The Contract Killer

     This is a story about the folly of giving up on life and trying to commit suicide. It is yet another of 65 short stories in my Amazon book, Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness. All stories will be presented in this blog at the rate of one or more per week, free of charge. If you like these stories, please comment and share with others.

The Contract Killer

My name is James Heller and I’ve decided to kill myself. There are many ways to commit suicide, some good, some bad, and I considered all of them.

      Ernest Hemingway put a bullet in his brain, but that’s too grotesque for my taste. Next, I considered jumping off a bridge, carbon monoxide poisoning, an overdose of painkillers or sleeping pills, slashing my wrists, or hanging myself like Robin Williams. None of these options suited my taste, either.

      The problem was I didn’t want to know when I would die, and I doubt most folks do. So that left out assisted suicide, Kevorkian-style. After pondering other options, I finally came up with the perfect solution: Hire a hitman to kill me when I least expect it.

      I found a hitman on the internet by using Tor, the software that allows you to search the digital underground and buy anything, legal or illegal. The hitman’s assumed name was Marcel, and he had a reputation for always delivering. Using bitcoins, the anonymous virtual currency, I sent him $10,000 up front and a guarantee of another $40,000 after he killed me, to be delivered via a post-dated check to his secret account.

      To make things more interesting, we would play a little game of hide and seek, with a time limit of 10 days to kill me. Another provision of the contract stipulated that I would kill him first if given the chance. I challenged him to prove he was smarter than me.

      Perhaps you’re wondering why I want to die. After all, I’m not suffering from an incurable disease or depression. I haven’t been sentenced to prison and I have no financial or marital difficulties. In fact, by most people’s standards, I have everything to live for. But I’m not like most people. I’m not satisfied with the pointless game of life. Why struggle to live when we die anyway? Why not get it over with as painlessly as possible? I’m tired of playing a losing game for God’s amusement.

      Henceforward I shall make my own game.

      Of course, it wouldn’t be a game if I wasn’t prepared to defend myself. So, I carry two .45 pistols and I wear a baseball cap and sunglasses. I sleep in a different hotel every night. It’s ironic that in order to be killed when I least expect it, I must try to survive. Otherwise, I could stay home with the front door unlocked and wait for the bullet. Where’s the game in that?

      The hitman knows my name, naturally, and he has my photo. I had to at least give him that. I don’t underestimate him, either. If he’s as good as they say, he may have the ability to track me through my credit card purchases, so I use cash. He could track me by my GPS-equipped car, so I walk. Or my smartphone, so it’s unregistered and altered to provide a fake location.

_______________

Two days after negotiating the hit on myself, I sat outside a sidewalk café eating lunch and thinking how much smarter I was than Marcel. That’s when three bullets shattered the window of the café. They missed me by millimeters. I pulled my .45s, ducked under the table and lay flat. I left before the cops came.

      Evidently, Marcel was smarter than I gave him credit for. Smart, but a lousy shot. The game was only starting, and I loved it. Using fake ID, I rented another hotel room for the night and used my smartphone to send an email to Marcel:

      Nice try, but I think you need to get to the range more often.

      P.S. Only 8 days left and you’re losing. James.

      Marcel replied:

      Think again. I always play with a mouse before I eat him.

      MEOW. The cat.

      Next time I would be more cautious. A change of clothes was in order and I knew exactly the right shop; it was only a block away. I purchased what I needed and stopped at a drug store for blonde hair dye before checking into yet another hotel. My appearance was laughable, but it would certainly throw off Marcel.

      Obviously, staying in the hotel and hiding under the bed would not be playing the game. I had to circulate to give Marcel a small chance to kill me. Thus, I entered the street with my blonde hair, pink shirt, purple pants, and gaudy Elton John-style eyeglasses.

      Eating was life’s only remaining pleasure for me, so I walked across the street from my hotel to an expensive Italian restaurant. I was promptly escorted to a table in the rear due to my offending garb. Still, all eyes were on me, with everyone laughing and snickering at my outlandish clothing. I smiled at them: Eat your heart out, haters.

      I left the restaurant, worried that I might have made it too hard for Marcel to find me. Yes, he was smart, but not as smart as me. Just as I was crossing the street, however, I heard an engine roar and tires squeal: a car was headed towards me! I dove on the hood and rolled off the rear deck, bruised and battered. The laughing driver was wearing a Guy Fawkes mask and sped off.

      At the pharmacy, I picked up some antiseptic and bandages and went to my room to tend to my cuts and scrapes. Then I texted Marcel.

      Are you still playing cat and mouse with me, or was that a real attempt? Squeak.

     

      Marcel replied:

It’s still a cat and mouse game. And, by the way, your new outfit really sucks. Meow.

      There was no longer any reason to disguise myself. I put my regular clothes on and trashed the Elton garb. Marcel wasn’t just smart, he was witty as hell. I cleaned my guns.

      Several days passed without incident and I suspected it was a ruse by Marcel to catch me off-guard. Or maybe he was busy on another contract job. Or dead. Then I’d have to find another hitman. I went back to the same outdoor café where he’d shot at me earlier; I figured if he were still alive, he’d surely find me there.

