Death DealersMature

Ryan Balmer, an assassin, has been discreetly hired to kill the leader of the group "New Somalia". The leaders name is Gregory Fishner.

My foot snagged a tree planted in a pot, pulling it closer and closer. My hand raised a glass of beer, the liquid swirling in my mouth. My foot tapped in-patiently. A female waiter stared at me curiously. A patron distracted her with a yell for more booze. The tree came within four feet. I leaned over and spat the beer into the tree, repeating the process with four more beer glasses. Done, I waited until my eyes tracked a white, blond haired man with black robes and sunglasses. He sat down across the table and raised an eyebrow at my breath and the empty glasses. He stated in a deep voice "So, Ghost, here is the deal. You'll be paid the sum of any currency in comparison to the US dollar. Two hundred thousand now and the other six hundred thousand once the job is done. You'll come back to this bar with a picture of his corpse and we'll give you the rest of the money."

I laughed and leaned forwards, stating in an Australian accent "So a nameless man that looks like death is telling me to come back here were I can easily be killed once the jobs done? Hell no, you're wiring the rest to this account." I passed a piece of paper across the table, numbers scrolled on the top. 

The man leaned forwards, trying to figure out if I'm drunk and mumbled "These terms a-"

"Not a negotiation? Fine, go find someone else that's equally qualified jackass." 

The man sighed and replied "Fine, here's where you can e-mail us the picture." The man wrote on a napkin and slid an e-mail address across the table. He reached down underneath the table and retrieved a suitcase.

The man stated "Take the suitcase. When you get to your hotel, open it."

I snatched the suitcase and napkin of the table and left, leaving the man to pay my tab. 

The island turned to night when I arrived in my hotel. I walked into an elevator, hearing elevator music blasting. A sudden urge came to shoot the speaker. The doors opened and I ran out, opening the door to my room. I shut the door, opened the suitcase on my bed and looked at a file inside. It said "Find and kill Gregory Fishner, deadline in two weeks. Location Mogadishu, Somalia". Below the lettering showed a picture of a white man with a scar across his forehead. I smiled this sorry bastard doesn't stand a chance.

A series of soft knocks hit my door. I walked to my door and opened it, seeing a blond female, a tape recorder bulging from her left jeans pocket. Great, a reporter. She began in an American accent "Hey, I-"

"Not interested" I slammed the door.

She knocked harder on the door and yelled "Is it true that you kill people for a living?"

I opened the door back up and seethed "Listen sunshine, I don't kill people!"

She took a step forwards and asked "Then why did you open the door again?"

A smile crossed my face "Good point." I slammed the door inches from her face, ignoring her knocking as I looked back at the suitcase. I picked up the file, seeing nothing else inside the suitcase. Sighing, I sat on my bed, tempted to turn on the old tv. Deciding that the buzzing would drive me insane, I stood up and walked into the shower, the noise drowning out her knocking.

The End

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