Hitwoman

The grey space was cold, gloomy, and narrow. The numbers 475 were tattooed on her palm and her fingers stained in his warm blood as he lay face down.

*

The call was anonymous, and they always were. Bleak harsh quick tones, right to the point. A bullet to the head would have been quicker, but a knife to the throat was what the client wanted.

The boy’s crime was zilch, it was obvious. The client who wanted him dead was on account with his parents, which he already took care of himself. Chloroform and a handkerchief and you have two unconscious subjects, the rest is unknown. The boy was extra blood, a better reward for a deceased bloodline.

“Stop fucking around, and just do it already, “Anderson paced back and forth looking at the boy who cried out loud for his parents.

“Your parents are dead lad, gone! But you will see them soon.”

“Shit man...do you have to word it like that? Anderson, he's just a kid.”

“Then I suggest you do your job and finish him.”

Anderson slid his silver troodon knife onto the floor and suggested she did it now before he did.

“What has the boy done? I see no reason to kill him”.

“We don't ask the questions Homburg and you know it. Look, if you don’t do it, you put both of us on the line. I am one step away from a messy divorce and it will not be because of you and your constant bullshit attitude”.

“Ok, ok…I was just asking” she clenched her teeth.

Anderson and Homburg had worked bitterly together for over ten years. There was a slight difference in age, fifteen years in fact. They had got along well in the beginning picking up contracts and congratulating themselves with beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. This soon changed when a hit on one person had gone in the wrong direction leaving Anderson to kill a bystander, and by that, an innocent young man who could have gotten away if Homburg had caught him first giving him a smack against his head to ensure his mind would forget the whole 10 seconds of what he saw. Anderson however pulled out his Walther PPK and shot him straight between the eyes without a second thought. Homburg was pissed and would let this event remain in her mind from that day on. It was a bitch of a thing to do and she would never forget it.

Homburg picked up the knife and walked towards the boy’s neck who was now looking straight at her with trembling lips that were ready to beg mercy at any second.

“Please...”

“Please don’t kill me!” the boy would scream aloud curling his body to keep from being injured.

“I can’t do it Anderson.” Homburg’s hands began to shake.

“Is this a fucking joke? Give me the knife” Anderson walked toward Homburg in a rage of fit, boots slapping loud against the concrete floor.

“I won’t let you do it either,” and with that she placed the knife in the back of her pocket and backed away from the boy.

Anderson grabbed her shoulder and pulled her up against the wall “Give me the god damn knife now.”

“No”

“I’ll ask you one last time” He spat on the floor. His face now red as he began digging his nails into her skin until it punctured.

Homburg headbutted Anderson hard which released his grip from her skin leaving her to slip under his right shoulder and over to the boy which she had now swiftly picked up and headed towards the metal door as fast as she could.

The hit to the head to Anderson was not hard enough to stop Homburg and the boy from leaving the room. Homburg would feel a hard blow to the back of her own head as she turned the knob on the door. She then collapsed to the ground unable to speak, vision fuzzy unable to hear. She held her arms out trying to reach for the boy.

“You won’t get away with this Homburg” and then she blacked out.

*

It had only been a couple of hours when Homburg awoke. The room felt darker, cold, quiet. The light bulb was flickering in the room as it was when she was conscious hours before, but she had noticed it dimmed from a fluorescent white to a warm glow.

“Fuck” the pain was throbbing as she touched the back of her head. Anderson had really done a number on her. As she regained consciousness, she managed to lift herself up and put her head between her legs. Her vision was still fuzzy but was clearer as the seconds flew by.

It was only when she had a full view of what was in front her, she realised she was in a pool of blood, still warm. Her hands now drenched in the stuff. She lifted her head up and lying face down a metre away was the boy, arms above the head. Anderson must have done this within the last hour she thought. She crawled over to him and turned the boy around. His throat had clearly been slit.

“Bastard, son of a bitch”. She repeated three times.

After some hours had passed leading the day into night, Homburg would dispose of the body by digging a grave and allowing the boy to leave this world peacefully.

*

She stood in the shower scrubbing off as much blood as she could from her stained hands and body. The heat stung her body and the back of her head still hurt but the hot water was helping the pain go away. She turned the shower off and grabbed the towel from the hook which she then rubbed against her body until she was bone dry.

