The story:

Easton, Washington

Henry

There’s a sharp screech filling the air every few seconds as I sharpen my ax with a blade sharpener. The squeal of the two metals grinding together break the silence of the soft wind whirring the treetops. A sudden interference in an otherwise constant background noise. But the regularity of it soothes me just the same.

The wood working is done. The back of my out house is full of fresh firewood. Drying out, ready to be used in a few months as the chilliness of the winter months start creeping in. Wood working is done and my tools are all dusted, cleaned and sharpened back in their respected places.

It’s quiet in my homestead. And lonely. Just the way I like it. Even the birds are gone, leaving the air empty off their singing that’s supposed to be prominent around this time of summer. I like to thank my niece for that. It only took a few hours of showing her how to use my air rifle and she was already dropping blackbirds mid-air. A talented kid.

I miss her now. Her mother insisted on taking her to New York. “She’s always wanted to go”, my sister said over the phone. “You know how she is. It will be really special for her.”

Sara has always wanted to go to New York, I know that. Why Helena decided to take her on her birthday, when she knows Sara loves spending it in Washington with her family, is beyond me. But my sister has always had a habit of steamrolling other people’s needs with her own so I guess the timing of their trip shouldn’t surprise me.

We are opposites, my sister and me. Our life in Washington is good, it always was good. Our needs have always been met so I cannot understand her complains. I guess she never learned to be grateful for anything. Despite having everything we could want, my sister felt the need to continuously chase some exciting new thing in her life, not realizing the chase only got her closer to trouble.

One day, when her chase for excitement got her pregnant, I was there listening to her cry. As an older brother I didn’t have a choice but to be the shoulder for her to cry on as she regretted doing exactly as I had told her not to do. Nine months later, I was there in the room as her earsplitting screams were replaced by a sweet song of a newborn child.

The late nights, diaper changes, first steps, I was there through it all. As Sara’s an excuse for a father failed to be anything but a mere sperm donor, I was the one who helped raise her. I took care of Sara and supported my sister. As motherhood got a bit too much for her to handle some days, I was on the other end of the phone line, letting her dump her feelings onto me. As I am now, exactly seven years later from the first time I ever heard Sara’s cry. I sit in my living room, holding my phone to my ear, as my sister tells me, through a grief-filled voice, that Sara would never cry again.

Shot. Sara was shot. My sister doesn’t know who, or why, but Sara was shot. Her little heart probably stopped beating even before my sister was done screaming her name.

I wish I had timed myself. I bet it has only been less than an hour from the phone call as I am already sitting at the back of a cab with a plane ticket in my pocket. My duffel bag sits next to me on the seat, with a change of clothes and my Taurus G2C in its locked case in it. It doesn’t matter who did it. It only matters that someone did it. And that someone is about to take the place of the beer cans I usually use as a practice target.

New York City, New York

Ethan

I would go as far as to say there’s nothing more satisfying in this world than the feeling I get when I hit my target. The long anticipation and looking through the scope on my gun. Aiming for the target, pulling the trigger and then the whoosh of satisfaction that washes over me as I hit the bullseye. Honestly, it’s very addictive. The only times I ever feel anger is when the chance for that satisfaction is taken away from me.

Today is one of those days.

I have one job. Execute Mr. Woshman, the company director for the leading export and import company in the country.

I know what you’re thinking. I ordered a new weighted blanket online but it didn’t arrive on time and now I’m loitering on top of a skyscraper with a Sieger 300 waiting for an opportunity to get my revenge. No. Fortunately I do this for a living, and I don’t have time for shopping sprees.

No, my employer has a bone to pick with our friend Mr. Woshman. And I don’t blame them. Losing a family member to a man who uses their transportation company as a cover and means for their kidnap and trafficking side hustle is bound to end up in hiring a hitman.

And again, I know what you’re thinking. Look, I’m a mind reader. Why can’t they just call the police? When all the parties in this whole mess fill their day-to-day life with more than several activities from which no less than all should result in a jail sentence, you don’t really want to involve the law enforcement.

So, what I did before today was what I do before every commission. I study my target, I plan the operation, I hone the operation, I perfect the operation, and then I execute the operation. A bullet proof strategy, pun intended. I’ve never been caught. And I never, ever, miss my target.

Except for fucking today.

Close to everything goes according to plan. I sit and I wait at a strategically chosen location. A perfect aim to a back door of a bodega my good friend Mr. Woshman is known for using as a meeting place. At an expected time, he arrives. At an expected moment, I pull the trigger.

