Mr. Three sat across from me blabbing about sizes of houses, square feet, front yards, kitchen countertops, neighborhoods, yadda yadda.
“Kendrick Elementary is right in the neighborhood. Two kids you said? It’s perfect! I’m not saying the house isn’t pricey…”
I just sat there and nodded along in character, a Chai tea below me. I don’t even know what Chai is.
I wondered how I was going to kill this bastard. Short and painless? Choke him with his fancy tie? Maybe I’ll tape him up like I did Mr. One and bleed him out slowly with a power tool.
This guy boned Natalie? It never ceased to amaze me what women find attractive in guys. I’m no GQ looking motherfucker either. I know my Natalie. She just wants a sweet man to hold her and listen to her.
I decided to kill Mr. Three fast. He had been a one-nighter with Natalie. A quickie screw equals a quickie kill. I made up that rule while listening to Mr. Three babble on about real estate.
I agreed to ride over with him to look at the house.
I left him dead in the “lovely spacious bathroom that flowed beautifully from the master bedroom”. He had been right on the money about the sturdy granite countertops. They proved quite sturdy when I slammed his head against them, cracking his skull.
That was the kind of house I would share with my Natalie once we’re married.
Maybe I’m just romantic like that. Or maybe it’s my occupational style. I’m a professional hitman after all.
I couldn’t marry and devote myself to a woman without a blood sacrifice first. What’s a better sacrifice than all of her former lovers?
I could make her pure again. Then we would both be pure.
But twelve guys had to die first.
Three down already!
I spent months locating Mr. Four. The guy had a fancy job at a communications company. He was always leaving town. I finally caught him getting out of a rental car at the airport. He was a quick, spry little businessman. Guess I shouldn’t have played the role of a pamphlet-carrying Jesus freak to approach him. Bad move on my part. Luckily, the parking garage was empty and I managed to sneak the Chloroform rag around his mouth.
I rented a quiet cabin in the woods to work on Mr. Four. He and Natalie had a rather long fling. So, naturally, Mr. Four and I were going to have a long fling in our log cabin getaway.
I also got to use my new set of power tools.
Natty and I had been becoming distant around this time. I was working hard to prove my ultimate devotion to her and she was complaining that I wasn’t taking her out enough.
I booked us a hotel in Las Vegas. I had to interrupt my hard work locating Mr. Five for a little wine and dine with my soon-to-be wife. As much as I hated to scramble up my game plan, I decided to move Mr. Nine into Mr. Five’s slot since the Guy-formerly-know-as-Mr. Nine lived in Las Vegas.
We took in some sights and I left her in the hotel room. I cruised out to the guy’s house. It looked vacant. No cars were in the driveway. Back at the hotel where he worked, I spotted him. He was sitting at the bar in a black tuxedo. In my head, I was cooking up a fantasy about how slowly he would die. Then I saw a girl take a seat next to him.
Some old flames never die, I guess. Those two did. I was so broken hearted I couldn’t be creative. I blasted them in bed while they were naked, wrapped in sheets.
I kind of figured she’d had more than twelve lovers. While in Vegas I did some poking around and discovered she had been an ex-Vegas call girl. Natty had been the most popular gal on the roll.
Twelve guys? I was way off.
The best laid plans of mice and hit-men do often go awry.
I walked back down to the casino bar to find another Natalie.
M.G. Allen is the author of Things, published by Kraken Press. His stories have appeared in various place online and in print. Check out his author page on Amazon.com or swing by and check him out on Facebook.