You Never Forget Your First
Posted: Sun Jun 29, 2008 10:55 pm
Memory is a funny thing. It can be triggered by a sight, a sound or even a smell. I’m not sure what it was about this last job but somehow, it reminded me of my first.
As I’ve already mentioned elsewhere, I came into this line of work through my father. From a very young age he was grooming me to take over the family business. Not that it was a business back then. Nope, my father was a true believer in the cause. He never talked about how he got involved in the cause but I think it may have had something to do with how mother died.
The thing with causes is that they’re very often political. Alliances change, priorities shift and sometimes, causes are even achieved. But when everyone is sitting around, signing accords, shaking hands and sipping Champaign, the killers that did the dirty work to make it happen are nowhere to be seen. The unlucky ones are quietly liquidated. The lucky ones, like my dad are left to their own devices. Abandoned by friends but still hunted by enemies.
This is when we came to America, a land ripe with opportunity for a man of my dad’s trade. I continued to work along side of him, learning the art of the hunt. I was his spotter, his scout and when I was old enough, his get away driver. We were a team, the only two people in the world we could trust.
But dad never did give up on the idea of having friends. “There is so much a man can do.” He’d tell me. “And so much more that two can do. But imagine, imagine what a legion can do!” So he developed contacts and relationships with people in the business. With the information age, most of these contacts were remote and faceless—the way I prefer to do business. But dad was a people person and he just had to meet some of the folk he dealt with.
Those were the friends that sold him out.
When his old enemies caught up to him, I was busy scouting out some rooftops. This mark was a message so the kill wasn’t going to be an accident. It was going to be a public shooting. By now my old man trusted my judgment enough to let me find the best vantage point and escape route. While I was busy doing this, he was watching the game at home. He’d invited some friends over. But they brought friends of their own.
He was already dead when I went home to pick him up for the job. They hadn’t even bothered to make it look like an accident. Had they known about me? Were they sending me a message? Did they even care?
I started gathering my things. It was time to get out of there. The computer had a new e-mail on my dad’s account though. The payment had been made. I looked down at my dad’s body. “When they pay, you always play.” That was what he told me. Because the only thing someone like us has is our rep for completing jobs.
It would be up to me to finish this one.
Not half an hour later I was looking down my scope, watching for my mark to appear. When he did, I waited until I had the perfect shot. I pulled the trigger. There was a spray of blood and then his body crumbled. That was all I waited to see before I bolted.
Ever since then, I have been on the move. No one knows my face. All I am is an alias on a computer screen, a bank account number and a job well done.
At least the end of this most recent job had a happy ending. A family reunited, for a change. And some very bad people have met unfortunate accidents. An anomaly in my line of work. My next job could see a family destroyed and it could be a good man meeting an untimely end. Or maybe it’ll be a monster. I’m actually sort of hoping it’ll be a monster. They’re more of a challenge, really.
And besides, I know my fate is after me, chasing me, hunting me down. Sometimes it feels like a beast with sharp fangs and big gnashy claws… it’s on my heels and it’ll have me one day. But in the meantime, maybe, it’ll feel good to at least pretend I can beat the beast.
As I’ve already mentioned elsewhere, I came into this line of work through my father. From a very young age he was grooming me to take over the family business. Not that it was a business back then. Nope, my father was a true believer in the cause. He never talked about how he got involved in the cause but I think it may have had something to do with how mother died.
The thing with causes is that they’re very often political. Alliances change, priorities shift and sometimes, causes are even achieved. But when everyone is sitting around, signing accords, shaking hands and sipping Champaign, the killers that did the dirty work to make it happen are nowhere to be seen. The unlucky ones are quietly liquidated. The lucky ones, like my dad are left to their own devices. Abandoned by friends but still hunted by enemies.
This is when we came to America, a land ripe with opportunity for a man of my dad’s trade. I continued to work along side of him, learning the art of the hunt. I was his spotter, his scout and when I was old enough, his get away driver. We were a team, the only two people in the world we could trust.
But dad never did give up on the idea of having friends. “There is so much a man can do.” He’d tell me. “And so much more that two can do. But imagine, imagine what a legion can do!” So he developed contacts and relationships with people in the business. With the information age, most of these contacts were remote and faceless—the way I prefer to do business. But dad was a people person and he just had to meet some of the folk he dealt with.
Those were the friends that sold him out.
When his old enemies caught up to him, I was busy scouting out some rooftops. This mark was a message so the kill wasn’t going to be an accident. It was going to be a public shooting. By now my old man trusted my judgment enough to let me find the best vantage point and escape route. While I was busy doing this, he was watching the game at home. He’d invited some friends over. But they brought friends of their own.
He was already dead when I went home to pick him up for the job. They hadn’t even bothered to make it look like an accident. Had they known about me? Were they sending me a message? Did they even care?
I started gathering my things. It was time to get out of there. The computer had a new e-mail on my dad’s account though. The payment had been made. I looked down at my dad’s body. “When they pay, you always play.” That was what he told me. Because the only thing someone like us has is our rep for completing jobs.
It would be up to me to finish this one.
Not half an hour later I was looking down my scope, watching for my mark to appear. When he did, I waited until I had the perfect shot. I pulled the trigger. There was a spray of blood and then his body crumbled. That was all I waited to see before I bolted.
Ever since then, I have been on the move. No one knows my face. All I am is an alias on a computer screen, a bank account number and a job well done.
At least the end of this most recent job had a happy ending. A family reunited, for a change. And some very bad people have met unfortunate accidents. An anomaly in my line of work. My next job could see a family destroyed and it could be a good man meeting an untimely end. Or maybe it’ll be a monster. I’m actually sort of hoping it’ll be a monster. They’re more of a challenge, really.
And besides, I know my fate is after me, chasing me, hunting me down. Sometimes it feels like a beast with sharp fangs and big gnashy claws… it’s on my heels and it’ll have me one day. But in the meantime, maybe, it’ll feel good to at least pretend I can beat the beast.