Amongst all the expectations, there is one thing that defies my plan. That one thing happens to run around the corner the moment I pull the trigger. Quite impressively the small child manages to outrun my bullet, shielding Mr. Woshman with her small body. For a split second I admire the little person’s ability to surprise me so completely that I lose valuable moments. During those moments Mr. Woshman’s bodyguard, or whoever, has enough time to position themselves to shield him from my next shot. By the third, he has already disappeared through the opened door, and the bullet sinks into the concrete wall beside it.

In a matter of seconds Mr. Woshman has escaped death, I have failed at my job for the first time ever and a mother is left to scream and yell next to her bleeding child.

“I would love to give you an opportunity to explain yourself but I have a suspicion there is no explanation for what happened.”

My client is pissed. I guess. My own anger is levels above theirs but I suppose their feeling still fits under the same term with mine.

Luckily “A” is not the only letter in the alphabet so I have more plans. The hardest part of the meeting is convincing them that I know what I’m doing when I used the exact same words before. Yes, I’ve done this before. Yes, I know what I’m doing. Yes, I already know where I could catch him next. No, he’s not going to see me coming.

Like a child they believe me and I’ve escaped another mouse trap.

*** 

“In Las Vegas?” I ask Toni.

We are hunched down at a table in my client’s basement coming up with a plan B. Or a plan G, I guess.

I don’t really know what the building is. I never ask. Some kind of headquarters for some kind of a company. The main thing is that it is private, there is a security and a cappuccino maker.

“Yeah”, Toni answers. “New Year’s Eve.”

The basement is soundproof, for reasons I don’t want to know, and we’ve been able work in complete silence. So, it doesn’t take much to wake up my defense reflexes. I hear a small scratchy noise from behind me and in a second I have my Clock G19 in my hand and the intruder in my sight. I’m met with the head of a barrel right at my eyelevel but the man at the other end of the gun doesn’t shoot.

I can hear the hammer of Toni’s gun click back and I assume he is pointing it at the man as well. For a moment, we both stare at each other, neither of us pulling the trigger. And then I see it. The barrel of this other man’s gun is shivering a little and his eyes dart to my left glancing at Toni.

I lower my pistol.

“Ha”, I breath out trying to sound surprised. “And who the fuck are you?”

The man doesn’t answer, he just swallows heavily and stares at me. I turn back to look at Toni who is intensely watching the man with both his eyes and his gun.

“Toni”, I sigh dramatically. “This is exactly why I hired a security manager. So things like this”, I vaguely point at the man by waving at him with my gun, “wouldn’t happen.”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” A voice comes from behind the unknown man. He doesn’t flinch a bit despite his overall nervous energy and my own reaction to the sudden distraction makes me look like a coward.

My client appears from the doorway and walks around the man. “He got through our guard with no problem”, they continue.

For obvious reasons, I have a hard time believing that. I’ve worked with my client for a pretty short period of time but still I’ve learned how tight their security measures are. Better than mine at least.

“From the moment he entered the building”, they continue. “He was holding me at gunpoint within two minutes. We checked the cameras.”

My client looks at the man with obvious admiration, and I can’t tell if they are impressed by his abilities or just attracted to him.

“Impressive”, I echo with my voice flat.

“We figured we’d let him come to you, to check your reflexes. Seems like you would have some room for improvement.” My client glances at Toni who’s still standing behind me.

The anger inside me turns to flames again. The fact that my client felt the need to test me infuriates me. The fact that I failed the test makes me homicidal.

“Why is he here.”

My client seems genuinely surprised. “Oh”, he exclaims. “Did I leave that part out? He’s here to kill you.”

I look at the man again. He hasn’t moved since he walked through the door and the gun, still pointing at my head, seems a bit more lethal now.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” My voice comes out annoyingly weak.

When the man answers me his voice is deeper than anything I’ve ever heard in my life. “You killed my niece.”

An accusation that, as a sentence, sounds like it should mean something but doesn’t manage to move me in the slightest. “Highly possible.”

“You don’t even remember, do you?” he continues with his lumberjack voice. “You shoot a little child, a happy child. With a future ahead of her. And you don’t care.”

“Sort of serves you on the job, don’t you think?” I take a half step back trying to seem more relaxed than I am. “I can’t be emotionally invested in every single person whose heart I stop.”

The impression on the man’s face is interesting. I guess I would call it disappointment since I can’t seem to find another word that would better describe it.

“Okay”, my client interrupts. “Why don’t we leave them to work.”

One of my client’s guards steps closer to the man and is about to take the gun out of his hands but the man resists.

“No, you…” he starts, but my client stops him.

“I know”, he says like he would be talking to a small child. “The thing is I can’t let you kill him. He happens to have some unfinished business I’d quite like him to finish for me.”