She took a long hard look at herself in the mirror.

“I can’t do this anymore, since when are we killing children, innocent children? I have to leave.” She told herself.

*

Homburg made a list of things she needed to do, change her identity, find a country, and book a flight there, settle everything she had at home. She had no family, no one to say goodbye to, that was the cost of the job, nobody could know about it. She was leaving nothing behind, except maybe Anderson, which she would have to come to terms with before she left this life behind.

*ring…ring…ring…ring* she picked up her phone, not speaking a word.

“It’s Anderson, meet me at my apartment at 6:00 pm sharp, we have another job.” And before Homburg could speak, Anderson put down the phone.

*

It was 5:30 pm when Homburg pulled up at Anderson’s apartment. It was early, which she intended on doing, wanting to leave a note at his door and never to return to this hellhole of a job including him.

She walked up to the second floor which smelt of old cigarettes and beer bottles filled with piss all over the place. This type of apartment complex was clearly for the dirty. Anderson was never one to save his money and would spend it all on booze, drugs, and no doubt women, knowing his marriage was on the rocks from the countless times Anderson had said “She’s a bitch, she’s a bitch”.

“Prat” she thought to herself.

She made her way to number 5; Anderson’s door was slightly open ajar. Anderson would never leave his door open. As much as she wanted to leave, she wanted to investigate.

She stepped inside the apartment cautiously, not knowing what she was going to find. It was odd for Anderson to leave any door open. The house was gloomy, plates piled up in the sink, mail scattered on the kitchen table, curtains stained brown in colour.

Homburg took her gun out and went through all the rooms in the house, nobody here.

She made her way back to the kitchen and went through Anderson’s mail hoping there might be an explanation. At the corner of her eye, she noticed a little black book.

She picked it up, feeling the leather edges that were clearly wearing off and opened the first few pages. It was pages of all the jobs they had had together from 6, 7, 10 years ago. Dates, times, how much they got, who killed who. It was a like a sick game that Anderson was proud of.

“You have one new message.” Homburg jumped and had not noticed the sound of the phone ringing until now.

“Have you dealt with her? It has been two fucking days man. If you want that money by tonight, you better do it. This was your idea, do not fuck with me. You have until 8:00 pm, and I want pictures as proof”. *beep*

The sound of footsteps was coming up the stairs. Homburg knew this would-be Anderson, the time on the clock was ticking past 6:00 pm. In a moment of haste, she ran behind the kitchen and into the open pantry, there was no time to go anywhere else.

The apartment door opened; Homburg watched through the tiny slit of the door as Anderson threw his keys onto the couch.

“I know you’re in here Homburg, your car is outside.” He pressed the red button on his telephone which read out the same message Homburg heard. Anderson pulled out his gun pointing it in each direction one after the other like a crazy man.

“You cost me for our last job, I warned you not to mess around with our contracts, and yet you still do whatever you want. You just don’t listen; you are weak…a bitch”.

Anderson was shouting now, slamming chairs, and smashing bottles on the floor.

“I am going to find you and kill you bitch, just like I killed those two boys.”

It hit Homburg hard when Anderson mentioned the boys. She knew what she had to do to end this all. This was going to end with him or her and she was not going to let him win. Not this time.

She opened the pantry door and stepped out onto the old wooden floor which creaked on the second step.

Anderson flew inside the living room to the kitchen where Homburg pulled the trigger hitting Anderson in the shoulder. He fell to the ground.

Homburg walked toward him kicking his gun to the side and stepping on his wound which was now bleeding profusely. He looked at her and started laughing.

“Go fuck yourself Anderson” and she shot him in the chest.

*

Shortly after, Homburg dialed the same number from the voice message on her own burner phone.

“What do you want?” the man said angrily.

Masking her voice, she said into the phone “Open the email I have just sent to you.”

“What the fuck, this isn’t…it’s Anderson, who am I speaking to?”

“You don’t have to know other than I dealt with him not the other way round. I want the money Anderson was meant to get; you can transfer it into the following…Oh and how much was on my head?”

“$20,000”