The Hit

Chapter One

 I was sitting in the dark in an extremely expensive condo in Germany. I figured this would go best if I surprised my target. Or better yet, if he never knew I was there.

 I heard the key slide into the door, unlocking it, the twist of the knob followed shortly after. I slowly and quietly stood up. The target walked right past the study I was waiting in, headed for the kitchen instead. I quickly stepped out and placed three 9mm rounds into his back. He let out a quick scream as he thudded to the floor. Placing the muzzle of my pistol just an inch from his spinal cord, at the base of his neck, I squeezed the trigger two more times.

 Five minutes later, having verified the target had perished, I was out the door and headed for the safe house to gather my things. I walked back to the safe house so a cabby or train passenger couldn't put me in the area. I gathered the few changes of clothes I had, my laptop, my camera, and three hours after I left the the targets house I was on a private jet at Berlin-Tegal airport.

 I was doing what I always do after a hit when the crew arrived. Drinking ice cold light american lagers and nearly chain smoking light cigarettes. I couldn't ever get used to the champagne and Cuban cigars the majority of my colleagues partook in. It felt too celebratory.

 Captain Holt came barging into the aircraft, nearly falling up the stairs.

 "Ryan, how about a little warning next time!" He slurred as First Officer O'Reilly helped him gain his balance.

 "Sorry there Ryan" said O'Reilly smiling. "You know he can't hold his booze like I can." he was always one to play on his heritage. A true Irishman he was not, however.

 "Are you guys going to be alright to fly?" I asked.

 "You know how it is." Holt replied. "All we have to do is get her off the ground. Autopilot will do the rest."

 "It's not like this is the first time." Veronica, our personal flight attendant chirped as she entered the aircraft. She was clearly annoyed at the two pilots. She continued towards the back to retrieve a cocktail of aspirin, coffee and water for the two pilots. 

 "Here dip shits!" She said as she entered the cockpit.

 "Aww now come on. Is that any way to speak to your captain?" Holt retorted

 "I'm sorry. Here is your aspirin and coffee Captain Dip Shit." She snapped back.

 "Would you like to fly sweetheart? You can sit on my lap!" Holt shot back.

 "Just don't fly into a mountain asshole." She said. "I'd hate for you to kill me before I get the chance to kill you."

 Laughing, Holt directed O'Reilly to "get this bitch off the ground, I need a nap."

 "Sure thing boss." O'Reilly said.

 Veronica was scowling as she took her place across the aisle from me, where she would stretch out her long dark legs and read until Holt or O'Reilly requested something. She had been with me for 2 years. It didn't take long for her to realize I was always happy with the six pack and smokes I would retrieve on my own. The pilots were usually more needy. A fact she reminded them of often. I don't think she minded the needy part. The demeaning attitude and unwanted sexual advances however, those bothered her. I had tried to get her a better gig in the organization but was told it would break the illusion. If I were to be a security advisor for the world's elite as my cover story had been crafted to be, I couldn't be traveling without a personal flight attendant. She really may kill them both one day. I suppose I would understand it.

 I couldn't blame the two pilots for being a bit on the inebriated side. I had not told them we were headed back to the States until I was already on my way to the airport. We had been in Berlin for 5 days, the first night of which I had spent consuming an unhealthy number of local beers, sausage and sauerkraut. I paid dearly for this the following day. I may have had work to do, but all they had to do was get hammered until I called them to fly me home.

 As the plane began to roll I thought about the events of the last few days. Following my bender I located my target and began the real work of a hitman, learning routines and identifying opportunity. I had followed this man for days. Up early every day, a 3 mile jog before sunrise, then to the clinic. He left for lunch only once. He met who I assume was his daughter given the remarkable similarities in their features. Every night, after hours of diagnosing and treating the non life threatening ailments of the cities elite, he would go out for beers with a few of his coworkers. Only once did he stop at a store on his way home from the pub, getting a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. Nothing he did was extraordinary. It was the same routine and activities millions of people engage in every day. Even the Sunday I started tailing him was normal. He spent the morning in his office, watched some television, had some food delivered, normal bachelor activities.

 Why? I wondered. What had this man done?

 I hadn't ever questioned it in the past. I had a job to do and that was that. Most of the men and women I had dispatched were clearly evil. It was plainly evident, even on jobs that didn't take long. I would always see something most would consider shady behaviour. I was doing this for the good of humanity. The organization I worked for was doing it for the good of humanity. This one just didn't make sense to me. 

 I suddenly realized I had been mindlessly rubbing the latest of my tattoos. It was in the last available space on my right arm, basically healed but still a little itchy. I had blanked out, deep in thought. We were nearly at altitude.

 I tried to forget it, tried to convince myself the organization knew what they were doing and this man deserved the fate I had met out. I tried to talk to Veronica to distract me, but she was clearly annoyed that my unusual behavior was interrupting her romance novel. I was tired anyway. So I slammed the remainder of my fifth beer, wiped the liquid away from my mouth on the sleeve of my Iron Maiden t shirt, put in my earbuds, and let melodic death metal put me to sleep.