HIRED MURDERER

It had just struck midnight. He was waiting for her outside the bar where she usually did her business. He put his arm around her and led her to her car. Through the tinted windows, the red-haired girl watched them speed through the city at a frantic pace. And the city was enormous. Packed with skyscrapers and enormous office buildings lining the streets. This city was full of contradictions. Simultaneously rich and poor, modern and traditional, bright and full of dark corners. People lived their lives here in a constant rush, only to later disappear unnoticed. Money had to be earned. Poverty loomed around every corner; overnight, you could go from billionaire to beggar in tattered rags. Money—it was around money that the life of this city revolved. They guaranteed prestige and a secure life away from the mafia's dealings, petty thieves, and grand swindlers. One simply had to know how to earn them and then know who to turn to for protection. And the times were turbulent. Although this city never experienced true peace, and its inhabitants were constantly tired and busy, the times in which this story unfolded heralded an imminent war. It was exactly like the calm before the storm. Everyone knew their country was on the brink of collapse. Civil war was meant to end a period of austerity and exploitation, and the constant demonstrations and strikes, in which innocent people so often died, were meant to pave the way for more significant changes.

She was getting out of her car in front of his house when rain poured down. She didn't like him. It was saturated with smoke and lead. She ran onto the porch and waited for him, rubbing her shoulders. The man with eyes as black as night opened the door for her, and when she entered, he locked it behind him. He led her deeper into his apartment. They had known each other for three weeks. He immediately instilled trust in her. He showered her with gifts. He took her to the cinema, the theater, and restaurants. With him, she wanted for nothing. And she reciprocated. Slowly and shyly, then with increasing openness, she confided in him her deepest secrets. She told him about the company she worked for and the people she met. He meticulously recorded every word she said on tape. He gently egged her on, exploring topics that interested him, and once he knew everything, everything became redundant... For him, redundancy meant only one thing: If something was unnecessary, you threw it away. If a person was no longer needed, you eliminated them. At least that was his philosophy, and that was what his job demanded of him. He sat her on the couch and slipped her jacket off her shoulders. Smiling at her, he kissed her on the mouth, and when she kissed him back, he slid his hand between her thighs. She flinched, as if frightened, but throwing her arms around his neck, she pulled him down onto the pillows. Everything happened very quickly now. He nervously pulled her clothes off, then he freed himself from his pants and with a powerful thrust, pushed himself inside her. She squealed softly, arching beneath him like a cat in heat. He watched her moan deliciously and narrow her eyes. For a moment, he savored the fact that he could satisfy her, and then he finished inside her. Leaving her alone on the couch, he went to the shower and waited for her to follow him. When she stood beside him, he grabbed her neck in both hands and, in a powerful embrace, strangled her until she stopped struggling and begging for mercy. Sometimes he would tie her up again, as if for a love game, and on the bed, he would slit her throat, or quite simply shoot her, taking her life with a single bullet. This time, however, he finished his job bloodlessly. Now he could take the tapes to his boss, and he would deliver the woman's body to the old building. There, they would be sold. Most often, it was for organ trafficking, but he knew there were also those who enjoyed toying with a corpse. He didn't think about it. He didn't care. He had his job, it paid well; it would be an unnecessary waste of time to delve into the details. He calmly wrapped the body in a sheet and dragged it to the trunk. Fortunately, his house was surrounded by a high wall, so none of his nosy neighbors could even guess what had happened. Then he got into the car himself and drove the body to the agreed-upon location. There, a fat man met him. His plump face and bald head were adorned with more than one tattoo. He greeted him and headed toward the trunk.For a moment, he studied the girl's livid face with a connoisseur's eye, muttered something under his breath about how he'd supposedly wire the money to his account as usual, and, pulling the body from the car, disappeared through the iron gate. Meanwhile, the man with the black eyes set off down the street toward the city center. His car sped through wide streets dimly lit by streetlights, beneath which prostitutes liked to station themselves, though he wasn't in the habit of using their services. Over time, he came to the conclusion that whatever he truly desired, he could always get it, either thanks to the money he earned from contract killings or thanks to his good looks. Finally, he slowed down at the entrance to the underground parking garage, which consisted of several levels. That was how it was in this city. The lack of space and general overcrowding were felt everywhere. Their organization's headquarters, as he personally preferred to avoid the term "mafia," was located in a glass-walled tenement building. A gray elevator took him to the third floor, where he met with his superior. He found him at his desk. A lamp dimly illuminated the papers he was reviewing. When he saw him in the doorway, he motioned him to a chair.