      I kept my eyes open while I sat drinking coffee. They opened much wider when a statuesque blonde sat down at an adjacent table. I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself, she was gorgeous. Suddenly, she dropped her purse, and everything fell out. Gentleman that I am, I helped her pick up her items.

      “I’m so clumsy, she said.”

      “Me too...Miss–?”

      “Rachel Brooks...and your name? She extended her hand to shake.

      “James Heller. Pleased to meet you.” I was more than pleased, I was ecstatic at meeting this classy lady. “Care to sit at my table?”

      “Why, thank you James; it isn’t often that I get invitations from handsome men like you.”

      “I don’t see why not, as beautiful as you are.” I was gushing and gawking like a teenager.

      “I’m afraid most men are intimidated by my looks. That leaves me so lonely at night.” She stared wistfully at the tabletop and I could not ignore her plight.

      “I’m lonely too. Sometimes I feel there’s nothing to live for anymore.”

      “Really?” her face lit up. “Maybe it was fate that brought us together because I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

      I wasn’t thinking about Marcel or getting killed at this moment. My slobbering desire for her interfered with my thinking. “Maybe we should share the evening, you know, to talk or whatever.”

      She smiled at my line. “Do you have a car, James?”

      “Uh, yes, as a matter of fact I do. It’s parked at my home.” I blabbered.

      “My car is in the shop; perhaps you could take me for a ride?”

      “I’d be a fool not to.”

      She sipped her coffee, smiling at the innuendos. I smiled back. Maybe I could use one last dalliance before Marcel kills me. I told her my home was within walking distance and we arrived twenty minutes later. I showed her around.

      “It’s so beautiful, James. Who’s your interior decorator?

      “Just some lady I found in the phone book.” I followed Rachel from room to room. “I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend,” I added to let her know I was available.    We drove out of town into the countryside, where we laughed and talked about all the funny things in our past. We discovered we had the same tastes in music, food and entertainment. She was a total delight to be around, and by evening it was time for the grand finale. I suggested we spend the weekend in a rented mountain chalet. I was a fool in love once again and didn’t want the romance to ever end.

      After that wonderful weekend, I drove her back to her apartment in the city. She had to go back to work, she said, so we kissed goodbye and promised to meet tonight for a candlelight dinner. I texted Marcel.

      The deal is off. I’ll give you the rest of the money to cancel

      the contract. The mouse.

      Nope, a contract is a contract. The cat.

      I’ll double it. The mouse.

     Sorry,  I'm enjoying the game too much to quit, and I’m hungry for a gay mouse. The Cat.

__________

I lay back in my bed, depressed over the mess I’d gotten myself into. It might be foolish to fall in love, but it was even more foolish to give up on living. Life may be temporary and full of troubles, but it’s better than death. There’s always hope even in the depths of misery, and I wanted to live. My only chance was to get out of town and hide until the contract expired.

      I met Rachel for dinner and invited her to leave with me. “I have to be out of town for a few days, Rachel, to clear up a contract.” My heart ached as I held her hand.

      “Can I go with you?” she asked.

      “Sure, but what about your job?”

      “I can take off for a few days.”

      “That would be great! Can you be ready in two hours, I have to get out of town as soon as possible?”

      “I’m ready right now if you are; I just need to pick up a few things at my apartment.”

__________

We rented an oceanfront villa for several days. We sunned, swam, and ate fresh seafood during the day. At night we danced on the beach in the moonlight. I never realized life could be so joyous, and it was because I’d found Rachel. I had to tell her my feelings.

      “I love you, Rachel,” I confessed.

      “Oh, James, I love you more.”

      That night I had just come out of the shower, wrapped in only a towel, and contemplating another blissful night with Rachel. I halted in my tracks when I saw her standing outside the bathroom with one hand behind her back. At first, I thought she had a surprise gift for me. Then she raised a nickel-plated pistol and pointed it at my chest.

      “Is this some kind of joke, Rachel,” I asked.

      “MEOW,” she replied.

      I stumbled backwards against the wall, dropping my towel. “YOU...you’re Marcel!?”

      “In the flesh, James, but not quite as much as you.” She smiled.

      “Surely you don’t plan to kill me after all the wonderful days and nights we’ve spent together?”

      “A contract is a contract, mouse, and it expires tonight.” Her finger tightened on the trigger.

      “But I love you...and you said you loved me?”

      “Just words, James. Goodbye, game over.”

      She pulled the trigger.

      BANG!

      A white flag that read “bang” unfurled beneath the barrel.” My jaw was still open when she smiled at me.

      “We’re playing a new game now, assuming you’re ready to sign another contract.” She still pointed the toy gun at me.

      “What are your terms?” I was totally bewildered.

      “How about loving each other until a natural death do us part?”

      “I can live with that.”

      She laughed. “There’s just one itty bitty stipulation in the fine print.” She ran her fingers through my hair.

      “What’s that?”

      “You must promise to never again color your hair blonde or wear that ridiculous Elton John outfit.”

      “I promise.”

The End

Copyright © 2018-2019 by Ken Pealock