"The Hit"

“The Hit”

By

T. M. Liddick

}The general public seems to have a common misconception about hit-men. Thanks to Hollywood, they think our work is glamorous, that we wear fancy suits and drive exotic cars. For ninety-nine percent of us in the contract killing business, it’s nothing like that. It’s dull, boring, tedious work; research, meticulous planning, weeks, sometimes months of waiting, all building to an orgasm of emotions as we steal your life away. It’s highly addictive and if you’re talented a river of cash flows in, if you’re not… you get dead. Luckily I’m in the first group; at least I was…

         Sitting in Signatures, the Double Tree hotel’s resident restaurant in downtown Omaha having an early dinner, I noticed her out of the corner of my eye. The only other person in the restaurant, a lovely looking dark haired woman, seated at a table about twenty feet away. She seemed interested in me, which is a little odd. I say that because, while I have no real difficulty in obtaining female companionship for a night or two, women like this one were not the type that I attracted. I couldn’t tell for sure if she was checking me out because of the sunglasses she wore.

The sunglasses I could understand, the late afternoon sun was streaming in from the floor to ceiling windows on the opposite wall of the restaurant, but the rest of her outfit was somewhat of an oxymoron. She was wearing a mango colored halter dress that looked amazing next to her perfectly tanned skin and clung to her body in all the right places. At the end of her lean, toned legs she wore an expensive looking pair of high heeled sandals; the polish on her toes perfectly matched the color of her dress. The outfit was well suited for L.A. or somewhere like that but a bit scant for the fifteen degree Omaha weather. Then there was the scarf, a charcoal colored cashmere number around her neck, was that supposed to keep her warm somehow… I wasn’t sure, but it looked great on her as well.

         I put her out of my mind for the moment and returned to my dinner and my newest Michael Connelly novel. I only had a couple hours left before the hit, all my prep work was done and everything was set for later tonight. I took a bite from my bread and went to set it back on the plate. About halfway there I heard the highly muffled shot from a silenced handgun and the slice of bread in my hand exploded. The bullet lodged in the wall next to me, the hole hidden behind a huge potted plant.

Normally I would flip the table, pull my pistol, and start laying waste to anyone who looked like a threat; but she was either had terrible aim or the shot wasn’t meant to kill me, only get my attention. When I looked in her direction I could see a thin wisp of smoke curl out from the end of the newspaper that hid her gun. She was staring at me again, her face unreadable behind those sunglasses. I dropped what was left of my bread onto the plate, and wiped my hands on the hotel’s linen napkin. I pushed my chair back from the table and walked toward hers, my eyes locked on every twitch of her body. Her face remained expressionless as I arrived.

         “You murdered my bread.”

         She turned her face up to me, her voice a whisper, “I was trying to get your attention.”

         “You could’ve said hello.”

         “Then you would’ve mistaken me for one of your mattress bunnies,” she whispered again.

         “Why are you whispering?”

         She gestured for me to sit.

“I’ll stand, what do you want with me?”

         “I want to stop you,” she whispered.

         That low raspy whispering was starting to turn me on but I reined in my hormones, “From eating bread?”

         “From killing my brother.”

         That blindsided me, I had been over the mark’s info with a precision microscope and there was nothing about a sister.

         Picking up on my surprise she said, “He doesn’t know about me.”

         “Then why are you here?”

         She took a sip of her coffee before answering, “Because I made a promise.”

         “Why are you still whispering?”

         Ignoring me, she took a bite from a half-eaten blueberry muffin. As she set it back down I noticed that the polish on her fingernails also matched her dress and on each thumb was a black skull and crossbones.

         “Who did you make a promise to?” I pressed.

         “My father,” she whispered.

         “At first I thought the whispering was sexy, but now it’s annoying me.”

         Irritated, she reached up and tugged the scarf loose; as it opened I got an unobstructed view of the wicked scar that ran from one side of her neck to the other. Now the whispering made sense and had I not been a contract killer I might’ve felt bad for her. Instead I was ready to be done with this conversation and this woman altogether. She quickly redid the scarf and took another sip of coffee.

         “That’s one hell of a love bite; you should be more careful who you piss off.”

         She nodded her agreement.

         “Stay out of my way or I’ll finish the job,” I said as I pulled out my money clip and tossed a ten on the table.

         I turned to leave and she stuck one of those delicious looking legs out to stop me.

         I looked down at it, then at her, “Don’t make me shoot you.”

         “If you persist, I will shoot you,” she said in her whispery rasp.

