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Patricia P Sims, click here
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A professional hit man has a change of heart when his victim comes on the scene and decides it may be time to change his career.
HEART OF A KILLER
The chill of the late autumn air slowly invaded the warm interior of the car, forcing Booker McCloud to nervously check the time on his expensive wrist watch. He was impatient for this job to be over.
He had never contracted to kill a woman, but forty thousand dollars would give him the security he needed to get though the long New England winter. It had been six months since his last job and his funds were nearly exhausted. This was the only work he knew and he did not come cheap. Sometimes he had misgivings, but the pay always dispelled any doubts.
His piercing green eyes scanned the street for some sign of his victim as he doubled checked the address, pulling a wrinkled picture from his shirt pocket.
Eyes as blue as the ocean, with a mane of dark, wavy hair starred back at him as he studied the picture. She had the face of an angel and he wondered why her “weasel-of-a-husband” wanted her killed.
“It doesn’t matter!” he said to himself, and his poker-faced expression did not change.
He pulled the bib of his cap down to cover his eyes as continued to study the picture, flexing his fingers to rid them of the stiffness that had settled in, preparing them for the task ahead. He had already decided on strangulation. It would be quiet and neat--no screaming and no blood.
Dusk was falling as well as the temperature inside the car, causing him to check the time again. Starting the engine to run the heater would draw unwanted attention and he could not leave a trail. He folded his arms, placing his hands inside his corduroy jacket hoping to warm them, and waited.
Within ten minutes the white sedan came into view and turned into the driveway of the house. His breathing quickened and his palms became wet with perspiration as his huge body waited for his unsuspecting victim, like a snake waiting silently and still for its prey.
The beautiful lady emerged from the vehicle, and to his surprise, was followed by a small child who was the spitting image of the woman and no more than three years of age.
“Why that sneaky, underhanded bastard!” he muttered to himself. “He never said anything about a child. This changes everything.”
For the first time in twenty years, he began to have serious doubt about his occupation as he observed the woman and her child, listening intently to their conversation.
“Mommy, Mommy, come play ball with me!” cried the little girl as she ran to get the brightly colored ball near the shrubbery.
“Just for a few minutes Lisa, and then we’ll go inside where it’s nice and warm.”
The street light nearby illuminated the lawn giving him a clear view of the scene before him. His poker-faced expression relaxed as he watched the woman and her daughter wildly chasing the ball, caught up in their fun and totally unaware of the threatening danger.
“Lisa, we have to go in now.” Her mother said.
The little girl ran to her mom who rewarded the child with a big hug.
“I love you Mommy. You won’t go away like Daddy did, will you?”
“No darling. I promise I’ll never leave you.”
He watched mother and child as they entered the house and closed the door to the world outside.
His big fingers were trembling violently as he tore the picture into tiny fragments, started the car, and slowly drove away.
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Web Site:
Heart Of A Killer
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Coming from the north, I felt a couple of things were better sent another way. Like the cold [seeping] into the car. It seemed a bit unnatural for a girl to want to play ball on a chilly evening rather than go inside where it's warm and have hot chocolate. Perhaps, if there was the first snow, she might want to make snowballs and have a playful snowball fight with her mother.
Since you were an English teacher, I spotted one minor error. "… his eyes as [he] continued to study…" As an editor, I might have changed a few words and phrases.
Ron