• Home

Travel Dilemma

Posted on May 23, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

It was always the same before a trip. A certain fear that gripped him. It was difficult to clearly articulate the source or the reason for the fear. It hung over him like a sickly aura or the static electricity that sometimes sticks clothes to skin in a not entirely unpleasant manner. If he tired to analyse it, it made his head hurt. Because ‘over there’ was really better than ‘right here’, anywhere was better than where he was, in his life and in his mind. Yet there was that nagging feeling that it was only a trip, and if he survived it, he would have to return to the same old life he already knew.

If he had to stick a pin in something to identify it as the source of the pain, he would have credited the returning with the dismay he felt.

He enjoyed watching the kids. They were the only ones who had the enthusiasm. He loved that they could get excited about anything, from going to church to flying to another continent. They met most opportunities with enthusiasm, something he remembered doing as a younger man. He couldn’t remember when he had begun treating everything about life as a chore. He did not like the person he had become and wished there was a way to reverse the process.

He shook the thought as quickly as it had entered his mind. He knew that his soul was no longer available for barter and there was really little he could do except realise his purpose every single time.

He picked up the briefcase he would have on him at all times. He checked the secret compartment. It would remain empty for the duration of the flight. It would pass through Customs unmolested and would arrive at the other end for him to claim along with the suitcases that emerged from the belly of the aircraft. She would smile the way she always smiled when each and every piece of luggage was accounted for and they would step out into the warmth to find the car that had been sent for them.

The secret compartment in the briefcase would be filled while she signed the kids and themselves in. He would excuse himself to visit the men’s room, another man would be waiting and the soft groove in the briefcase would stretch to accommodate an untraceable pistol, silencer and specially marked slugs. The markings would render them unidentifiable as having emerged from the barrel of the gun he would use, in the off chance that the gun was recovered.

Though each weapon was melted down after a job, the people he worked for could never be accused of being too careful.

He closed his eyes and went over the kill.

The target was a playboy, an international dealer in arms and drugs who had outlived his usefulness when he allowed the woman in his bed to dictate the terms of his trades. It had been decided, within the shadow circles that deliberated over such things, that the woman was to be left alive as an object lesson to those who attempt to cause ripples in the cash flow of a market that relied on efficiency and a fair price to ensure that the world didn’t spin off course.

He went over the entry point, the access elevator, the floor the happy couple would be on and the security details he had to deactivate to ensure hasty entry and a smooth exit. She wouldn’t know what hit the man whose power gave her wings. She wouldn’t know until his blood splashed across her face and rolled down her impossibly smooth skin.

He opened his eyes. The job was eighteen hours away but he was ready.

After that initial moment of hesitation he was in the zone. Helping her pack and playing with the kids. When the car arrived he shepherded them through the door and locked up behind them. He never worried about whether he had remembered to turn off all the taps and switched off the iron and the toaster. He never worried about returning to a flooded home or a burning husk where their art, his suits and her jewels use to be.

He didn’t always relish the prospect of returning but he was never sorry when they left.

Comments