.

Rather than barging my way toward the home, I take a minute and lean against the nearest tree. After walking the distance to avoid being detected, I deserve a little rest break. My hit can be finished in an extra five minutes.

Hector Larson. The man I’ve been hired to kill. His name has plagued my mind ever since I’ve been given the task. All of my targets do whenever I get told their name. It’s part of my process.

“One last job,” I mumble to myself as I take in the brick exterior. After this contract, I’m done. No more getting my hands dirty for one corrupt higher-up before getting passed on to the next right after. No more jumping through hoops saving up money to live a peaceful life. After this, I’ve reached my goal.

Hector’s luck might’ve run out when he fucked with the wrong man, but tonight, I’m going to offer him a quick death. I want to be in and out and on the road before the sun even thinks about rising.

Finishing my cigarette, I press it into the snow before shoving the butt into my pocket. Abandoning the tree, I silently stalk my way toward the house.

There are no cars parked near the home other than the one I’m staring at. A junker with a license plate that matches up with Hector. I’ve got the right location, that’s for sure. My target isn’t married, not like he’s got any interest in tying himself down. There’s no sign of other life, as there shouldn’t be. This man is a loner living one pathetic life.

My client told me all about Hector’s bad habits. A lot of the money he’d stolen had been used on prostitutes and sex workers. Sometimes, he’d even flaunt his “riches” to help score him a few extra lays on top of those bad habits of his. I got the whole earful about the situation despite not showing any sort of interest.

I’m just here to get paid after all. I don’t care to know anything about whomever I’m sent after. All I need is a name and a face. That’s enough. All the gritty information can stay in the files I’m given.

Reaching the side of the house, I cautiously look into one of the illuminated windows. The curtains don’t reveal much, but I can see Hector’s form sprawled across a recliner. He’s in a slumber from the looks of it.

Abandoning the window, I circle the house to see all options for entrance. Locked windows and matching doors get me nowhere. How irritating.

I’m no expert lock picker, that’s for damn sure. While I could just make it easier for the both of us and take him out through one of the windows, it might be smart to make this look more like a suicide. Less heat on the man who hired me in the first place.

I’m smart in some ways, and a little stubborn in others. I don’t give up on my picks until I hear the lock pop. Opening the door, I hold my breath when the wood creaks.

My hand automatically reaches behind my back, the handle of my pistol reassures me slightly as my fingertips graze the surface. Always loaded and ready to take out whatever conflict that comes my way, I quickly discover that now is not the time to use it.

Not when I can hear the loud snores coming from within the home. Other than that, it’s only an eerie silence surrounding my stiff frame.

Slipping inside, I leave the winter air outside and start to creep through the darkness. Following the snores, I draw my pistol in a firm grip.

My client might’ve requested a bit of suffering, but I’m not in the mood for any sort of torture.

Not when I’m thinking about the sweet silence I’ll be rewarded with once I reach my dream home. All that heat that’ll be licking my skin, a place where winter hardly touches. Now’s not the time to lose focus.

I’m nearing the living room in a matter of seconds. A familiar stench hits my nose in a rush, leaving it scrunching in disgust. The television is playing some sort of infomercial, lighting up the room and creating shadows across the room. On the floor, scattered beer cans cover the carpet. I can only imagine the stains on the carpet.

Disgusting. How can someone live in a place like this without being repulsed? I’ve been inside for most of a minute and I’m swallowing back the bile threatening to rise. Maybe I’ve got a weak stomach.

The source of the filth is only a few feet away, snoring away without a care in the world. Hector might as already be dead to the world from the looks of it.

Between listening to a woman offering some pretty good selling points about her kitchen gadget and the slow thumps of my heart, I keep my eyes trained on Hector. My finger pushes off the safety and I steady my aim.

Some would call me a coward for shooting a man while he’s defenseless and asleep. I’d say fuck them. One last job doesn’t mean I need to try and make the situation complicated. A suicide doesn’t involve tossed furniture and signs of a fight. I need this to look as real as possible.

A loud crack fills the air followed by trickling silence. Not even the woman’s voice on the television is loud enough to reach my ears. Frowning, I look at the gun in my hands. The barrel is still hot no doubt. Unmarked and safe, I know I can leave it with the man without any leads coming back to me. The ringing in my ears is familiar and slowly fades as I dig out my phone.

