Remorse is only for sissies. Who the fuck cares or thinks about stuff like this after the job is done? It’s never mattered to me. I mean…what the fuck is it good for anyway? Only pansies actually sit back and think about the bad stuff they do, and then feel all “Oh, how could I have done this?” about it, beat themselves up about it. Seriously, how the fuck does it matter? What’s done is done. Remorse does not feed you when you are dying of hunger nor does it give you a roof to sleep under. Money does all of that. Money is all that matters. Real men think about money, not about stupid fucking things they cannot change. And why the fuck not? Money keeps the roof over my head, money buys the food I eat, the cars I drive, heck, money pays for fucking everything that makes me happy. The thing that goes through my mind when I pull that trigger is never ” Oh no, this guy must have a family and how will they live?” and what not.. I have a family too. I also have to feed them. Pulling that trigger is the only way to do it.
I like to think of myself as just another normal person. I do what my clients ask me to, what they pay me for. Sometimes their requests are weird (a bunch of crack pots out there I tell you) like using shotguns or daggers, but what the hell…. if they pay extra, why the fuck not? I am compensated for every extra measure I take to meet my customer demands. Heh, you must think the last guy I killed was a manager, spewing all that jargon at you. Anyway, I don’t need to explain myself. It’s fairly clear that I just do another job, meet some one’s need.
This is definitely my last job. As always this client has his specifications. He wants a bullet to the head, plain and simple, quick and easy. I like this victim. The fucker’s got balls. I smile, he smiles back! Almost like he knows exactly what is going to happen. Almost as if he always knew this would happen. He is ready, expecting it, yearning for it even. His eyes give me a knowing look. Almost mocking me, challenging and even poking holes in everything I feel, everything I do. They tell me that everything I have said is a lie, I have lied to everyone, most of all to myself. I want to believe them, at least in this moment, the last few before I put this victim to sleep forever and his eyes shut for the last time, never to open again. Anyway, why the fuck would I care about this? This is my last job, I guess I am just getting sentimental.
Right then , this client has his specifications. He wants a bullet to the head, plain and simple, quick and easy. I guess the front would be the best, the side of the head would make it look like a suicide, that would complicate matters, he wants it plain and simple. A single shot between the eyes it will be then. I take aim and smile once again. The fucker smiles back again. I like this guy.
I wonder which way he’ll fall…. what if it’s forward ? I guess I’ll take a few steps back …. I’ve always liked this mirror.