The Contract Kill (Story)

[Describe]

I'm sure we had a story section on Habboxforum once, I'd never noticed it's disappearance until I actually had to post something in it. Anyway, I'd written this little 'short story' a month back and I've only come across it again to share with you all. My inspiration comes from reading such books like The Godfather, Hitman (Wesley Clarkson) and other books of an action genre. I've always been a keen writer so I thought I'd share this with you to gather views.

Please note: this story contains swearing, mild sexual references & violence so please don't click the spoiler until you're sure you can handle the content.

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I wasn’t focused. I couldn’t pin point a certain thing, I was so dizzy; a little nauseous but inside I felt great, brilliantly ecstatic. Hell, I felt good. You might even say I felt somewhat horny. I was tingling from head to toe; even my **** was experiencing the buzz.

What the normal person had to realise is that squeezing the trigger wasn’t really the exciting part, not by a long shot. The biggest rush was when you stepped calmly into what I liked to call the extraction zone; the place where you extract a guy’s brain from his head in a single shot. Oh, the anticipation. There was something really special about being the only person who knew that some wanted ******* was about to meet his maker.

Inside I knew I was playing God Almighty, hell; I was even playing the judge, the jury and I was taking the part of the electric chair. I was the grim reaper. The intensity of the situation was turning me on, I felt like I was ten feet in the air, there really wasn’t a rush like it.

Don’t think I didn’t try to control it, oh no. I did. Yeah, it’s a difficult feeling to control but what else are you going to do? These chinos cost one hundred and twenty dollars and they wouldn’t look good smeared with the juice of life. Besides from that I had to be sharp, I had to clear my senses and keep my vision tip-top. Distractions couldn’t benefit me right now, no, not now.

I was advancing slowly like a normal commuter but I wasn’t normal, I was far from it. I was heaven and hell all rolled up into one, I was the epitome of dangerous. All I was missing was a large scythe and cape but that’d make me look silly, I couldn’t afford to look silly.

The adrenaline rushed through my veins. I had a rumbling in my stomach, the same rumble you get when you’re about to dump off a truckload. I was focused, so focused. Every sight, smell and sound I picked up, I couldn’t slip up, this was important.

Not even a greying mass of bird **** on the side of the pavement was left undetected; I was picking up sounds of muttering and whispering all around me, sound that your average citizen wouldn’t hear. Thoughts sped off throughout my mind, I was thinking of defeat and despair but this would only get me down, I closed my eyes and relaxed my mind. I thought of nothing but the job at hand.

I began to shake and an isolated bead of sweat dripped from my forehead into my cup of tea, it wasn’t a nervous reaction and it felt more like I’d snorted a line of Angie but that wouldn’t do, that’s how I could lose all focus in an instant, no, that **** was for partying and special occasions.

At the time of all this I was on hit number eight. Public executions had been a thorn in the side of the FBI for a larger number of years. New York was the big apple, ripe to the core for organized crime.

The incident occurred in a bustling, noisy transport market in Queens, New York.
This place was a last resort for my guy; he knew he’d been put on the hit-list and he wouldn’t stay out of the public eye, he even resorted to petty crime so he’d be jailed over-night. Everybody who is anybody knows that a jail cell was a safe-haven but it took a real ***** to resort to that. He had no choice though, I couldn’t blame him.

The problem was growing. The pressure was being piled on for me to ‘off’ this guy, a guy who had crossed a powerful force in Staten Island. This powerhouse was a big-shot who sent more goons to look for me so that he can introduce himself plainly as Charlie Chin; he knew I was the best at what I did at the time and if I’d had rejected his more than generous offer I would’ve been dropped off at Harbour Pointe like a soggy bag of ****. You don’t say no to these boys and if you do you better wear a suit of ******* armour; nothing would stop them coming at you. One word describes these guys; relentless.

Back to the situation at the hand, as I was saying; this little ***** was becoming a growing issue. He was playing the role of PacMan and he had me chasing him up, down and all around! He had to be dealt with, today was the day. I’d steadied myself.

I’d closed in on the outdoor market and spotted my guy smoking a fat cigarette and drinking tea with a few other boys. He’d resorted to staying here and in a caravan no less. I walked calmly to a port-a-loo just yards from the group, I wasn’t concerned about the unusual bulge under my shirt but more so about the bulge in my pants.

He was only feet away and not facing my direction neither. The other two didn’t look fearsome, just two city boys. This plan would fall together nicely; I zipped up my fly and proceeded back across to the table where the target was situated.

The buzz was growing with every step taken and it got better when I inserted my hand carefully into my shirt, touching the cold steel of the snub nose. 38.

He didn’t see it coming.

I swaggered up behind him and popped him twice directly in the back of the head. His brains flew into the air and landed on his two accompanying guests, blood and gore mixing with cheap cologne and even cheaper suits.

It was common too see everyone dive for cover after the loud gunshots chorused through the marketplace. I raised my shooter again. “BANG, BANG!” I’d popped off two more shots. The bullets found a home in the gentlemen opposite the target. I stopped for a second; the smell of cordite was a refreshing essence for a guy like me.

I’d drop the gun and run to a car that’d made its’ way up the road. It was an easy escape and prints weren’t a case for concern. Inside, I’d pull of latex gloves and take a large briefcase that was handed to me from a guy sat in the backseat. Twenty thousand dollars, I did enjoy the money.

“There is no doubt the Chin will require your services again,” it was music to my ears. I stepped out of the car, briefcase in hand. The four door Sedan sped off until it was nothing but a silhouette in the dusk setting. I began walking, it was only a short walk to my cabin in the forest and I had twenty thousand pounds to **** about with, not only that; I’d caught the eye of Charlie Chin. Not bad for a days work.