The man, big as he is, twists against the guard’s hold and tries to aim his gun back at me. For a split second, I trust for the bullet to pierce through me, but it never does. Instead, another guard steps in, grabbing the man’s arm that holds the gun and turning it away from me. The trigger is pulled, and the bullet flies, but it misses me and lands somewhere behind me. The whish of the bullet is followed by a heavy thump and my blood runs cold. I swear even the edges of my sight turn red as I look at the man.

But I don’t get a chance to do anything about it as the, now three, guards take the man and drag him out of the room.

My client follows them after glancing behind me on the floor and then giving me a look that I would call empathetic.

And just like that, me and Toni are back in a silent room. The only difference being I can’t hear Toni’s breathing anymore.

 ***

Being emotionless serves you well on the job. The thing is, no matter how much you try and freeze your own heart, for no matter how many years, a human is still a human. And humans have feelings.

I try to cover mine by focusing on the task at hand. Mr. Woshman is going to be in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve. December 31st, 2068. That means I have to be there too.

With all my preparation that date starts to feel more and more like an end date. I don’t know what I will do after that or whether do I want to do anything at all. Working alone is less efficient but also vastly less fun. Now that I’m missing the only other member from my team I start thinking that maybe it’s better to stop all together. And let’s face it, quitting on New Year’s Eve after killing one of the most wanted men in the country sounds like a pretty hardcore way to go.

If only I can figure out a way to buy my soul back from the devil once the job is done.

As I have just decided that the work for today is done, my friend Destiny decides to shove her nose in my business.

I lock the door as I leave and, before I turn around, I hear a click of a gun behind me so familiar I all but laugh. In a split second I have my gun in my hand, and me and the man mirror the stance from a few days ago from my client’s basement.

The man’s trigger finger twitches and a rush of adrenaline shoots through me.

“Wait”, I start.

“No bodyguards to help you this time.”

“Wait! Just, before you shoot…” My voice sounds weak again and I despise myself for it. “I find it rude to be willing to be shot by a man without knowing their name.”

“As if”, the man scoffs. “Based on what I know of you, you have no problem with shooting strangers.”

“Fair enough.” I decide to try another tactic. “The motive at least would be nice.”

My client did say something about this man being there to kill me the other day but I cannot remember why.

The man’s brows furrow. “My niece.”

“Oh, the niece!” I exclaim. “Yes, of course. How can I forget? A sweet little thing.”

If possible his brows furrow more. He still hasn’t shot me, which surprises me. He has had two chances and he could do it now but something is stopping him. I take a liberty to create a game out of the situation; how much can I annoy him before he pulls the trigger?

“Look”, I say. “I don’t disagree with you. I happen to quite understand how you feel.”

Looking in the eye of the man who shot my nephew makes my blood boil and I understand how he must feel. Somehow being able to relate to him justifies his attempts to kill me.

The man doesn’t react in any way, which leaves me to believe he has no idea who Toni is. Maybe he didn’t do as much of a research on me as I had expected him to, based on how easily he has now found me twice.

“Now’s just not a good time.”

“Would next Tuesday work better for you?”

I’m slightly surprised by his humor in this situation and I start to see what my client sees in him. I don’t know who he is. An ex-cop, solider, another hitman? Based on his demeanor and the way he holds his gun, he has killed before.

“Hmm… fortunately I don’t think it does. I have a dentist appointment.”

At that, the man gives a laugh. “Okay. Goodbye.”

“Beginning of January would work the best for me.” I started the sentence anticipating to not make it to the end before he pulls the trigger but again, he surprises me.

For a moment the man doesn’t say anything but I can see him struggling to make up his mind. Finally, he opens his mouth. “That’s specific.”

“There’s some unfinished business I have on New Years Eve. My target, the gentleman your heroic niece saved, is going to be in a certain place then and I have an opportunity to kill him.” I lower my gun and, adding a fake amount of interest in my voice, I ask: “I take it you don’t know Mr. Woshman?” The man doesn’t again give me any reaction so I continue. “He is the director of the leading transportation company in the country. A company that is used as a decoy for the kidnapping organization he runs. Organization that targets young girls. Young girls like your niece. She could very well end up in his hands.” The realization hits me. “You know, if she was still alive.”

The few-worded man ponders his answer once again. “He is one man. Killing him will solve nothing. Someone else will take his place and the organization will keep going.”

“Well, organization was a big word to use in this situation. In reality it’s more so just one perverted man with a lot of money and access to trucks.”

“So, killing this one man will stop the operations?”

“According to my beliefs, yes.”

“And you’ll kill him on New Years?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I will find you again so there’s no point in trying to hide after that.”

“I would expect nothing less of you.”

The man lowers his gun and lets out a deep breath. “I’ll see January 1st, 2069.”