         I stared her down until she dropped her leg. I left the hotel, walked over to Midtown and browsed the shops for a while.  Finding nothing I couldn’t live without, I walked back to the hotel and rode the elevator to my floor. I headed down the hall to my room and froze. The Do Not Disturb sign was hanging on the handle, and I hadn’t put it there. I did a quick scan to make sure the hallway was clear then pulled out my key card. I slid it into the lock and as soon as I saw the green light I opened the door smooth and quiet, scanning the room as I slipped inside. I stood there listening… not a sound. I crept through the room, finding no one; I tossed my keycard onto the night stand. That was when I saw it, a small slip of hotel stationary with a message written in the slow, loopy cursive common among females. It read: Please stop, or you will die. It was signed with a skull and crossbones. I crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash; two points for me. This chick was really getting under my skin and I still had an hour to kill, so I decided to meditate.

         Refreshed and centered, I dressed in my favorite pair of blue jeans and a nice button down shirt. I slipped on my shoes and tucked a hammerless .357 into the holster built into the back of my jeans. I shrugged into my pea coat, put on my stocking cap, and headed for the door. I flipped the deadbolt back, opened the door and stepped into the barrel of a silenced semi-automatic pistol.

         I have always been diligent in my training; mixed martial arts, hours of target practice, familiarization with as many weapons as I could get my hands on; that training sprang to the surface now. In a blur I simultaneously twisted my torso and threw a palm strike to my assailant’s forearm. The weapon sprang from her hand, my strike was quick as a cobra but she was just as fast. As the gun fell to the floor she delivered a wicked strike to my ribs. I swung my right arm towards her head with enough force to take it off. She was a good foot shorter than me and fast as lightning. She ducked my swing easily and my forearm crashed into the door frame, firing spears of pain through it. She scooped the pistol off the floor and took aim at my chest. I fired a snap kick at her, catching her in the left arm. She rolled back across the hall coming up in a crouch; again she took aim but I already had my .357 out. We stood there for a second, eyes locked, weapons ready to spit death.

         “Wait!” she rasped as loud as she possibly could.

         My finger tensed against the trigger. She slowly lowered her weapon, then placed it on the floor in front of her.

         “I’m only here to help.”

         “You have an odd way of doing it,” I said keeping my pistol trained on her head, “Slide your weapon over to me.”

         She stood slowly and kicked the gun across the carpeted hall.

         I picked it up, keeping my eyes and gun on her as I did. I stepped out into the hall and gestured for her to enter my room. She did as instructed and I followed her in. I motioned for her to sit on the bed; I grabbed a chair from the little dining area and sat facing her. I returned my gun to its holster and kept hers close by.

         “You have forty five seconds to start making sense or I shoot you.”

         “Your boss is setting you up and I’m here to stop it.”

         “I thought you were here to stop me from killing your brother.”

         “I am.”

         I grabbed the pistol off the table, “Time’s up and you still aren’t making sense.”

         “You’re my brother,” she blurted.

         I smirked and aimed the silenced pistol at her head, “Bullshit.” 

         My finger tightened against the trigger. She put her hands up, like that would stop the bullet…

         “Please listen, I know everything. Your father wasn’t a drug mule like Carlo told you. He was a mechanic, a great one, and Carlo wanted him to build drug cars for him. He refused and Carlo sent Rivas to our house, he murdered our parents, then took you back to Carlo.”

         “Nice story, but again I say… bullshit.”

         I really wanted to shoot this bitch in the face, then I remembered we were in my room.

         “Get up.”

         She did as ordered and I shoved her to the door.

         “Open it.”

         She opened the door and we exited my room. I shoved her toward the elevator keeping the gun pressed against her spine.

         “What floor is your room on?”

         “It doesn’t matter.”

         “I suppose it doesn’t,” I said pressing the down button.

         The elevator must’ve been close because it dinged right away.

         “You have a crescent shaped birth mark on your right inner thigh,” she said as the elevator doors opened. Luckily the car was empty and I shoved my “sister” inside.

“You could’ve learned about the birthmark from any of the women I’ve slept with.”

I pushed the button for the lobby.

“I learned about it helping change your diapers, I was six when they took you.”

The doors closed and the elevator started its descent.

“I’m not convinced.”

“You still have trouble sleeping?”

For as long as I could remember, I’d had trouble sleeping; but I wasn’t about to confirm it for her. Then she did something that really threw me, she started singing. I didn’t recognize the song but as soon as I heard it I was instantly at ease.  I felt my muscles relax and the tension squeezing the base of my neck back off a bit; she finished the song as the elevator reached the lobby.

“Mom used to sing it to you at bed time; you wouldn’t sleep unless she did.”

