The Hitman's Last Job(3)

“Look kid, just do as I say and you won’t get hurt,”


She looked up to him with her big, pale eyes. There was uneasiness inside her as if she wasn’t sure if he was tricking her into something.

“Just do as I say… Ok?” and he got up and walked over to a backpack.
As he opened it Anna thought it looked military issued, and her eyes lingered on his buzz cut and stoney expression. Ex-marine? She wondered. He can’t still be in service. He pulled out a length of rope from the bag and began to make shapes with it between his hands. Anna panicked and scurried away from him but the furthest she could get was the headboard. He leaned in closer to her and his height and muscles couldn’t have been more intimidating. But as he held her limbs and tied her hands and feet together she noticed that he did so softly.
It seemed to Anna that he was only doing it as a token gesture of dominance, he didn’t want to hurt her…but at the same time he clearly didn’t want her escaping. He finished off by tying the loose strands of rope around the legs of the bed. He felt the peculiar urge to pat her on the head or comfort her in some way, but held back. Ridiculous, he thought. What am I thinking? And he left the motel room with a stomach full of raw nerves.
Anna wriggled on the bed trying to free her body from the rope. She knew it would be impossible but would never forgive herself if she didn’t try. The more she struggled the more the rope burnt the skin on her wrists and she eventually gave up. Catching her breath she tried to gauge what was happening. An hour ago she was asleep in her own bed and now she was here….wherever that was. She tried to remember the journey over here and was confused as to why the gunman hadn’t blindfolded her. Isn’t that what they usually do? She didn’t know. She wasn’t an expert on these things like her father was.


Her father… she remembered his pathetic, lifeless body on the couch. The Western movie long ended and there was only the sound of the late night TV commercials to keep him company. He must have looked a sorry state when the killer arrived, probably thought he was doing the old man a favour. She wondered whether he woke up just in time to see the face of his own murderer. She worried that he would have been scared. But she stopped herself. Why should she care? She should be grateful that monster in her life was gone. He was a bastard, a coward, a criminal, an absolute dirty dog of a man. She looked at the door and wondered if she had just been delivered from one monster to another.

~

Carl’s mind was running ragged as he sped through the night. Soon enough he’d be at his boss’ house and would have to tell him everything. But did he? He couldn’t possibly tell him that he’d spared the life of a witness, the Don would kill him. But he felt wrong killing innocents - that’s what his Navy SEAL training had taught him to do, and years after leaving the military, he still tried to fight for freedom and honor. But that was more difficult to do now he was tangled into the Mob.

He ran a hand through his hair as he looked in the mirror at the stoplight. He was only a few minutes away from the Don and was trying to get his story straight in his head. Just tell him you killed the girl, no one has to know otherwise. He repeated the phrase in his head like a mantra.


He hated waiting at stoplights. The position of his legs while driving always made his back hurt even more than it usually did. He fidgeted in his seat to try and make the pain go away but as ever it was a strong presence that refused to leave. The light went green and he moved away slowly. He was the only vehicle on the road and he was in no hurry. If anything he wanted to make the journey last as long as possible.

He had to control his nerves and he took a few deep breaths. Everything was going to be ok. It wasn’t as if it would be more terrifying than Afghanistan and he’d survived that. He tried to remember this as he made his way down the immaculate long drive of the luxurious house in Naperville. One last look in the mirror and he saw dark circles around the rims of his icy blue eyes. He’d seen better days. The job really took a toll on him.

A burly man in a black, mohair suit was ready at the front door to greet him. As ever the size of the house took Carl aback. It was the biggest house, on the most exclusive street, in the most expensive suburb. He often wondered what the Don’s neighbors thought of him. The burly man was called Jerry and was always a pleasant and friendly gentleman to Carl. He always imagined him as a playful bulldog, all fat and stupid with a heart of gold. Jerry shook his hand firmly as he jumped out the SUV.

“You’ve taken your time tonight ain’t ya?” he laughed as he looked up to the hitman.
“Hey! I was you know… stuck in traffic,”


They both laughed.

“Of course you were,” Jerry smirked.
“Say how’s the boss doin? He waitin’ for me?” Carl asked nervously.
“Sure is! Getting all angsty cos you’ve been taken your sweet ass time,”
“Well… you better show me the way,”


They walked through the Don’s house, and Carl admired every detail. He always dreamed that someday he could have all the Don had, but without having to resort to violence and extortion. At least they know what they want, Carl mused. On one hand he worked hard to be a fine citizen that upheld the law… on the other, he killed for cash. It wasn’t his fault that the military wouldn’t compensate him after Afghanistan though. He always had to remind himself that.

Jerry led Cark down a grand hallway that was colored in cream and gold. The decadence was almost too much, as the gargantuan walls framed the priceless treasures that adorned the place. A crypt, a chapel, a private museum, Carl wasn’t sure but he was eager to see. He was then rather titillated when the doors were pulled back to reveal a bathroom. The largest bathroom he had ever seen. To Carl the room could have fitted a train station, and he looked around to see why they were taking him to a goddamn bathroom. But all that lay inside the marble walls was a bath and in that bath sat Angelo De Lorenzo. He was pushing the last piece of a sandwich into his mouth and sucking mayonnaise from his fingers. He looked up to his two employees with an irritated look on his tanned face.