Hitman by Muhammad Abbas Saqib

Hitman
By Muhammad Abbas Saqib

He walked silently but swiftly along the rain-drenched street, an umbrella clutched in his hand. ‎Dressed in a white shirt, tie, and jacket, he appeared just another hurried passerby. His left hand ‎gripped the handle of a 9mm Glock pistol hidden in his pocket, freshly used to end a man's life in a ‎car. Remorse and guilt were strangers to him; he was a hitman, a professional assassin, performing ‎his duty. He had carried out at least two dozen successful hits, yet the police never came close to ‎capturing him. The government had placed a hefty bounty on his head, dead or alive.‎

An anonymous client had likely hired him to eliminate an enemy who had caused significant losses ‎or business fraud. The hitman spotted his target at a hotel and waited in the parking lot. He watched ‎as the target got into his car, then began to follow, keeping a safe distance. Patiently, he waited for ‎the perfect moment. When the target’s car stopped at a red light, he seized the opportunity. Pulling ‎up next to him, he rolled down his window, aimed his pistol, and fired multiple shots in quick ‎succession. Blood splattered across the windshield.‎

He abandoned the car where it was, knowing the police would soon be alerted. He wasn’t worried; ‎he had stolen the car from the same hotel’s parking lot.‎

Now, he needed to reach his hideout as quickly as possible. His passport, today’s earnings, and all ‎his savings awaited him there. Realizing his time in this country was running out, he planned to ‎leave as soon as possible. He knew the police would search for him, but he also knew they ‎wouldn’t find him.‎

As he walked, he heard a car approaching from behind. He turned his head slightly. It was a black ‎sedan with bright headlights, familiar but unremarkable. He ignored it and continued walking.‎

Lost in thoughts of escaping the country, he failed to notice the car drawing closer.‎

Failed to see it slowing down.‎

Failed to hear the window rolling down.‎

Failed to spot the gun barrel aimed at him.‎

Failed to recognize the beautiful gun in the hand of a beautiful woman.‎

Failed to see the beautiful smile on her lips.‎

She was his ex-wife.‎

The same woman who had betrayed him.‎

The same woman who had hired him to kill her current millionaire husband.‎

She wanted him dead because she still had a duplicate key to his apartment.‎

She knew his plan to flee the country.‎

He only realized it when he saw the trigger of the Walther pistol he had given her being pulled ‎repeatedly.‎

But by the time he realized, it was too late.‎