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Doesn’t matter. It won’t work. I have my rules. Rules I follow to the T because it’s what keeps me alive and out of jail. I didn’t get this far by nailing my marks’ wives whenever the opportunity presented itself. And it has…many times.
Brenda isn’t any different than any of those other women. Yes, she sparks all of my protective instincts, but women like her—vulnerable, naïve…soft—do. She gets me hard, too, just thinking about her, but I’m not a slave to Little Willy. My self-control is something I pride myself on and a major defining factor that divides me from those I’m hired to kill.
If I cross that line, I’ll be no better than those I murder.
So, when it’s clear Glenn is in for the night, no stepping out on the missus, I beat it back to my apartment for some shuteye before I can no longer keep them open. I have to be fresh if I’m going to get my man and pull it off without any hitches.
Four hours. That’s all I have before I’m rising again. Glenn’s schedule is flexible, and today he’s working an eight o’clock shift. I skip the gym again so I can be at Brenda’s early enough that I don’t miss him. If I’m lucky, he’ll go for the jog he missed last night, and I’ll get him then.
***
As it turns out, Glenn didn’t so much have an early shift as he had an early meeting with his side piece. Picking up coffees and a sack of food, he arrived in the little cul-de-sac just before 8:30 AM.
Glenn shuffled his way up to the door and went right in.
And he didn’t emerge until a quarter to ten. He had that telltale pep in his step again, as if whatever he’d been up to for the last hour plus had rejuvenated him.
He makes me sick.
My hands squeeze the steering wheel and my foot itches to slam down on the gas pedal and mow that asshole down.
But as fun as a hit-and-run sounds, it’s messy and calls too much attention. There would be police and investigations and no doubt, some errant witness that would have to be taken care of. Too many strings to snip to even bother.
When Glenn pulls out of the neighborhood, I follow. He heads straight to work this time, chatting up one of the same young women I spotted him with the last time. He must really think he’s something special.
I wonder what Brenda ever saw in him.
Getting Glenn’s schedule was surprisingly easy. Wednesday morning, after I emptied the drop box of my payment, I just walked into the shopping store and, after locating the employee lounge adjacent to the offices, I slipped in and pulled his information up on the computer. It’s scary how easily one can get information if they want it bad enough.
My mark is working in the back today, pulling products off the trucks that ship goods in from all over the country. Parking a fair distance away, but in line with the open bay doors, I watch Glenn and his coworkers move around the warehouse, unloading pallets.
Glenn operates a small forklift, raising and lowering tightly wrapped pallets from the truck and driving them to their final resting places where others work to cut free what’s inside and get it into the store to be organized and eventually purchased.
It’s an interesting process that keeps me engaged for all of an hour before I decide that I’d rather be having drinks with John than sit here another five hours watching Glenn go back and forth, back and forth,beep,beep,beepingall the livelong day.
How does anyone stand to do the same shit all day, every day? I’d lose my mind. As risky as being a hitman is, I thrive on it. Every day is a new place, a new story, a new thing. Well, not every day. Every week is more accurate, but I get to stretch my mind and flex my creative fingers, and the gig pays well. Who could ask for more?
To help pass the time, I check my messages and find several more thinly-veiled requests for a job, a hit, and I shake my head. There is no shortage of people who want to kill other people. They just don’t want to get their hands dirty doing it.
I delete all of them. I’ve promised myself I’d retire after this, and I’m determined to stick to it. No more risky business. Just a nice, relaxing, dull existence awaits me, and I’m looking forward to every second of it.
Am I just kidding myself? The longing of even thinking about never snuffing out another life already burns like acid in my stomach, and I know I’m going to miss it like crazy. So far, it’s what’s kept me coming back for more.
I guess if I get bored or the need grows too much to ignore, I can just pick someone off here and there to sate it. I don’t have to make a business out of this. Retirement is happening, come hell or high water.
Redirecting my attention on the chubby man ahead, something in my head clicks into place. The strike of inspiration. I’d know it anywhere.
Man and machine. Accidents are bound to happen, no matter how skilled one may be. It’s the natural order of things. People get lazy, comfortable, and then the unthinkable happens.
I am the unthinkable.
My entire being perks up as visions of a plan begin to take shape. A rare grin spreads across my face. I crank the engine and pull away. I’ve seen all I need to see for today.
Back at the apartment building, I head straight for the locker room and then the gym, pounding out all of this newfound energy racing through my veins. I’m excited. The thrill of the chase, the anticipation of the kill energize me, and I have to let off steam, or I’ll erupt.
John enters the gym and climbs onto the treadmill beside mine, heightening those chances.
Does he have a death wish?
