Norm

Norm Williams was a very normal man, with a very important job.

His house had been a small bungalow beside a two story red brick house. The brown shingles had whispered in the night breeze and his chimney always had a stream of smoke escaping from it. His door was an average brown and his doorbell was the kind that they sold at any electronic stores in the small, silent town. The outside was well kept and Norm could be often seen from any curtained windows mowing his lawn. The grass was slightly dry during the day time, but would become hydrated at night with the automatic sprinklers.

All of the town’s citizens were a stark contrast to his medium brown skin and black and white trousers and dress shirt. His patent leather shoes squeaked whenever he walked towards his small kitchen. The walls were a deep brown and as he passed his living room, two brown suede sofas could be assumed as unused. He had no pets, as the other kids on the block had imagined, but he did watch the news.

“Another businessman is accused of laundering money from their clients this week—” says the news anchor “—second one this month, looks like we’re on a roll.” The voices become muffled as he finally reaches the kitchen.

Norm was not your average forty-something man. His day was a shadow for his night. The first taste of vengeance that he savored was when he was thirteen. His little brother, ten at the time, had been murdered by some thugs that lived around the corner from their run-down apartment building of four levels in the big city of New York. He had watched them get off free after the court had found no evidence in the case. The first time he had grabbed a knife for the pure pleasure of it was when he had thrown one in anger at an apple that he had placed on his kitchen counter when no one was home. He soon found that he was a natural. He excelled in sports, he was the top of his class, even at thirteen, and he was a very introverted kid. The feel of their heartbeats stopping in his grasp was a rush unlike any other and he soon became obsessed with correcting the wrongs of others around him.

It had happened a month ago that he had received the proposal that would change his life forever.

His name was Paul Noir, the head businessman of his community. The father of two sons and the husband of a beautiful brunette; he lived the ideal life. His job was creating a sensation in the business world and his connections were well known. The proposal asked for a quick hit; no questions asked. He had run a black business with the wrong entrepreneurs.

He drove a sleek black 2009 Nissan and his voice was like charcoal on a white canvas, his dark ideals flowed over the purest of minds. The listener was often left with smudges on their fingers from his guilty pleasures. His dark grey suit fit him comfortably and his graying hair was combed to the side. This was all the report had stated, alongside was an address.

Wearing his best brown suit, Norm had gone to the address; he was a fellow businessman after all. The house had stood tall with three different floors. The door was a delicate blue and the doorbell was elaborately decorated in silver. The front housed red roses, bleeding hearts, and sunflowers; the bricks, upon closer inspection, proved to be a burned mahogany.

A smiling Norm was welcomed inside easily and the two young boys of the Hit were watching a loud movie in an unseen room. The mother and wife, an elegant young brunette, offered tea and cookies and asked about how Norm knew her husband.

“We have mutual friends,” Norm said, “your husband is very important to many important people.”

She blushed and offered more tea. No, Norm said, he had a busy day ahead of him. A swift glance to a side room near the kitchen revealed the two heads of enthusiastic boys as they watched some unknown cartoons. All of his previous hits had had families like this one.

The spacious house was black in the middle of the silent night when Norm visited unannounced. The television was quiet and no cups of black coffee sent their aroma towards Norm’s straight nose. The floor was a cool marble and snoring could be heard from the rooms upstairs. The Hit disturbed even the peace of the night. He found the difference between this Hit and others in a room by the family room: the Hit’s office. Rare paintings littered the walls and the papers of fraudulent causes were splayed out on the busy desk. The light brown, expensive wood was barely visible underneath the piles of lies.

To the right of the window that overlooked a dark pool sat a trophy case of ancient books. No dust showed their age, but a mess of different languages caught Norm’s eye. Picking up a rather fat volume a click, so softly only a man like Norm could ever hear it, signaled the unlocking of a secret safe. Norm made no sound as he examined the contents.

The sun rose while Norm casually set his location for the Hit. He adjusted his Scope Rings on his AR 15 Rifle and caught the perfect location of his grey haired Hit. He attached a silencer to the front of the Rifle: silence is always the bringer of fate breakers. Norm still remembers the mud under his elbows as he laid down in wait on the morning hill several miles away from the Hit’s house. Norm could see the smile that had enchanted his brother so much, even as a child and his wife, still as lovely in her morning robe, wished him a good day. The moment was here for Norm to make the several hundred thousand dollars that he charged regularly. With a lonely thought for his brother, Norm touched his finger to the cold, steel trigger and pulled.

The bullet flew through Paul Noir’s aged brain and straight through the reflecting glass of his living room. It missed a curious child watching Discovery Kids and shot through the open doors of the abandoned office. It broke through the thinnest ancient text on the trophy case and finally paused on the picture of two smiling, dead boys hidden in the depths of a darkly hidden secret.

 

 

The End

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