When you see someone die, they get permanent squatter’s rights in your brain. Look, I’m no hardened killer, death was never my preferred profession. It was never just work for me. It was always personal.
I had shot someone in the shoulder. He had come to my house. Mafia guy. I had debts, he was collecting. Apparently, he had debts, too.
“Finish me off.” He said, gritting his teeth.
He hadn’t suspected to me to use a weapon. Unfortunately for him I was more than a little angry, and he had brought a bat. I knew I had a solid line of legal defense. I had let him in, told him I was going to get the money, and then shot him from a safe distance. Who’d they believe, a mafioso or me?
“Why? I’m sure the authorities have already been called-”
“Do it, or they’ll use my family as leverage. Please.”
“I’m not going down on a murder charge.”
“Fine. Just hand me a knife. You can do that, at least?”
“Are you su-”
I took a cloth out from on top of the counter and used it to grab a knife from the rack. I handed it to him.
He had been shot in the left shoulder, so he grabbed with his right hand. Then he stabbed it right into his stomach.
And that was it. He was dead. He wasn’t the first person to die in front of me. The cops came and took me away. Soon enough, I was out scot-free. That didn’t solve the whole “no money” problem though, and now I had a butthurt mafia looking for revenge. Continue reading “Memoir of a Hitman: Random Scene #3”