Maybe if it’s a high profile kill you might want to think about a slightly different weapon disposal system. Maybe. Or you might just want to do a better job of not being linked to the crime in the first place. After all, if the cops want to pin something on you they’re going to find a way, weapon or not.
I take one last look at the deceased.
Maybe he had a family. Perhaps he was planning on heading home to them for dinner this evening. That’s just none of my business. All I know was that he crossed the wrong kind of people—and if he’s even coming close to that kind of situation then the likelihood is that this motherfucker was far from an innocent caught in the crossfire.
“Goodbye,” I say, the wry note in my voice whispering on the cold breeze as I walk down the alley and back onto the city streets.
I keep my strides consistent. I hold my back straight. I don’t show any emotion, joy or disdain. I’m simply another man on the street, making my way to wherever the hell I’m going.
Whisky.
This block.
One. Maybe two…
I walk for a little longer and find myself taking a seat at a booth in a downtown whisky bar I’ve frequented over the years.I’m not a huge drinker, not like some. But it’s something of a tradition that after I finish a job I find myself a little comfort in the warmth and spicy fire of a drop of whisky.
“With water, a little ice,” I say as I walk past the bartender and take a seat.
“Yes, sir,” the bartender replies, a look of respect in his eyes as he senses that I’m a man to be served without any bullshit. He knows I’m good for my tab. He can just tell.
I sit myself down on the cracked leather seating.
And, finally, I breathe.
I know the money will be in my account as soon as I message my boss to let him know that I’m done. Payment is never a problem. Problems only occur when the job isn’t done right, and that’s never been an issue for me.
I’m forty-one and nearly two decades into the game now.
For an assassin, that practically makes me a veteran.
Most of the young up and comers barely make it five years before they get sloppy and someone blows their head clean off their shoulders. I’ve seen it happen a dozen times and more. A young kid will come into the business, all guns blazing. He’ll be wild, aggressive, totally fearless. And he’ll make a big early impression too. The jobs will come in, and he’ll take them all on, no matter the risk. Then in his eagerness to impress he’ll start making moves a little outside the codes of conduct. He’ll tread on a few toes. And when he treads on the wrong toes, that’s when all hell breaks loose.
Fuck. I’ve had to step in and take a couple of these assholes out myself.
I can’t say it’s my favorite part of the job, but unless I want to be like them, I have to follow orders and take them out of the game.
And speaking of orders, I need to message my pakhan to confirm that tonight’s business is well and truly settled.
Ivan: Done. Clean. No drama. Now a quiet drink to toast the night.
I hit send and before I know it, a reply comes back my way. Viktor Volkov is a man not to be messed around with. He’s known as the Downtown Devil and as you’d guess from that nickname, he’s almost as much an expert in this field as I am. Except, one big difference… he’s a pakhan and I’m a soldier.
VIKTOR: Good. I would join you but am a little occupied. Pleasure not business. But we will speak in the morning. In person. I’ll send details.
I scan my eyes over the message and put my phone back in my jacket pocket. Despite the fact that Viktor and I are friendly, it would be a stretch to call us true friends. That’s just the reality of the life we lead. I know that if push came to shove, he would send the order to have me killed. And if that happened, then I wouldn’t hesitate to return fire.
Neither Viktor nor I are fools.
But, that said, we do share a mutual respect and a love of whisky, coffee, and… boys. We’re both Daddies, and while Viktor may have found his Forever Little, I’m still single.
I don’t care.
If it happens, it happens.
If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.
Life is life. I’ve never understood the people who attempt to plan out every detail to create their perfect fantasy life. Maybe it’s because of what I do day to day, but it just doesn’t seem possible. Sure, I might meet someone I liked. But could they ever handle what I do? Would they be able to live with not knowing where I was for days at a time?
