Professional Pride

©2009, Made in DNA

“Do you really never fail to complete a contract?” the gray man asked, his voice weary but hopeful.

I gave him a reassuring smile, “Never sir. Professional pride. Once the money has been paid, I pull the the trigger.”

The gray man nodded and lightened a little as if a great burden had been lifted from his soul. “The man I want you to kill is at this address.”

I took the proffered piece of paper, memorized the address and destroyed the note. Forty-five minutes later, I was walking through the halls of a shabby tenament held up only by the sheer will of the souls who existed there for lack of any other place to do so. I’d visited a million places like it; would use such a place to hole up in after this job.

Approaching the door, I tested it. Locked. I rang the bell. No answer. But then, people in places like this don’t answer; they know who’s coming to dinner. I picked the lock and threw myself into the room, gun ready.

Nothing. No one. Completely empty of furniture… except the mirror.

I stood staring at my reflection and knew I was in the right place, facing the right man. My bowels stirred uneasily as the gray man’s words echoed in my head: “Do you really never fail to complete a contract?”

“No sir, I don’t. Professional pride,” I said aloud.

Son of a bitch.

I pulled the trigger.