The Hitman Who Lost His Mind

A hitman story

   Justin runs through the abandoned paper mill just outside of Atlanta. Footprints leading away from a puddle on the concrete floor. He follows them until they slowly fade away. That mother fucker's hiding somewhere around here. He slides back behind some pipes and eases along the wall. Quiet, damn spider webs everywhere. Just ignore the spiders, ignore them, ignore them. There's the target. He's curled up in the corner with his head tucked between his knees. No reason to draw this out any longer. Justin raises his pistol and pops off two rounds. The guy he was chasing falls over dead. "FUCK!" Justin jumps out and starts brushing off the spiders and webs. He shakes back and forth pulling off his shirt and brushing at his hair, "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't stand this shit! Fuck!" He picks up his shirt and gives it a couple flicks and a shake and puts it back on. Where's his gun? He picks up the pistol and walks over tossing it down a drain pipe. The rats will pick those bones clean in a couple days. There's no need to hide the body or anything. It's just a stupid low paying hit. Justin goes over and sits on the old rusty stairs that lead up to a catwalk which twists around the factory from above. He sits and stares at the dead body for hours. 'Why did you do this to me? I have a family. I didn't do anything wrong!' Justin shakes as if the temperature dropped to 20 below zero but it's 95 in the shade today. He jumps to his feet with his arms raised high, "STOP!" His voice echoes through the decapitated structure. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" He begins to run back the way he came in. He jumps in the stolen station wagon and beats his fists on the steering wheel. He collects himself and drives away. He ditches the car and walks down to the Greyhound station and buys a ticket home to Jackson, Mississippi.

There's an old bar off Court Street between a rug cleaning business and a garage that details cars. It's a pretty rough joint but not the worst part of town. Justin goes in and has a seat at the bar, "Dr. Pepper Tom." "Everything go alright?" "I'm alive aren't I?" Tom's a black guy about 50 years old. He was a good hitman back in his youth but he got shot pretty bad one night while playing pool in Baton Rouge. He was working on a hit and someone ratted him out. They left him for dead in the alley but he managed to crawl down to the red cross. They patched him up and he never picked up a knife or a gun again. "Do you want another ticket Justin?" "Sure, what the fuck man. Got any chips back there?" "Cheetos or Doritos?" "Give me the Cheetos."

Tom sits down on a barstool behind the counter. It's usually considered unethical for a bartender to bring a stool around to their side and sit down while the joint is open, but it's daytime, there are only a few people in here and this is his bar and he'll do what the fuck he wants! He takes a sip of his coffee and looks at Justin. You know, he used to be a sharp dressed white boy but now he looks like bum. He dressed slicker than hell. The ladies loved him! I bet he hasn't bout new clothes in 15 years. He just keeps wearing the same old worn out shit. His shirts have sweat stains in the pits, his pants look about 4 sizes too large for him. He's shinny, not like the muscular kid that grew up in the boxing gym. His hair is long and stringy, grey is starting to show. He only shaves about once every other week. He just looks and smells like total shit. The Council can still use him in this shape but nothing big. He can't go into an office on Wall Street and whack a corrupt stock trader in this condition. He wouldn't get passed security. Hell he can't even go through an airport anymore, that's why he takes Greyhound everywhere he goes.

Justin's just sitting there staring up at the TV watching a cooking segment on the local morning news. Without taking his eyes off the TV he says, "Why the fuck are you staring at me Tom?" "Just wonderin'" "Wondering what?" "What happened to you? You used to live up in those high class apartments, now you're in that one room shithole downtown. What happened?" "Shit happened. Now quit staring at me." He snatches the envelope and the cheetos from the counter and hops up, "You know what, I'm out of here. I don't need this shit!" Well that was unexpected!