Just a job
By Fred Peyer
The head in the scope matched the head in the picture, so he pulled the trigger.
He dismantled the rifle without haste, picked up the spent shell and packed everything into the golf-bag lying open on the table. He kept his gloves on, did not want to leave fingerprints anywhere. Shouldering the bag he carefully opened the door of the apartment, stepped to the elevator, rode to the ground floor and calmly walked out the front door.
The fact that he had just killed somebody did not bother him at all. It was just a job, like selling a car or keeping books. As a professional assassin he followed orders, executed them to the best of his abilities without getting emotionally involved. All he was interested in was a clean successful hit, and a clean successful get-away. Everything else did not matter.
It all comes down to planning and organization he thought as he walked away from the building towards the stolen car parked two blocks away. By the time police would arrive trying to figure out what had happened and where the shot had come from, he would be long gone.
He unlocked the trunk, stowed his golf-bag, walked around to the driver’s door, opened it and slid behind the wheel. After starting up the car he checked the mirrors, carefully drove away from the curb and accelerated to just below the posted speed limit.
He dropped off the golf-bag at a self-storage unit he had rented under a false name, then left the stolen car at the Greyhound station parking lot. He walked into the station, ordered a coffee at the snack shop, and sat down at one of the small tables in front of it.
He fished in his pocket for the throw-away cell-phone he had bought the day before, dialed a number from memory, and after the beep left a short message: “The eagle has landed”. It meant that the job had been done and that the three hundred thousand Dollars could now be transferred to his account in the Cayman Islands.
As he was sipping his coffee he thought about his future. Two more jobs were all he needed to spend the rest of his life in comfort. He not only planned every job in detail, his future too was planned meticulously. Two years earlier he had acquired a false set of papers making him a French citizen. He had also bought a small villa near Nice on the French Riviera. The papers waited for him in a safe deposit at a bank in New York. The price for the papers and the villa had set him back considerably, but with two more jobs he would easily make up the shortfall. He already saw himself comfortably retired, playing golf or hiking in the mountains. Maybe I am going to buy a boat, he thought, not too big, but big enough to live on and explore the Mediterranean coast.
After finishing his coffee he boarded the first city bus, rode about four stations, all the while discretely scanning the people, bus, and street. He changed to another bus and rode another six stations. He dismantled the cell-phone, threw the pieces into several different trash containers, before returning by bus to the Greyhound station. No tail, nothing out of the ordinary. His survey complete, he walked two blocks before catching the bus that would drop him close to his house.
He felt content. Another job well done, no hassles, no problems, just the way he had planned it. He exited the bus and walked the two blocks to his house.
Just before he turned off the sidewalk towards his front door, the man inside the house across the street looked at the picture. The head matched, so he pulled the trigger.
It was just a job, like selling a car or keeping books.
END
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Author:
Alfred Peyer (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: July 13th, 2017 00:59
- Comment from author about the poem: For a change of pace I decided to publish a short story I recently wrote. It is about 600 words, and I thank you for taking the time to read it. Please DO give me honest and critical feedback. It does not have to be roses, some weed would be really appreciated. How else am I going to get better?
- Category: Short story
- Views: 49
Offline)
Comments7
You devious devil, nice one, nice twist. Easy relaxing read. just read your note and i see u want a critique - only thing i'd say is this. We have all seen the hit man going about his job so many times on the TV or in the movies. One or two of your lines didn't need saying, the scene was already painted e.g. (and i haven't the text open in front of me) so as not to leave fingerprints - now that's what we call here in UK stating the bleedin obvious. My personal view when i read that much detail in a novel is i begin to wonder whether the book were written for a younger, less informed, reader.
Nonetheless this was a good read and i can assure you that if it wasn't i wouldn't have read all the way through.
Thanks so much burning-embers. You are so right. Why state the obvious? I do appreciate your critique!
Oh thanks Fred, i was worried, so many ppl ask for critique on stuff and hate you for giving it. I'm relieved ta!
This comment is not only for you, but for everybody who reads it:
I, Fred Peyer, herewith unequivocally state that I welcome honest critiques on all my writing. Actually, I don't mind if you rip it to pieces! Never any hard feelings!
Nuff said.
Brilliant Fred
Brilliant!!!!
Wonderful start to my day..
Thank yu P.H., just make sure your head does not match a picture somewhere! 🙂
Ha ha
Great read with a super ending - really enjoyed this.
Thank you Michael, I was hoping the ending would be unexpected.
short?
I do like a good mystery. but you wrote how it ended. trying to help?
Short? Well, a flash-fiction is about 100 to 1000 words, a short story about 1000 to 7500 (don't blame me, I looked it up), so at around 600 words I guess my "short story" is more "flash-fiction".
About the ending: You may be right, maybe I should have left it open to the reader's imagination. On the other hand, it seemed like a nice closure.
BUT, I only said he pulled the trigger, I did not say he actually hit him. 🙂
you don't have to explain. after all. its poetry. HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! LOL it was well written. I could understand it. I'm not an under educated man when it comes to books. in fact I'm just finishing a good novel from the fifties, a true story about a mountain climbing expedition. two of them made it to the top. but not without having to pay a heavy price. pain, lots of pain. frostbite as well, fingers and toes. they had to come off. and in the tents, lots of screaming. for a couple of weeks. it was still a long way from home. I would never do that. I'm not that crazy. I have about 5 pages to go. the book is old and lots of pages are falling off. I'm glad I'm at the end. I always have to set aside some time for my passion, reading and getting lost in a book. is this story longer then yours. I don't know I'm not counting. ha! ha! ha! have a great day! onepauly
I read "Into thin Air" by Jon Krakauer about the Mount Everest disaster. A great book!
it sure must take a lot of guts to do that.
I don't know about guts, I think you have to be crazy!
absolutely! I might be crazy but not that crazy.
A blooming second in and I thought I was in the midst of a John Grisham novel. I agree with Yumna over italics. I think the end twist underscores the callousness of the hitman's work being treated with the same cavalier attitude of selling a car. Even though the title you chose foreshadows, I'm not sure I'm settled on it. Gripping write, friend.
Thank you so much! And thanks for reading through the whole thing. I am looking for a 4-liner to publish next so it will even out!
I could catch back on this one. Short stories are so good. Fast entertainment without compromise. Oops 🙊 the way I put it it sounds almost promiscuous. I liked your writing and can not criticize because I'm not entitled to. I know too little to wheigh anyone work. Sorry but can not help here. Thanks for sharing one more.
Malu, thank you for taking the time to read it. I promise, the next few will be poems a lot shorter than this one.
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