Just like that, Hector Larson is dead. He’s no one’s problem now.

I take a picture, showing off the seeping wound.

Sending it off, I take one more look at Hector. Outside of the gush of crimson running down his temple and cheek, he looks like he’s still enjoying that slumber of his. He’s definitely one of the few hits I’ve taken with mercy.

When my phone vibrates, I look away and remind myself why I’m here. All I care about is the notification I get about a successful wire transfer. I’m done. Moving closer to grab the man’s hand, there’s a surprise change in smell. Not even the dead body can hide an aroma so sweet.

Suddenly, there’s a creak. My body registers the sound before my brain can. My finger’s already on the trigger of the gun, ready to shoot again as I spin in the direction of the noise.

I don’t leave any evidence that can be traced back to me. Witnesses follow the same rule. Even though this house is supposed to be empty, I fully intend to make that the new reality. My mind is already creating a new story that has played out here. No longer a suicide, this will now be a homicide.

In all of two seconds, I’m facing my next target. A woman?

The vase in her hand, a possible weapon if I have to guess, drops to the floor and shatters into multiple pieces. I don’t look down to see what directions they fly, not when I’m too busy staring at the face of my intruder.

If it weren’t for Hector’s nature, I’d think she’s an angel here to take him to his next destination. I’ve never been a believer of the afterlife but suddenly, I’m questioning my beliefs.

I don’t pull the trigger. Instead, my aim lowers. Normally, I’m not one to be at a loss for words. After looking at those wide brown eyes, I’m speechless.

If I could manage a sentence, I’d demand she tell me who she is. I need to know the name of the face that’s going to haunt my thoughts for the rest of my life. Once I hear her voice, I’ll know she’s real. Not just a tired man’s hallucination.

The woman stares back at me like a deer caught in headlights. When her eyes drift to the side and her skin pales, I don’t need to follow her eyes to know she’s spotted Hector.

I expect her to scream in horror, maybe even make a run for it. She’d cut up those bare soles of hers if she tried.

Rather than following the normal reactions, she returns those startled eyes back in my direction. Her breathing is slowly growing more erratic. She’s got a talent for keeping her panicking on the inside. It’s impressive really.

“Why?” Like her angelic appearance, the one word comes out like a luring whisper, tempting me to step closer to get a better listen.

Registering her question, I don’t answer it. How can I? The answer feels wrong when I consider saying it out loud.

Money is the explanation for all of my decisions. It’s what makes the world go around. Why else would I go out of my way to kill random hits?

“Please leave.” When she finds her voice, it still trembles.

The grip on my gun tightens and I actually hesitate. Maybe I’ve grown soft over the last few months without noticing. I’m so close to retiring that my sharp edges have dulled out.

What happened to no witnesses? Am I suddenly starting to think I should waver one of my personal rules just because this beauty is giving me an order?

The television might cover some of her fear but it doesn’t hold back in revealing the wetness of her eyes.

I’m making this angel cry. It’s a view that makes my stomach clench and bile rise to the back of my throat far more than the stench of this place.

Not watching where I walk, I hear each beer can I kick and crush beneath my feet. Passing by her, my body inhales instinctively. One whiff of her and I know she’s the best-smelling thing in this shithole of a house.

I crunch across the broken vase as I leave through the same way I snuck in.

The winter air numbs my body much faster than I’m used to and I shiver as I don’t stop walking. One foot after the other, I try not to think about the woman. Not letting her plague my mind is easier said than done.

Hector’s lover or a hired lay possibly? She looked young, fresh adult young. I don’t like the thought of the drunk targeting the woman. If she is his kid, the file said nothing about guardianship. Maybe my client didn’t know what in the hell he was talking about. That, or I didn’t get all the information I should’ve.

I make it to the same tree I leaned against earlier before regaining some of my senses. Pausing, I look back toward the brick home.

If my client realizes there is a witness, someone who could link him to the murder, he’d hire some other hitman to take her out of the equation as quickly as tomorrow morning.

Something inside me screams at the idea of that angel dying at another person’s hands.

I can’t let that happen.

Turning around, I trudge back toward the house with a firm determination to keep my rules standing.

No witnesses are to be left at the scene of a hit.