"So?" he simply asked.

"This is a tape." He placed a small dictaphone on the desk and pulled out a briefcase. "And these are her personal belongings and the papers she had with her.

" "Great. I suppose..." He didn't finish, as the phone rang. "Go ahead." He waved it off casually. "Wait for the new assignment."

He obediently rose from the table and, closing the door behind him, walked down the brightly lit hallway toward the elevator and then toward his car. Returning home, as was his custom, he turned on the television and, as if nothing had happened, watched a game or the news, sipping red wine. When he was truly sleepy, he went to bed.

His life had fallen into monotony. Between one contract killing and the next, days stretched on, filled with loneliness and a lack of respite. The empty house sometimes terrified him more at night than the thought of being caught by the police. He didn't want to think about it. He drowned out thoughts of loneliness with wine or vodka. It even got to the point where he couldn't sleep without having at least one large glass. Who had he become? What had driven him to kill, to injure...? He lost all sense of time, of reality. Locked in his world of licentious sex and bloody murders, he lost himself in it all, and just as you can't stop a speeding train, he couldn't back out. One job followed another. Especially now, when his boss was so desperate to expand his influence in the city. The money had gone to his head. Dealing in arms or drugs was no longer enough for him. He decided to take up trafficking in women, as it had become a lucrative business in recent times. He had heard of many people who had made their fortunes. They usually traveled east, where, under the pretext of doing so, they smuggled innocent women abroad, never to return them to their families. Some became prostitutes, others worked as strippers, and still others joined the harems of those from the south, whose culture didn't forbid such customs. In fact, he wasn't even sure if it was truly possible to forbid anyone anything now! After all, he increasingly observed the powerlessness of the law in the face of organized crime. The police were throwing up their hands helplessly. All the better for him. He didn't hesitate for a moment to take advantage of this. He sighed, rolling onto his back. The wind played with the curtains in the open balcony window. Suddenly, in the moonlight, he saw a woman's figure. The girl's long hair flowed in the wind, framing her naked form. He quickly pulled the gun out at her, sitting on the bed.

"Who are you?" he shouted, unable to see her face. "Come out!"

The girl didn't answer. She seemed to be looking at him. He felt his heart beating anxiously. The moment of silence stretched on endlessly. Finally, he jumped to his feet and ran toward the balcony, but when he pulled aside the curtain, there was no one behind it. Puzzled, he approached the marble railing, scanning the garden, now shrouded in darkness. He saw no one. He took a step back, and at that very moment, a black raven fluttered toward him, striking his face with its wings. Startled, he fell to the ground with a scream...

At that very moment, the unbearable sound of his alarm clock roused him from his sleep. Still unsure of where he was, he rubbed his eyes and glanced toward the balcony. But nothing changed. The opulent walls of his room were still hung with old paintings, and the window sills were lined with various figurines of deities from around the world. He sighed. That strange feeling of unease still lingered in the recesses of his soul. But why? The girl's figure seemed so familiar to him, though he could have sworn he'd never seen her before... He shut off the alarm with a powerful tap and headed for the shower. And the phone rang again. With a towel around his waist, soaking the carpet in hot water, he picked up the receiver.

"Package to be picked up at the Marggott Hotel. Room 303." That was all, and then silence.

