Memoirs of an Assassin #2 – Score a Point for Dear Old Dad

Last week I posted my submission for Fiction Friday, created by Write Anything, to follow a prompt of a knock at the door. The piece turned into the tale of an assassin on his first assignment from a new employer. I enjoyed writing it and thought forward as to how it could be expanded in the future. That expansion is what I have below and continues the story. If you would like to read the first part of this serial, please see The First of Many.

Score A Point For Dear Old Dad”

In my line of work, some describe murder as a form of art. There are many ways to end a life but a true professional can work magic on his victims. Some die slowly in agonizing pain while others have their last breath snatched away before their bodies fall to the ground.

I think the people that describe our work in that manner are too involved. When any sort of bond is created between victim and assassin, a line is crossed. The slightest hesitation can be the difference between a clean kill and one that will haunt your dreams.

Some men spend their lives scraping their knuckles under the hood of a car. I spend my own by stilling the hearts of men and woman that my employer deems unworthy of life. In the early days of my career, keeping a separation between myself and my victim was simple. It is difficult to create a bond from a distance while staring down the scope of a rifle. A sudden change in life placed me under the scrutiny of a new employer, one that preferred the up close and personal approach to killing.

My first job was deemed a success but came with a rebuke. The objective was to kill a single game piece, not kill one and maim another. In my haste to exit the building, I failed to notice thin trickle of blood running down the left ear of my witness. I took my shot too close and now Jillian would spend the rest of her days deaf in one ear.

Six weeks passed before I was called upon for my second assignment. It was made clear to me that if any mistakes were made this time then I would be the next game piece requiring action. It was the first time in my adult life that I can recall fearing death. I did not want to become a part of the twisted game. Playing the part of enforcer was just fine by me.

**********

“Ah, Mr. Peters, you are awake. My apologies for the rap on the head, I didn’t intend for you to be out so long”. Truth be told, bludgeoning my target on the back of the head was one of my favorite aspects of the job. Somehow apologizing for how hard I had struck them comforted them, so I thought to make a habit of it.

His eyes bulged at the realization of the situation. His cries for help were muffled by the thick burlap gag stuffed into his mouth. “I’ll be blunt Mr. Peters, I don’t have a lot of time and I just hate being interrupted when I speak. The situation is simple, you have entered into a game that holds your life in the balance. My employer has informed me that you are terribly behind on your child support payments. We seek to resolve that situation.”

“Please, shake your head if you understand.” He shook his head wildly, indicating that he did not understand. With each thrash of his head a droplet of saliva was flung from the saturated burlap gag. “Sir, are you telling me that you are unaware of your child support payments?’

Tears welled up in his eyes and in an instant I saw his spirit break. His tightly bound wrists slacked, his shoulders slumped, and he slowly shook his head . “Fine then, if you are aware of your payments then you are aware that the lack of those payments has become a problem.”

“The rules of the game are very simple. You and I will sit here and listen to the radio. Your son’s basketball game will be broadcast on the local am station. Since you have a fondness for heroin, you will be rewarded for each point he scores for his team. Fortunate for the both of us, your skipping his game this evening has allowed us to play one of our own. Had you attended, my employers other suggestion would have been much messier.”

“With each point scored you will receive a fifty-milligram injection. If the game ends and you live, your debt will be considered fulfilled and you can go back to your life as if I never set foot in it. If you die of an overdose, your being bound will clearly not appear as an accident and your son will receive your life insurance. Now that the rules have been announced, lets listen to the game. Would you mind if I helped myself to a beer from the fridge? Sports always put me in the mood for a frosty brew.”

In all my years as an assassin, killing never felt so dirty. Heating the poison over a kitchen spoon and injecting it into a human body was deeply disturbing. More disturbing was watching the man spasm and spew froth from his eyes, nose, and mouth. In fear of angering my employer, I continued to inject the man with the drug long after he was dead. The boy, he was playing the game of his life. If I hadn’t of known better I would have suspected him of playing his heart out to get back at dear old dad for all the wrongs he had committed in his life.