People Die by Kevin Wignall

air, he looked at her and nodded, finally putting it into words. “It’s true.”
    Though she’d guessed, she still looked stunned. “That’s amazing,” she said. And then, “You’ve actually killed people?”
    “I wouldn’t be a very good hitman if I hadn’t.”
    “But when? How recently?” There was probably only so much honesty she could stomach, and the six in the last two days had been personal business anyway, so thinking back to the last proper job and embellishing it, he said, “Er, let me see, just over a month ago. I can’t tell you where but it wasn’t in this country. It was someone involved in the arms trade, someone who was threatening British interests.”
    “So you’re like a soldier?” she said, falling for the spin he’d put on it. “Is it dangerous?”
    “Not really.”
    “Do you carry a gun?” He nodded in response. “Even now, here?” Another nod. “Can I see it?”
    “Do you want to?” He was puzzled by the request, something he might have expected from a male friend and which he’d have refused because of that. Coming from her though, it was different and when she confirmed that she wanted to he took it from the holster and laid it on the table between them, the silencer pointing away into the corner.
    She stared at the gun without saying anything, transfixed, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was there. She reached out and touched it lightly, once again as if to prove it was real.
    “Do you want to hold it?” She shook her head and he said, “Shall I put it back?”
    “I think so.”
    He slipped the gun back beneath his jacket and said, “Why isn’t it surprising that I’m a hitman? I’m curious that other people saw it in me when I never saw it in myself.”
    “It’s funny but I don’t see it either now. You know, when it was some abstract idea it seemed to make sense.” Her eyes looked elsewhere, like the gun was still on the table between them. “This is real though, not some fantasy of what JJ might be doing. I can’t see it in you now, someone who kills people without even thinking about it, following orders; it’s not who you are.” She looked upset, and JJ already regretted that he’d told her; he didn’t want her to think badly of him.
    “That’s just the trouble though—that’s not who I am. See, I don’t take orders as such, and I do think about it, and I do wonder how I—”
    “How did you get into it?” she asked, preempting him, her mind on a rush.
    “In a roundabout way I was recruited, that’s all I can say. And yes, initially I was drawn by the excitement, the intrigue.” He laughed. “Maybe I still am, I don’t know. I have a nasty feeling I’d miss it.”
    “Does that bother you?”
    “I don’t know,” he said, and then, “I have a good life, I have a nice place in Geneva, plenty of money, plenty of free time. I’m okay, you know, and I’m sure a lot of people who graduated with us have had a raw deal.”
    “What’s the but ?” He looked at her puzzled, and Jools smiled back at him. “You know, ‘I have a great life, great house, dedum, de-dum, dedum, but...’ So what’s the but ?”
    He smiled too now and said, “Ah, that but. ” He thought about it, something he’d thought about plenty of times but had never put into words before. “Well, I don’t know. Just that, sometimes I feel I’ve fucked up I suppose, big time. Fucked up in a way that’s ... I don’t know ...”
    “But you’re still young,” she said emphatically. “You could retire, change careers, do something that lets you live the way you want to.” She wanted him to do it, he could tell, one meeting in nearly ten years and she was desperate for him to give up, like he’d just admitted to a heroin habit or something like that.
    He shook his head and said, “Trust me. That’s not an option.”
    He’d seen a couple of people who’d taken that route of cutting themselves off completely from the past, had even killed one, but it