He slammed the receiver back down on the cradle and sat down in the deep armchair. He thought about how quickly he had risen from street thief and highwayman to the top of the criminal hierarchy, becoming one of the city's best hitmen. His profile in the mafia world was shrouded in extraordinary secrecy. Thanks to this, he had managed to avoid mafia intrigues. He was virtually independent. He earned so much money that he could afford almost anything he could ever want. He was a loner. A loner by choice and by necessity, for the work of an assassin was neither simple nor safe, destroying not only the body but also the psyche. And he had become accustomed to it. At least, so he thought, for ever since he had begun dreaming of that strange girl, a strange uneasiness had awakened within him. She stood in the light, yet she was surrounded by darkness...

His car sped through the crowded streets again. The gigantic Marggott Hotel loomed between the low, dilapidated apartment buildings. He knew it well. He often came here to pick up packages. It was safer this way. Not only for him, but also for his informant. He climbed the winding staircase lined with a soft red carpet, clutching his room key. On the double bed lay a small package and a large bottle of the city's finest wine. He sat back in the armchair, tearing open the gray paper. Inside, he found a map, photos, personal information, and money. He studied the map for a moment, then began leafing through photos of a beautiful brunette with long hair. She was slim, dressed in black, and had exceptionally large, piercing eyes. At first, the news that she belonged to a rival organization didn't surprise him, but then he thought that such a delicate creature should be locked in a cage full of velvet pillows rather than let loose on the streets of this predatory city full of blasphemers and liars...

She was running with her dog. He reminded him of a wolf. He was large and shaggy, which made her look even more vulnerable next to him. It was evening. The park was deserted. Probably few people were around anymore. He often wondered why he hadn't killed her immediately. He could have killed her without even getting close. There were so many opportunities to do so. Meanwhile, he watched her. He tracked her movements. He noted where she shopped, where she went for walks. He had once decided that killing itself held little appeal unless you knew the person. Killing anonymous people had simply become boring to him. He now found all his joy in getting to know his victims, seducing them, gaining their trust, and then, at a moment known only to him, breaking off the game... Today, for the first time, he decided to approach her. He knew that in the center of the park stood a gigantic, dome-shaped stone monument, under which she always sat to rest. His black trench coat rustled as he emerged from the trees and approached her from behind. Both the girl and the dog seemed to ignore him.

"How long have you been following me?" he suddenly heard her pleasant, soft voice.

He stopped halfway toward her. The dog slowly turned toward him and obscured the girl, leaving him only seeing the top of her head.

"Long enough," he replied, even more excited by the situation.

"Who sent you?

" "Why do you want to know?"

"I'd like to know who finds me so inconvenient that they'd send a hitman after me." Her voice was calm. She didn't spare him a single glance.

"There aren't many people these days who wouldn't bother someone. Today it's you, tomorrow maybe me.

" "I know why you came to me... I know your game...

" "Really?" She surprised him, and he thought he had the upper hand.

"I also know you won't do it now, that we'll meet again." She stood and slowly began to descend the stone steps.

He didn't stop her. He let her go.

The moon shone brightly, illuminating the dark branches of the trees. He couldn't sleep. He thought about the girl in the park and what she'd said. She must have known he was watching her. But how did she know? Again, that strange feeling of unease, one he couldn't afford in his profession. And why exactly had he let her go then? He could have killed her. No one would have cared much. Murders were committed almost daily in this city. Not a day went by without the newspapers screaming about another murder and a Mafia bust. The rustling of curtains ripped him from his thoughts. Instinctively, he glanced toward the balcony. He slowly rose on the bed, raising the gun. The girl standing in the silvery light seemed to be smiling broadly at him. A wave of heat washed over him.

"Who are you?" he shouted, never taking his eyes off her.

He slowly approached her. He thought she would disappear again and he wouldn't even have time to see her face, but suddenly she emerged from behind the curtains. She was completely naked. Her beautiful body was framed only by her long, auburn hair. Try as he might, he couldn't see her face, which was hidden in shadow. With a decisive movement, he aimed the gun at her chest again.

