The New Job

When they told me what the job was I thought that it was April Fools' Day, but, the clock on the wall of the office said February 20th. If they had been joking with me, they wouldn’t have given me 20,000 dollars just to start. One day I'm homeless, and the next I’m wearing an expensive suit and following around politicians all day. I walk down the back alleyway, black notebook in hand, and stop just as I reach the window. I follow my mentor, who expressed his dislike of me the first time we shook hands. I know he knows who we’re following, it’s probably in his black notebook, but he won’t tell me.

“Give me the pocket ladder” he demands in a whisper and holds out his hand impatiently.

I fumble in the tools bag, which he made me carry even though I think that was his task, and finally grab out a small steel bar with one red button on it.

“Very James Bond,” I joke awkwardly while handing him the ladder.

It didn’t look like a ladder to me, but before the mission, they had shown me what each tool looked like. I wasn’t paying much attention because I was freshly out of a shower and had heard something about 20,000 dollars.

“Don’t joke, this is a serious job,” My mentor says, the scar across his lip moving as he talks.

“If it’s so serious then why bring someone from the streets,” I asked.

“That doesn’t concern you,” he says simply and presses the button on the pocket ladder.

It extends into a small set of metal steps, which he subsequently set on the ground and starts to climb up.

That was the main thing I didn’t understand about all this, why bring in someone with no experience from the street, give him 20,000, and then make him go on a very serious mission. When they told me about the offer I tried to ask questions, but after a couple times of being ignored, I figured they didn’t like answering questions.

“Do you have your black journal ready,” he says, not taking his eyes off inside the window.

“Yeah,” I say and open the journal up.

It was a simple black leather journal with completely blank pages inside, and somehow the most important tool on this mission.

“Everything I say, write that down. You don’t want to know what will happen if you miss a word,” he says in a menacing tone.

“I get it,” I say, not without an eye roll, and put the pen to the paper.

I didn’t understand why these notebooks were so important when they first handed them to me, but they do look awesome.

My handwriting, already usually sloppy, looks like a scrambled mess as I haphazardly try to write everything down as he talks. I’m not even comprehending the meaning of the words, just that they’re words and I need to write them. I do catch certain words like Senator, government, and family that catch my attention and stick. From these words, I guess what’s going on, but the whole situation is still so weird.

My mom, before she died, always said that life is unpredictable and the best thing to do is to just get through it and survive. Maybe that’s why I took this job, unpredictable but profitable.

“Hey,” my mentor snaps at me, still keeping his voice down, “pay attention idiot.”

“Right, sorry,” I say and shake the memory of my mom out of my head.

“The snipers are in position.”

I write the words down, and only a second after does my mind fully understand what he just said. My stomach churns as I read the last line I write down.

The snipers are in position.

Maybe snipers is a code name for something else, but I doubt it. My mentor is silent and he steps down from the ladder.

“What’s going on,” I ask quite but with enough force to make my voice sound serious.

“It’s on a need-to-know basis and you don’t need to know,” he says, puts the pocket ladder back in the bag, and snatches my journal.

“Hey-,” I protest, but he holds up a hand to silence me.

“Good job,” he murmurs, “you didn’t mess it up like I thought you would.”

“Umm- of course, I didn’t,” I retort, “I think if someone is about to die I should know about it.”

“You’ll learn more after the mission is counted as a success,” He sighs and hands the journal back to me.

Then, I hear the faint sound of a gunshot come from inside the house, and then a thud. My vision blurs and I feel vomit go up to my throat and almost reach my mouth. Before I can my mentor lifts me up from my curled-over position and pats my back. At first, I think he’s being friendly, or he doesn’t want the expensive suit ruined, but then I feel a pain like a shot goes into my back where he pats me. I start to turn to face him, but before I can take a step, my vision goes black.