The Assassin
I never thought Simone would disappoint me.
Since I’ve known her, there’s always been a fire in her eyes.
She may not admit it to herself but that drive was fueled by all the anger she was hiding underneath the surface.
Rarely was she determined to do something because she wanted to; it was because she was pissed off and needed to prove a point.
That fire was burning in her eyes when she got out of the van. It was there when she snuck into the motel room. It was there when she wrapped the rope around our target’s neck.
But three words out of that asshole’s mouth and the entire flame went out.
I knew he had an ill daughter; it was in the paperwork. But I purposely removed that information when Simone read the file for this exact reason.
She doesn’t know when to turn the empathy switch off.
If she’d known about his daughter and the events that led him into doing business with high end drug dealers, she wouldn’t have agreed to take on this mission.
Knowing her, she would’ve tried to make up a bullshit plan to take down the dealers instead.
As if that had anything to do with our job.
Her bleeding heart may have been praised in her old life, but there was no place for it here.
Simone still stood frozen on the other side of the room, staring at the hanging body. A layer of moisture glazed over her eyes, and her lips were parted in disbelief. Her brows twitched as her gaze traveled to me, a new stampede of thoughts running through her mind.
Now wasn’t the time to ponder over them.
“Come on,” I told her, turning away so I wouldn’t have to see the look on her face. “We’re done here.”
Her footsteps followed close behind as I walked out of the suite. I led her back into the shadows and down a few blocks where we’d parked the van. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Maria’s head of curls still posted by the cop car, bouncing as she nodded to whatever he was saying.
“Why did you do that?” Simone asked once we were a few feet away from the van. “I had him!”
“No, you didn’t,” I replied, keeping my eyes forward.
“You were supposed to let me do this on my own! Why did you follow me?”
“I didn’t follow you inside. I waited outside the door until I heard him hit you.”
“You shouldn’t have followed me at all! You were supposed to wait in the van! I was going to be fine!”
“No, you weren’t,” I snapped, ceasing my steps and turning on my heel.
Simone slammed into my chest from the abrupt stop. Shaking off the impact, she stared up at me with a pout on her lips and a fire in her eyes. “I wasn’t going to let him get away,” she said, her voice firm.
“Oh, yeah. Then what were you going to do once you got your hands on him? Because you damn sure weren’t going to kill him.”
Simone scoffed. “You really have no faith in me at all, do you?”
“After what I just saw: no, not really. I knew you weren’t built for this. I don’t know why I even bothered letting you try.”
“You don’t know shit! He slipped out of my grip for five seconds!”
“Because you hesitated!” I yelled, stepping closer to her.
Simone didn’t step back, didn’t flinch, didn’t ever lower her gaze. Instead, she braced her shoulders and prepared herself for the blow of the reprimand.
“Do you know what would’ve happened if he’d gotten away?” I continued. “Not only would the authorities be on our ass, but so would our handler and the assholes who hired him. This job isn’t about killing people because we want to; it’s about doing what we have to.”
“Even if a person doesn’t deserve to die? What if there’s a good person in your crosshairs? You still kill them without blinking an eye?”
“See, here you go again with this shit. This world isn’t fucking black and white.
There is no such thing as a ‘good’ person.
Everybody’s fucked up at one point. Some are just better at hiding it than others.
I mean, look at your godfather for example: walking around here all high and mighty like he didn’t kill your father in cold blood. ”
Her hand was across my face before I finished the sentence, but I did it anyway. My cheek stung as I met her now livid gaze. If going low was the only way she was going to hear me, then so be it. I’d take it to Hell if I had to.
“You don’t get to talk about my father’s death,” she spat, her voice laced with venom. “You weren’t there! You didn’t see the evil hiding behind that mask!”
“Yeah, and I’m sure you’ll find much more once you start peeling the badges off the rest of those bastards.”
She shook her head, releasing the tears welling in her eyes. “That man in there wasn’t like them. He wasn’t a bad person; he just made bad decisions.”
“Oh, and let me guess: only bad people deserve to die? Alright, then.” I reached into my weapons belt and pulled out my Glock.
“Technically, I’m a bad person. After all, I kill people for a living and don’t feel shit about it.
A murderer in every aspect of the word.” I cocked it and shoved it into her hands. “Kill me.”
Her brows pinched together. “What? Mateo-”
I grabbed her wrist and pulled it up, pressing the mouth of the gun to my forehead. “Come on. Since you got a criteria and shit.”
“But, Mateo…you’re not…you’re not a bad person.”
“Then what the fuck am I?” I asked. “Because I’m damn sure not a good one.”
Simone’s lips parted, but no words came out. Because there wasn’t an answer. Because her ideology was bullshit. And she knew it.
“That’s what I thought,” I said, snatching the gun out of her hand. I turned around and resumed my stride towards the van.
It was quiet behind me for a long moment, the tension forming like a wall between us. The wind carried her soft sigh and the sniffle that followed.
Like I had eyes in the back of my head, I could easily see her standing there, lips pouted and eyes glossing over.
Sadness and shame may creep up on her, but she’ll never let it out.
She shook it off with a few blinks and straightened her shoulders.
Then, with her head held high, she followed behind me as if she wasn’t bothered at all.