Assassin
"I work in the dead of night
When the roads are quiet, no one is around
To track my moves, racing the yellow lights
To find the gate is open, she's waiting in the room
I just step on through.
I was a killer, was the best they'd ever seen
I'd steal your heart before you ever heard a thing
I'm an assassin and I had a job to do
Little did I know that girl was an assassin too."
- Assassin, John Mayer
He idly wondered when the thrill of being a killer for hire had left him. When taking human lives had passed into the mundane… Five years of working with an elite team of mercenaries, he had travelled the world over, but, save for a few memorable one night stands, he had no souvenirs, no permanent existence on the planet.
The target for this assignment was a gorgeous blonde – all bedroom eyes and killer curves. Agent K didn't hesitate or question why her death was required, that wasn't his role. As usual, he started by scouting her life, putting together the details for a successful murder. Within a short time, he figured the best location for the event would be her penthouse, located in a pricey area of Manhattan. Sturdy, but not impenetrable. Like always, as he watched, he noted the activities of a person's last days on earth. Sometimes, he wished he could tell his targets – to inform them that Death was looking over their shoulder, ready to move in, but that would go against the code…
She was kind to strangers.
She liked bubble gum ice cream.
She drank classic margaritas on the rocks. No salt.
She stuck her tongue out when she applied mascara, which was at least three times a day.
She read The Economist.
More often than not, she wore a red satin ribbon in her hair.
He reminded himself she was a job and nothing more, wondering why, for the first time in years, his conscience had made a roaring return.
Using a brown wig to cover his distinctive silver locks, he posed as a delivery man and broke into her apartment, knowing she would return in a short amount of time from the bodega down the street. He had no sooner made his way in when he found himself face to face with a familiar sight – a Smith & Wesson, identical to the one he favored, the one that was just out of his reach.
"Turn around slowly."
Having listened in on most of her conversations during the week, he instantly recognized the voice.
The target.
With cold steel on his forehead, he acquiesced and slowly he put down his weapon.