The elevator doors slid open and I pushed her out. We made our way to a service corridor and started down it. A maintenance man approached from the other end… shit. I shoved the gun into her back a little harder to remind her to behave.

“Can I help you,” the man called as he got closer.

         I smiled at him as my brain went scrambling for a viable excuse for our trespassing. He closed the distance between us.

         “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“We’re just a little lost, we were looking for the laundry,” I said keeping the woman between us.

         “The laundry… why?”

         “My wife accidentally threw her necklace in with the dirty towels.”

         “Oh, well, we better hurry then!” “Lost valuables don’t last long around here.” “Follow me,” he said as he turned on his heel and headed back down the corridor.

“That’s not necessary,” I called after him.

“It’s no trouble,” he called back over his shoulder and shuffled off down the hall.

I took a quick glance at my watch… damn. If I didn’t wrap this debacle up soon I was going to miss my mark. I pushed her along after the old man.

“Don’t hurt him,” she rasped at me.

“You don’t get to dictate anything,” I hissed, “this mess is your doing.”

We followed the old man down the hall, he disappeared around the corner.

“The man you’re supposed to kill won’t be there,” she said as we made our way along the corridor.

“Neither will you,” I said pushing the gun deeper into her back.

The old man swung on me as soon as my head cleared the corner. For the second time today my incessant training rescued me. I ducked the old man’s swing and the pipe wrench he was holding lodged into the drywall. I shoved the girl down and turned the gun on him. The wrench came free and he meant to swing at me again, I fired two quick shots into his chest and he dropped to the floor, the wrench clanging on the concrete next to him. She lunged at me then, catching me off guard and we tumbled to the ground. Slamming my gun hand into the ground she meant to dislodge it from my grip, too bad it wasn’t working. I sent my free hand crashing into her temple. She let out a grunt and her grip loosened, I tried to jerk my hand free but she held on.

“No, no more killing,” she said as we struggled.

I threw another punch but she twisted her body, my blow glancing off her shoulder. Frustrated, I needed to finish this. Using my free hand I latched onto her shoulder and twisted my body throwing her off to the side. I dropped the gun and went straight for her throat. It was personal now; I wanted to squeeze that ugly scar until it burst open or this bitch’s head popped off. My hands closed around her neck and I tightened my grip. Her eyes started to bulge and her arms flailed. I squeezed harder. Something hard poked into my ribs and then fire shot through my midsection. My hands popped open and she sucked in huge gulps of air. I looked down to see the rapidly blossoming crimson overtake my shirt…

“Stop, please stop,” she croaked.

I reached into the waistband of my jeans, extracted my .357 and shot her in the face. I pushed to my feet, the old man was writhing and wheezing. I stood over him, my gun aimed at his head.

“I was a cop for twenty three years, he sputtered, I knew you were bad clams the second I saw you.”

I shot him in the head, bad clams… stupid old bastard. I used a couple of towels to make a pressure bandage and made my way back to my room. I hurriedly packed my things and made a better bandage. The bullet missed my lung but a couple of my ribs were destroyed. I took shallow breaths and tried to keep my heart rate down as I made my way to the front desk. I checked out without incident and walked outside. My target was only two blocks away but I was behind schedule. Running was out of the question so I kept my pace easy. My breathing was coming out into the cold in forced ragged gasps, each puff freezing as it did. I slowed my pace even further trying to regulate my breathing… damn my chest hurt. I made it to the alley and tucked myself into a darkened recessed doorway. I waited for what felt like a week before I finally heard voices. I tensed up, ready for the show, then I heard them laughing, females… damn. I sank back into the doorway and another voice tickled my ear, this time male, from behind me, and very close.

“Hello Johnny,” it growled.

The voice belonged to the man who taught me everything about killing, Rivas, my mentor.

She was telling the truth, I thought as I swung my gun in the direction of his voice, intent on doing some damage. I saw the muzzle flash before I had a chance to fire. Another bullet ripped through my torso, not so lucky this time, the bullet tore through my lung and destroyed ribs on the other side of my body. I fired blindly into the darkness as I sank to my knees, frothy blood spitting from the hole in my chest as my body tried to keep breathing. I collapsed onto my face as my essence spilled onto the concrete.

She was telling the truth, I thought again as my breathing sped up, my body in full panic mode.

Rivas stepped from the shadows, “Sorry kid, the girl knew everything, couldn’t risk it.”

He fired another round into my back, the bullet tearing through my heart.

Face down in a dark, freezing alley, as the last little bit of life spilled out of me her voice came floating into my head. Singing that song, the sister I never knew, trying to save me from myself.