"Tell me who you are..." he murmured, less decisively.

The girl didn't answer. She only approached him, her hand outstretched. He felt as if he couldn't move. Some strange force paralyzed him. He just stood there, staring at her. The girl decisively grabbed his hand, which held the gun, and aimed it at his chest. He gasped, not understanding how she had managed to do so. The sound of the gunshot deafened him. He slumped to the ground, a red pool of blood engulfing him...

He jumped up in bed. It was a dream again. Just a stupid dream! He ran his hand through his black hair and lit a cigarette. He stared blankly at the balcony window. No one was standing there. No girl! He exhaled a cloud of smoke. He had to end this. She had a strange effect on him. He was getting too involved in this whole affair. He stood up, dressed, and walked out into the empty city streets. It was already late. It was past 3:00. He stared blankly at the sidewalk. Old newspaper pages rustled in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, stray dogs barked. He lost track of time. He didn't know how long he'd been walking aimlessly... He simply walked forward. Suddenly, someone blocked his path. In a split second, he pulled a gun from under his jacket and aimed it at the auburn-haired girl. She looked at him calmly with piercing eyes. He stood before her, surprised.

"Could you?" An ironic smile appeared on her face. "Such nighttime walks are very imprudent..."

He pulled the gun away from her forehead.

"You're alone too!" he growled.

"Not at all." A long whistle pierced the air, and suddenly a wolfhound ran toward them from around the nearest corner. "I have my protector."

"Indeed." He didn't meet her eyes.

"Shall we take a walk?" she asked suddenly.

"Why?

" "There aren't many nights this quiet in this city." She walked forward, not looking after him.

He stood on the empty sidewalk for a moment, then without hesitation, he followed her. They walked in silence for a long time. Finally, they began to talk. About trivial and completely ordinary things. They talked about their favorite movies, books, music, about wines that were better imported from France than Italy, and about cars that were still best made in Japan. In some strange way, this empty conversation brought them joy. The man hadn't spoken to anyone the way he was speaking to her in months, maybe even years. The very woman he was supposed to kill... He didn't want to think about it yet. He wanted to savor the moment. Suddenly, they found themselves in front of her house. Small. Inconspicuous, overgrown with vines. She looked at him, and there was amusement in her eyes.

"Thanks for the pleasant conversation.

" "I haven't spoken to anyone like that in a long time," he smiled disarmingly.

"Me neither." He could see she didn't want to arouse pity in him. Far from it.

He turned his back on her and left without a word. With each passing moment, she seemed closer to him, and yet he couldn't let that happen. He had lived alone for so long. He'd learned to be alone! He didn't need anyone or anything! It had always been that way, it was that way now, and it would remain that way...

The ringing of the telephone roused him from his sleep. The clock read 1:00 PM. He'd barely put the receiver to his ear before he heard a familiar voice. The line was clear. His boss knew perfectly well they could talk freely.

"What's taking so long?" he snapped.

"What?" he muttered sleepily, sitting up in bed.

"That girl, she was supposed to be dead by now! Why are you toying with her like this? It doesn't usually take you this long!

" "Give me some more time.

" "Why? You've been given a task, and you have to complete it!

" "Not yet.

" "Do you know why you're the best? Because you've never involved your feelings or personal interests in your work!

" "I know, I know... it's only a matter of time...

" "We don't have time! You know they're effectively blocking my shipments to the East!"

"It won't be long now.

" "I don't like it. You're the best of my men. I won't let that bitch..."

The man hung up. He didn't want to hear any more. He lay still in bed, staring at the canopy above his head. Maybe his boss was right? Maybe he was truly committed? No! It was impossible! He had lived too long without love, friendship, care, and compassion! He had forgotten those feelings. To him, they were empty words. Why would anything change now? It only seemed that way to the boss. His hunter instincts had simply kicked in. He had a habit of toying with his prey, and it was the same now.