His silent confidence makes me fall in love with him and I find myself not wanting to let him go. “I do need a sidekick”, I say quickly. “You know, since you shot my previous one.”

The man only smiles and takes a step back. “Better start looking for one then. You only have a few months left.”

He turns to leave but I don’t want to let him. The man has to be some sort of an agent and it bothers me I haven’t been able to figure out which one. “CIA?”

He stops in his tracks and I can see him smiling again. Literally the second time I’ve ever seen him smile. For a second I think he’s going to admit to it. “No.”

“Then what? You’re not just a gun enthusiast. You’re trained.”

“You’re really going to ask me for my resumé? I thought your decision was made.”

I merely shrug one shoulder wanting to see what else the man is going to say if given the chance to speak.

“I found an underground contact killer from a city I wasn’t in while he was last known to be above ground. I didn’t only figure out which company you worked for but also the exact building you worked at. I passed a high-level security system in under two minutes. And I convinced your client to let me near you with an obvious intention to kill you. That’s my resumé.”

Turns out the man does know more than few words. And very good words at that. It’s a shame his “I don’t want to work with you” -act isn’t going to pass anymore.

I lift up my hand as an open invitation to shake hands. “You had me at ‘I’.”

Las Vegas, Nevada

Henry

I sit on the hotel bed full of nervous energy. The room is quiet, and dark with all the curtains pulled shut. I watch my empty duffel bag on the floor and the few clothes I brought with me next to it. Shuffled on the floor. Looking intentionally messy. I wanted to pack my back, to be ready to go when the time comes. But Ethan would notice. He notices things like that.

We promised to meet here in this room after the mission was completed. Which it was, last night. In and out, as planned. Mr. Woshman killed, no one else harmed. I would assume for the cops to find this hotel soon, which is why I would prefer to get this over with sooner rather than later.

I would worry about Ethan keeping his promise of coming here if I didn’t know how much he wanted to shoot me. If it’s a fraction of the amount of will I have to shoot him, it’s quite a lot. I find the arrangement quite fair. He killed my niece, I killed his nephew. Shooting each other seems only fair.

I also don’t care. As I sat at the back of the cab back then a few weeks ago, enraged by the fresh sense of loss, I fully expected to revenge Sara’s death with my own life. And I would give my life for her.

But my sister would be alone. And that’s a promise I can’t break.

I’m sure Ethan wouldn’t enjoy me backing out on our arrangement but luckily the moment he will find out his brain won’t have enough oxygen to care.

I hear light footsteps first in the corridor and then someone fiddling with a key card in the lock. I adjust the black hoodie I slept in trying to cover the bulletproof vest underneath.

Ethan makes his way into the room quickly, through a barely opened door, and locks it behind himself.

“Oh”, he breathes as he turns to me. “Am I not an important enough guest for you to wear pants for?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Why bother?”

“Poor housekeeper who will find us here.”

Ethan sets down his bag and starts assembling his gun. Well, he just attaches the silencer to his gun. I attached mine this morning. So, I just stand there in silence waiting for him.

“Well”, he starts as he is loading the gun. “This has certainly been a pleasure. It will be a shame to kill someone as talented as you, Henry.”

He glances at me first once, then a second time, looking at me like he would see something in me but I’m not sure what.

I check again if my gun is loaded just to get something to do with my hands. “Don’t tell me you want to have a speech.”

Ethan’s eyes light up a little and he smirks at me. “Can I?”

I sigh and move to hold my gun with both hands. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“What? You’re in a hurry to get somewhere?”

“It can’t come as a surprise to you that I don’t exactly enjoy hearing you talk very much.”

Ethan gives a laugh but doesn’t say anything. He mirrors my stance and points his gun at me.

I’ve known Ethan for a few weeks. Or I first met him a few weeks ago and we planned and executed a hit with him. So, saying “I know him” is a bit extreme. Still, one of the very first things I did get to know about him was that he notices things. Like he notices everything.

Forgetting that is my first mistake.

I look at him over my gun, aiming so my sight is right at his heart. He’s smiling at me, which is exactly a kind of a thing I would expect a psychopath to do at a moment of death. He draws the hammer of his gun back and I do the same.

“On a count of three?” My question is just a formality. We agreed to it weeks ago. His idea and I didn’t have enough energy to disagree.

Ethan nods. “One.”

I take a deep breath and focus my eyes on my front sight. I feel a familiar solidity in my arms as the muscles I’ve worked so hard on hold the gun in a perfect aim. Now I just need to trust my vest and make the shot.

“Two.”

I hear Ethan draw in a breath. I wonder briefly if he’s second guessing himself. Or second guessing his career all together. I don’t have time to wonder about it for long.

“Three.”