One Last Job

You need to calm down. You’ve killed hundreds of people before. You killed them in increasingly inventive ways that some might call horrific. You are a professional. You have never failed a contract. Your ability to follow through has never been questioned by yourself or the Syndicate who hires you.

So why can’t I kill my nephew?

I killed my father, the man who raised me all on his own. He might have been a harsh killer himself, but I followed through on that hit without hesitation. I even looked him in the eyes the whole time as I strangled the life out of him. It was a strange sensation feeling how weak a man got in old age. Not just any man, the same man who had raised me as best he could me for years, tried to make me as strong a man as him. Not even a single ounce of emotion came from that. There wasn’t even any emotion in his eyes either, maybe just a flicker of pride. I would do it again in an instant.

I killed my favorite co-worker when he tried to turn on the Syndicate by refusing a contract. He was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend. The only emotion I felt from that escapade was accomplishment. That was the most technically difficult kill I’ve done. It was impossible to follow him home, and his official home was a decoy. He only seemed to move in dense crowds and his keen eye and instincts would never let me get close. I had to get creative.

I ended up hiding inside of stuffed trash bags, a sort of ridiculous urban ghillie suit, on a busy street for several days hoping he would pass by and pass he did. I had a split-second shot to tag him between the civilians and I hit it clean. He would have gotten a kick out of it to be honest; he was the one who used to joke about that exact same tactic. Sometimes it’s the blatantly obvious that gets you.

I’ve killed women, children, the elderly, the innocent. So why can’t I kill my nephew?

He is just sitting there, in the open, on a park bench. Completely exposed, completely unaware. My vantage point is perfect. In the middle a dark abandoned apartment, far from the open window, nobody would hear my shot or see where it came from. His brains would simply spill out, his life snuffed out in an instant. It would be the easiest thing in the world to pull the trigger and leave without a trace. My rifle sight, which is usually as cold and still as a frozen lake, is shaking at a nearly imperceptible level. That is unacceptable. You are a professional. You need to calm down.

I told him to not borrow from certain unsavory sources. I told him that his grandpa made bad decisions that enraged people that you could not survive enraging. I told him that his father stayed away from such things for a reason.

Why, at the age of twenty-three, did he decide to borrow money he couldn’t pay back? Not only that, but he also borrowed and tried to escape the debt. He should have known. He should have put the pieces together. Why was he so foolish? Why did I have to be so reliable? I would have no choice but to pull the trigger. I could and would have given him any money he would have needed.

Wait, was that the reason my finger hovered above the trigger? Were invisible strings of connection tightly wound around it? Nonsense. Just pull the trigger. It would only take a second. Think about the wind. A local flagpole is lightly fluttering to the east. Barely any wind, ideal. Think about the distance. Five hundred meters. An amateur distance, I could use my iron sights and hit a coin at that distance. The park is very sparsely populated, save for the odd bum, comatose from whatever their choice of coping was.

This could be one of the easiest paychecks I could get. I could be home in twenty minutes with enough time to get ready to teach my two o’clock Jiu Jitsu class. So, look through the scope take the fucking shot, Charles.

You’re cursing in your inner monologue, now. You never curse. You need to calm down.

That about sealed it for me. I closed my eyes and regulated my breathing to be steady and calm. Once pacified, I opened my eyes and readied the shot. His leg was bouncing rapidly, and he kept nervously looking at his phone. There was a bit of perspiration on his head despite it being a cool day. Sorry, kid, it’s nothing personal. You won’t be worried much longer. As my finger caressed the trigger, he lifted his phone to his ear.

My burner phone started to buzz, one only he and my employers had the number to, and I carried on jobs. Shit. Don’t answer, you idiot. Just shoot. Why did you even give him the number in the first place? Damn it all.

“Aaron,” I answered, holding my phone in my left hand.

“Uncle Chuck, do you have a minute?” his voice was saturated with fear.

“Sure, kid.” Not that you knew how few you had left, I thought.

“I really didn’t want to bother you, knowing how busy you are all the time. It’s just that… I didn’t have anyone else to come to, and you’re the only one I trust. Dad wouldn’t understand, and it’s not like my friends could help much.”

“I’m listening. Just tell me what is going on.” What exactly are you doing, Charles?

“Well…” His voice cut off and he took a few rapid breaths to gain courage. “You see, I might have borrowed some money I can’t pay back. The bank wouldn’t give it to me, so I went to some… unsavory sources.”

“Aaron, I explicitly told you not to interact with those sorts of people. There are always dire consequences to such interactions,” I said steadying my aim. I could still easily take the shot with one hand, even if it was shaking a little.

“I know, I know. It’s just Christine, she’s got stage three cancer, possibly stage four. We could never pay for the treatments.”

His fiancé, of course. She was a good girl, and they were a good match. Calm down, she won’t be a widow long, it seems.