The bar where he was sitting was almost empty. He sat behind a wooden table, hidden in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Bad music filtered from the speakers, and he sipped a beer while leafing through yesterday's newspaper. He didn't really want to be here, nor did he even want that beer, but something was compelling him to return to the bar he used to frequent every day. Suddenly, someone sat down next to him with two large mugs of beer. He looked at the auburn-haired girl in surprise.

"Why did you come?" He took the mug from her and took a long sip.

"I know I'm going to die soon. If it's still up to me, I want to spend these days with you.

" "Do you want to fuck me?" he glared at her furiously.

She shook her head, staring into the mug of beer.

"We're just the same..."

His breath caught. He stared at her, stunned, as if not understanding what she was saying. They were the same... The same... They both couldn't sleep at night... They both never cried over the bodies of their victims, burying their despair deeper and deeper in the recesses of their souls... Both utterly alone... thrown by fate into the hopelessness of this life where death mattered more than life. Respect was bestowed on those with money... They seemed to fit their roles so well... They did their jobs heartlessly, thoughtlessly... and yet... there was still a small particle of goodness within them... He unconsciously grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. She looked at him with eyes glistening with tears. But were they really tears? It had been so long since he'd seen anyone cry...

He drove to her house with a strange calm. He felt so good. Suddenly, his worries vanished. Everything had seemed simple since he'd met her. And he wanted to know her even better, to draw out all the emotions, good and bad, to savor her smile and tears, to feel the warmth of her skin, the scent of her hair...! He had finally found someone worth living for. He parked in front of her house. He didn't even knock on the door. He opened it and froze in fear. For the first time in a long time, fear paralyzed him, and every thought settled in his mind. The girl's wolfhound lay in a pool of blood on the floor, baring its fangs at the wall. Its cloudy eyes were rolled back in misery. Something compelled him to run up the stairs to her bedroom. He found her tied by her hands to the wall. A man dressed in a black trench coat stood beside her. He searched for the armbands on his arm, which clearly confirmed they belonged to the same organization. He looked at him with uncomprehending eyes. The girl tied to the wall was crying. Only tears streamed down her cheeks. Only when he scanned the room did he see his boss in the armchair.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he groaned, not recognizing his own voice. "Let her go!

" "We're just finishing your job," the man in the armchair muttered.

"That's my assignment!

" "We'll just help you a little..." he replied dryly.

"Since when have you been helping me? What kind of nonsense is this?" He stood helplessly in the middle of the room, looking from the girl to his boss.

"I told you I don't like losing my men in such a senseless way." I've decided to end your suffering and dilemmas...

He couldn't answer. He stared at him, feeling anger and despair swirling within him.

"I have to end this for you. Someday you'll understand..."

The man in the black trench coat placed a cold pistol against the girl's chest. She closed her eyes for a moment, tears streaming from beneath them.

"No..." he moaned desperately, "No..."

He ran toward them to stop him, and at the same moment he heard the sound of a gunshot. The girl's face contorted in pain. Purple blood ran in a thin stream down her white nightgown. The man ran to her and with a powerful yank, ripped the ropes that bound her to the wall. She slid limply to the ground with him. The man knelt beside her, his arms tightening around her.

- Please don't... Please don't...! - he moaned helplessly.

The girl looked into his frightened eyes. Suddenly, he seemed like a small, frightened child. Breathing became increasingly difficult. The pain grew stronger. The darkness from the depths of her soul radiated from her eyes. She didn't want to leave so badly. For the first time, she wanted to be nowhere else. Only with him. Only in his arms. But it was too late. With each passing moment, her heart beat slower and slower in her chest. She didn't want to leave...! With the last of her strength, she reached out to his face. He grabbed it and pulled it to his cheek.

"Forgive me..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "I didn't want to...