finally that first glint of hope as he realized I was hesitating.
The phone stopped ringing.
I pulled the trigger, twice, the gun kicking in my hand as he staggered backwards, hit both times in the chest. Then he fell back against the window, and slid slowly down it to the floor, his mouth filling with blood. And all the while he was staring at me as if he couldn’t believe how cruel I had been.
Unable to stand the accusation in his stare, I took four steps over to him, lowered the gun and, still trying to avoid those eyes, shot him a final time in the top of the head from point-blank range.
He grunted once and slid down on to his side, his eyes closed. I didn’t bother feeling for a pulse. Instead, I turned away and made for the door.
Which was when I heard the sound of a flushing toilet coming from the other end of the landing.
Fourteen
I just had time to close the door and get behind it. Keeping my breathing low and even, I listened as the footsteps came closer, the pace of their owner too casual for her to have heard anything.
Except when the door opened and the figure came inside, I saw that the her was actually a him, and a young one too. Probably no more than twenty, at most. Like O’Riordan, he was stark naked, except his body was a lot more toned, the ravages of age still yet to catch up with him.
If they ever did.
The kid, a local Filipino, gasped as he saw what had happened to his lover, and put a hand dramatically to his lips. He had his back to me but I could see him tense as he sensed my presence.
It was decision time.
The first rule of contract killing is always get rid of witnesses if it’s at all possible. It was perfectly possible now. I was already pointing the gun at him, and the fact that I’d pulled the trigger only seconds before made it a lot easier to do so again.
But I didn’t. Instead I told him not to turn round, trying my best to disguise my voice.
‘What have you done to him?’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I could tell he was silently weeping. It was the way his shoulders were shaking. ‘Why did you hurt him?’
‘If you want to get out of here alive, you’ll do what I say. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head. I’m going to throw you your clothes, you’re going to put them on, and then you’re going to walk out of here.’ Letting him go was madness, even if he hadn’t seen my face, I knew that. Yet I was finding it unbelievably hard to pull the trigger. He was so young, and I knew that if I killed him, he’d haunt my dreams for ever.
‘You bastard!’ he spat, and for the first time I noticed that he had a hint of an American accent. ‘You cold-hearted bastard!’
‘This is your last chance. Get on your knees.’
The speed with which he spun round and lunged at me, his face a twisted mask of grief and rage, caught me off-guard.
But only for a moment. I may have hated what I did for a living, but I’d been doing it long enough to have swift reflexes and, even with a combination of jetlag and a lack of sleep, I fired instinctively, the power of the round stopping him in his tracks.
He went down hard and loudly, rolling over on to his front, his body going into spasms as he clutched desperately at the bed sheets.
I shot him twice more, my gun hand steady as my business side took over, and a few seconds later he lay still.
Gun smoke drifted up through the silent room, and for a long moment I stayed where I was, staring down at the two bodies, wondering why O’Riordan’s lover had got himself killed when if he’d done what I’d told him, I’d almost certainly have let him live.
It was time to get out of there. I left the room, closing the door behind me, and headed back to the stairs, trying to push the brutal immensity of what I’d just done out of my mind. Instead, I concentrated on retirement, picturing myself on my balcony looking out across the tree line as it dropped towards
The phone stopped ringing.
I pulled the trigger, twice, the gun kicking in my hand as he staggered backwards, hit both times in the chest. Then he fell back against the window, and slid slowly down it to the floor, his mouth filling with blood. And all the while he was staring at me as if he couldn’t believe how cruel I had been.
Unable to stand the accusation in his stare, I took four steps over to him, lowered the gun and, still trying to avoid those eyes, shot him a final time in the top of the head from point-blank range.
He grunted once and slid down on to his side, his eyes closed. I didn’t bother feeling for a pulse. Instead, I turned away and made for the door.
Which was when I heard the sound of a flushing toilet coming from the other end of the landing.
Fourteen
I just had time to close the door and get behind it. Keeping my breathing low and even, I listened as the footsteps came closer, the pace of their owner too casual for her to have heard anything.
Except when the door opened and the figure came inside, I saw that the her was actually a him, and a young one too. Probably no more than twenty, at most. Like O’Riordan, he was stark naked, except his body was a lot more toned, the ravages of age still yet to catch up with him.
If they ever did.
The kid, a local Filipino, gasped as he saw what had happened to his lover, and put a hand dramatically to his lips. He had his back to me but I could see him tense as he sensed my presence.
It was decision time.
The first rule of contract killing is always get rid of witnesses if it’s at all possible. It was perfectly possible now. I was already pointing the gun at him, and the fact that I’d pulled the trigger only seconds before made it a lot easier to do so again.
But I didn’t. Instead I told him not to turn round, trying my best to disguise my voice.
‘What have you done to him?’ he said, his voice cracking with emotion. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I could tell he was silently weeping. It was the way his shoulders were shaking. ‘Why did you hurt him?’
‘If you want to get out of here alive, you’ll do what I say. Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head. I’m going to throw you your clothes, you’re going to put them on, and then you’re going to walk out of here.’ Letting him go was madness, even if he hadn’t seen my face, I knew that. Yet I was finding it unbelievably hard to pull the trigger. He was so young, and I knew that if I killed him, he’d haunt my dreams for ever.
‘You bastard!’ he spat, and for the first time I noticed that he had a hint of an American accent. ‘You cold-hearted bastard!’
‘This is your last chance. Get on your knees.’
The speed with which he spun round and lunged at me, his face a twisted mask of grief and rage, caught me off-guard.
But only for a moment. I may have hated what I did for a living, but I’d been doing it long enough to have swift reflexes and, even with a combination of jetlag and a lack of sleep, I fired instinctively, the power of the round stopping him in his tracks.
He went down hard and loudly, rolling over on to his front, his body going into spasms as he clutched desperately at the bed sheets.
I shot him twice more, my gun hand steady as my business side took over, and a few seconds later he lay still.
Gun smoke drifted up through the silent room, and for a long moment I stayed where I was, staring down at the two bodies, wondering why O’Riordan’s lover had got himself killed when if he’d done what I’d told him, I’d almost certainly have let him live.
It was time to get out of there. I left the room, closing the door behind me, and headed back to the stairs, trying to push the brutal immensity of what I’d just done out of my mind. Instead, I concentrated on retirement, picturing myself on my balcony looking out across the tree line as it dropped towards
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