Amateurs

DON'T YOU JUST HATE AMATEURS

By Alan Brough

I kill people for a living. Terminate them, end their existence, snuff
them out. Choose your own epithet. It's what I do and I'm good at it.
To be quite honest it's maybe all I am good at. This wasn't my first
career choice you know. I've been shouldered out of soldiering, been
unmindful of minding, and been bounced out of bouncing. So this is my
trade. I do knives and firearms, and specialise in nasty little mishaps
of the fatal kind. Try not to do garrotting; don't have the wrist
action for it, but will make do in a squeeze.

The pay is good and I work the hours I choose, within reason. If it
doesn't seem respectable, then think of me as a kind of midwife in
reverse. Consider this even; a midwife brings good people into the
world; plus points for mankind. Also brings in bad people, I guess it's
kind of difficult to tell at that size, no matter, minus points for
mankind. At the other end of the span I stand. Kill some good people
admittedly, minus points for mankind. By the nature of this business
though most of my unwitting customers tend not to be in line for a
saint hood. Therefore, plus points.

You might ask yourself, why don't I choose. After all my trade is not
with newly borns is it. I deal with those who have reached maturity, or
at least have reached as much as they are going to. Like I said, I'm
good at my job. So why don't I only do the bad guys. And I would have
to say, well that would be pretty immoral wouldn't it. Who am I to play
God anyway? I'm no angel myself, you know.

You might be asking yourself instead, if you are smart, why is this
professional killer bothering to pour out all of this self serving
bullshit.

So here is the answer. Five minutes ago this black dude steps into my
apartment. Just appears in the doorway, don't know how he managed it
yet. Well cut two piece suit, European made I'd say, pastel shirt,
matching tie. Elegant.

'I kill people for a living,' he said, and if he'd waited for a
response I'd have taken him but he didn't. So I'm lying here in a pool
of my own blood with two bullets inside of me somewhere, waiting for
the ambulance which is coming. Trying to think of anything to keep my
mind from the intense pain down there.

Now I can see the stain on my Persian rug and all I can think of is
that it will never come out and 'Don't you just hate amateurs.'