A Little Something Until I Return ... in a few days

The Hit Gone Terribly Right

I told the guy that the contract stipulates only three attempts, and this is the third; but, I only do it when there’s a real sin. It can’t be for alimony or child support. It can’t be about visitation rights or revenge. Only if there’s a real, verifiable sin. One of the seven deadlies.

Under the tree, their lips come together. She closes her eyes and feels out his form in the dark. They see each other with their hands. They won’t see this coming: the silencer on the barrel nuzzling the back of her neck. One shot and they both eat the big one.

Too easy.

The kids ruined the first attempt. The pair got lucky. The second time the wife came home and the whore slipped out the bedroom window, back into the cradle of her husband’s arms. He hates her, but hides it. I hid in a closet until everyone was asleep and then left.

Now, the fornicators are in the park. The police won’t be surprised by a few more bodies since this is a prime dumping ground for gang violence.

I can feel each contraction of my heart pushing hot blood through my veins. My face flushes with excitement. Here it comes. The moment, the sweet whisper of promises fulfilled.

My feet search out bare patches of ground where the twigs won’t snap. He slides a thick slab of a hand up her shirt as they back against a tree.

She kneels down as he blesses the sky with his words. Her gentle supplication to him makes me want to puke.

I bite down on my tongue and taste iron.

It’ll be a bit harder now, two shots at most. He won’t have time to scream. I’ll do him first and give her another sin to burn off in Hell.

The bodies will lie prostrate and half-naked on the ground: a deep, humiliating repose, justice for my client, justice for my God.

The bushes next to them rustle and I slide back into the shadows. The man, the Glutton, pushes the woman away from him as he grabs at his pants around his ankles. Her eyes downcast, she adjusts her shirt.

Looks like the contract is up. Busted by the guy’s wife.

His hands, palms out, talk for him, explaining. His wife cries tears of pain, insanity. Hot salty, streaks slide down the sides of her face. She covers her eyes and swallows a sob. The other woman, caught and humiliated in lust, turns away.

The husband steps toward his wife, attempting to reconcile. She pushes him back, rage in her eyes.

I could do all three, Wrath, Gluttony, Lust. Two paid for, one in oblation to the Lord.

They yell and it’s time for me to leave. No real loss, I have two more contracts tonight.

Then I hear the report. And a second.

While I was turned around, Wrath pulled a gun and did both Glutton and Lust. She kneels next to the body of her husband and buries her face in his chest.

It was sloppy, but did the trick. I still get paid for those two. Contract fulfilled. I sign the cross, say a little prayer of mercy for the souls of the damned, and slip away into the dark.

Crime-fiction, Writing, Fiction