Guys, Lies and Deadly Spies

I placed my long leather booted legs on the furnished mahogany table and yawned with pure boredom.

She was late. I hated it when they were late. Like I had nothing better to do than wait to shove a bullet into their brains.

The woman whose presence I awaited was Felicia Kamanga, a thirty one year old epidemiologist with a six year old daughter. She had no police records, not even a parking ticket and according to her file she was quite the generous giver to orphanages and clinics. She was a big shot, infact recently she had discovered a cure for a deadly virus called Hash, with very similar traits to Leprosy.

So why was I here to assassinate her, you might be asking.

Well, according to the Agency, it was absolutely unacceptable to create a disease that you alone had a cure for. Personally, I thought it was a great idea. There was no rule against generating a deadly ailment that could end the entire human race, if anything she was assisting with the overpopulation that our Earth was suffering from.

But I had no say in these decisions. I was just the messenger. I delivered death. And my packages never got lost.

I heard the front door unlock and open. Ms. Kamanga was humming a meaningless tune, a clear sign of happiness; glad to see one of us was in a good mood.

She dawdled down the narrow passage way and into the kitchen where I sat. She heaved a terrified gasp of air and jerked back, almost toppling over her black court shoes in surprise at the teenager that sat so casually in her home.

I clicked my tongue and shook my head as I browsed through her file one last time. 

"You've been misbehaving lately haven't you, Felicia?" I asked, lazily flipping over the pages.

According to the data more than thirteen extremely important people were already dead and statistics exposed a steep rise in her financial income. Ms Kamanga targeted the biggest firm owners in Wall Street, and used their deaths to strike deals that would eventually feed millions of dollars into her bank account. She had calculated every move carefully, except for my surprise visit.

Her first move was to unleash a mini pocket pistol from her bag and point it daringly in my direction. "Whoever you are, I must warn you, I have plenty connections.  Nip as much as a hair off my arm and you could be facing life in prison." She spit venomously. 

I chuckled as I stood up. She needn't worry about any hair nipping, all I'd do is puncture her skull with a metal bullet, no contact whatsoever.

"Don't take another step! Not another step!" Ms. Kamanga's breathing quickened as she screeched at me, suspense clearly getting the best of her. It was only a matter of time before she asked the typical question. "Who the fuck are you?" 

"Does it really matter?" I answered instead as I stared at the guns I'd laid on her table, completely ignoring the fact that she still had a gun pointed at me. "The one question that matters is,  Glock or M1?" I asked. Truth be told, I loved my job, but the most aggravating part was always picking the right weapon.

"What?" she asked, wrinkles forming around her squinted eyes, confusion added to the aura of mixed emotions I sensed around her.

I sighed and murmured a "Never mind" as I turned back to eyeing the weapons, so much for chivalry. I folded my arms and tapped my chin. The M1 was trusty, it was a single action semi- automatic but the Glock had such anticipated release, quick and easy. I tilted my head slightly before finally making a choice.

"I will use this little girl!" she yelled as I heard the safety click, the trigger was yanked at savagely, but no bullets came out. I guess someone was too busy creating germs to reload their weapon.

I chuckled as I thrust my hand into the black leather glove.

I'd never understood the concept of undervaluing someone by calling them little. By the time I was twelve I could dislocate over four joints in a body thrice my size. Point being, I was honoured, I took being 'little' a compliment, because everything you did at that time was considered amazing and wonderful, like the two year old who knew the entire periodic table or the eight year old that could juggle blazing knives.

I heard her court shoes clatter towards me and immediately turned, blocking her jab with my left and kneeing her before twisting her right hand, grabbing the gun and shoving her to the floor. The movement was so quick even I was impressed by myself but I was more impressed with her attempt at trying to attack an assassin.

"You should stick to diseases, Felicia, guns aren't really your thing," I told her as I turned back to mine. "I on the other hand, happen to be quite the expert,"

I picked up the Glock. "I must commend you though," I continued. "Your idea of making a quick buck was so good I'm surprised no one else has thought of it yet." I watched the ebony metal glisten beneath the mid-afternoon rays that peeped through the partly shut blinds. "Maybe it's because they are all dead." I croaked out as I gave her a brief side glance.

She whimpered and frowned, trying to maintain her ground, but it was clear that, as always, I'd won, which is when the third stage of Pre-death conversation kicked in, confession; the first being questioning and the second being playing dumb.

"I had to! Money was running low, they were going to shut down the hospital, they were going to shut down the company." She professed, her voice breaking and tears threatening to puncture through the barrier of implicit pride that held them back. I smirked at how fast she'd gone from 'pompous lady with connections' to 'spare my life, I can explain.'

"They were going to take away my house, my car. My daughter! I couldn't sit back and let that happen, please, you have to understand why I did it. " Her jaw chattered uncontrollably and the shivers spread through her whole body. "This was the only way...They... they made me do it!" she confessed.

I sighed as I loaded the gun. There was always a 'they', someone to blame for the crap he or she was about to die for. It was typical of humans.

"It was a one time thing and I did it for a good cause, my daughter. She's only six! " Ms. Kamanga informed.

"I know."

"Please, I'm all she has left."

"Well, that's quite unfortunate." I rasped as the fourth stage took it's toll, begging. 

"I'll shut it all down. I promise, never again! I'll leave and you'll never hear of me. I promise just please give me a chance!" She asked clutching her stomach, the tears breaking free as she sobbed mercilessly. Her lungs trying to pump enough oxygen to accommodate all the emotions. She was finally realizing the reality of the entire situation. How close her end was.

I twisted the silencer on the front.

"Please, do you not believe in second chances!" she pleaded, screeching as though trying to knock some sense into my head.

"I do believe in second chances," I told her. "I just don't think every one deserves them."

I took off the safety and turned to fully face her, that's when she attempted the last stage of 'Pre-death', the final good-bye.

"Tell my daughter I love her," Her voice was barely audible, but I could make out the words as I pulled the trigger, the recoil so satisfying as it shot up my arm and forced it to jerk a bit backwards. 

"Loved," I corrected, as I watched her fall to the wooden floor once more. I took a moment to admire the pretty pattern formed by the trail of her blood as it settled in the chiseled cracks. 

"Bye Felicia." I dismissed as I jumped over her and walked out of the kitchen only to be met by the most gigantic brown eyes on the tiniest human being. The daughter. From the pink Barbie bag on her back, I could tell she was from preschool.

"Hie miss," she greeted in the squeakiest voice, most would have considered adorable. "Have you seen my mummy? I want to show her my pretty picture!" She thrust it towards me proudly.

You could say I was heartless, ruthless, merciless even. You could say I lacked a conscious, that I was crazy or possessed. Those who knew me called me an executioner, a liquidator, a terminator. But I preferred B92, that was my name after all, and yes I was all those, add dangerous to the list.

I crouched slightly and took the drawing out of her miniscule, nail chipped hands. 'I LOVE YOU MUMMY' it said in neatly painted letters. That's when I remembered her message

"She 'loved' you too," I told her, before handing over the paper, standing and walking out of the Kamanga home.

Target terminated.