“Why didn’t you think to ask me or your father for help?”

“It was dumb, I know, but I panicked. I Know dad doesn’t make much, and you don’t either, teaching martial arts and whatever else you do. Plus, I didn’t want my problems to be your problems. I couldn’t bring your lives down. Besides, she is my fiancé, so I needed to help her. You guys always taught me to solve my own problems. I figured I could get her money for the treatments and if something happened to me, she could still be okay. I thought I could pay them off and was doing well, but they decreased the timeline so fast. I started getting threats… I’m scared, Uncle Chuck. I don’t want to die. I don’t know what to do. You’re the only person I thought could help, you’ve always the most capable and strong person I know.”

The fear and pleading in his voice pierced my heart. What a horrid and new sensation. He obviously trusted me with his life, the same one that lay before a precisely aimed rifle barrel. Those horrid feelings bought him a few more minutes.

“Where are you, Aaron?”

“I’m at the park where I had my fifth birthday. Well, you know, the one where you also brought me when I was eight? We tried to see far up we could get me on the swing, but I was too scared. You told me to hold on as tight as I could and it would be okay, to trust you. So, I did, and you swung me all around the pole. On the way down, I started to glide out, but you caught and guided me smoothly back in.”

“I remember. You ran around acting like a superhero after that.”

I never thought about it, but he was right. This was that same park. Guess it just got lost over time. It didn’t change the fact that it was admittedly a very good memory. A wellspring of other fond moments flew by like frames of a film. Bringing him to the arcade and showing him how to cheat some of the games for more tickets. Spending days showing him how to lock choke holds tight and how to escape them. That time when he broke his bullies arm using my techniques. His dad was furious, but I couldn’t help beaming with pride for my young student. Giving him his first shot of fine vodka for his first big high school breakup and giving him advice through his silly endeavor. All good times with many more.

It was at this point that I noticed that my scope wasn’t even trained on him anymore, and I was consumed with momentarily daydreaming about fun days past. I’ve never let my eye off the target, anything could happen in that time. Yet, for a minute or two, I completely let down my guard, allowed him any activity he wanted to do, my target.

I didn’t want to do this, did I? Against everything I told myself, it just didn’t feel right, did it?

Aaron’s worried voice broke the silence. “What do I do? Everything I think of just doesn’t seem right. I don’t know why I called you, its not like you can stop this. Maybe I just wanted someone to talk to. I’m just going to go, sorry for involving you. Don’t tell dad about this, okay?”

Unacceptable. I didn’t teach him to roll over. He trusted me to help. He called my work phone, so I guess this was just another job, one that pays in a different, better, way. I couldn’t ignore the fact I had faltered this much.

“Aaron, wait,” I said in a commanding tone that stopped him from hanging up. “I have a plan, but you must follow it exactly. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

I gave him precise instructions on where my personal safehouse was, and how to get there without being noticed. The safehouse was discreet, had supplies for years, and was well armed with bountiful security. Next, he had to message his fiancé that he had a last-minute business trip and then hide his phone on a bus going out of town, proceeding to my safehouse immediately after. If he didn’t faulter in my instructions, he would be perfectly safe.

“Did you get all of that? Every last detail?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Repeat it, word for word.”

He repeated it, word for word. “Uncle Chuck, how do you know all this?” there was a tinge of fear in his voice.

“I know a lot, kid. You’re running out of time, get to it. Be safe, okay?”

“I will, you be safe too. Thank you, for everything.”

From my scope I watched as he carefully got up and left, following his given path. There wouldn’t be any tails on him for a few days, that was my job. They trusted me too much for that. If I took too long on such an easy job, they would become suspicious. First, they would check his phone records and location. They would see my number and know something was up. But by then, it would be too late for them.

I knew all their tricks, in fact, I invented more than half of them myself. I knew far more than They would care for me to. There never was any attachment to the Syndicate in my heart; they were just a paycheck, and a good one at that. In the end, I had more than enough money, which was something I never cared too much about anyway. I sure wasn’t going to let them take the one loose attachment I did have. No, not loose, that’s what I just told myself. He was the one attachment I did have. Not even his father, my brother would have that courtesy.

They should have never had me kill the one employee who might have had a chance against me. For the longest time I thought he was insane, but now I understood his madness. Maybe there was a person like Aaron to him, someone who could find a weakness in our icy hearts, hearts that had to be frigid in order to survive this long. Perhaps They should rethink Their policy of having Their employees target their loved ones. But now it’s too late for that, now.

I packed up my rifle and began systematically planning my attack. I had other weapon and equipment caches all over the world. There was no doubt that I could severely cripple Their infrastructure, if not destroy Them outright. The hunt for me would make Them forget all about Aaron. It would be a thrilling hunt, and in the end all I really did care about was a good hunt to stave off the boredom.

Time to start my last job. My nerves were ice cold, and I was as calm as ever.