“Call that, if you have the money. Call that, if you have the courage. Call that, if you hate a man or a woman so much, you wish they could disappear. You call that number- and they will.”
The woman stared down at the small piece of paper in her hands. Both hands held it, fingers gripping the sides gently. It was eight and a half inches long. Perfectly cut from an 8.5”x11” paper. The numbers were written on neatly, with no flair or sloppiness. The young lady’s foot gently tapped against the bus with the beat to her music. But all of her thought was on the seven digits on the paper in her hands. She wanted to fold it, but for some reason she was scared to crease the perfect paper.
“He’ll get the job done. He always does. You call, he answers, you say who, he tells you the amount, you agree- and it vanishes from your account, and thusly the target vanishes from the planet. He’ll kill anyone, and anything. He’s unstoppable.”
She felt an urge of energy rush through her body, and she held in a visible shake. She bit her bottom lip, holding a grin. It was however hidden behind her blond bangs. She then folded the paper in half, perfectly, and slipped it into her inner-pocket in her jean jacket. The young woman dressed urban, styled urban, and when in public spoke urban. But deep inside she was an upper class woman, daughter to a rich man who played the stocks, and when she wasn’t taking the bus to a rock concert she was driving her Porsche Boxster.
“That’s the only reason why I am giving this to you. I know if you really need it done, you can afford it. He’s not cheap- he’s expensive. We’re taking two hundred thousand dollars a head, not including anyone that gets in the way. This isn’t some street punk who’ll cap a guy for a crack rock. This man gets it done, and I guarantee you the only place you’ll see his targets name is the obituaries the next day.”
She released her lower lip from her teeth, and licked her lips to wet them. Her hand went up, gripping and tugging the yellow cord that stopped the bus a few moments later. She stepped off and onto the streets of the downtown metropolis. She was instantly absorbed into the swarm of people. As she went through the conversation, she felt a pang of fear.
“There is no do-over. No last minute plans. No additions or subtractions to the pay. You can’t call him off, and you can’t add him on at the last second. Once you phone that number, you can’t get nervous and hang up. He will call back, and he will ask which life you want to be taken away. You either hit each number with confidence, or you don’t hit them at all.”
For such a small piece of paper, it carried a lot of weight.
