Crazy

I usually set my black radio alarm clock to wake me up just before seven, then its rushing; taking a shower, brushing and blow drying my hair, putting on moisturizer, foundation, pale pink blusher, eye shadow and eyeliner, then I curl my lashes, put on black mascara, go downstairs and have a cup of coffee and a bite of something, usually toast and marmite, then I run back upstairs, brush and floss my teeth, put on some lotion and some pink lipgloss, spray myself with deodorant and squish on some perfume, I adore Dior, then I get dressed, smart casual, navy blue or black, never anything too fancy, then I load my gun and I’m ready for work.

No two days are really the same when you work as a contract killer for a big outfit. I usually send a text to Zaina who works in the office and she’ll send me back a list of hits for the day but they could be anything from an adulterous spouse to an old woman in a nursing home.

One time, I remember, I was even hired to shoot someones dog, a golden retriever, because it kept defecating on its neighbours lawn.

I do have some reservations though. I suppose every hit man or woman does. I won’t do anyone
under the age of 18 or pregnant women but, apart from that, pretty much anyone goes.

Oh, except that I also refuse point blank to work for crazy people and I’ll tell you why, because, one time, I had a client who was totally insane, an old man who thought his TV was talking to him.

“You want me to shoot your TV?”, I asked him, “Haven’t you ever thought of just pulling out the plug?”.

“No, no”, he told me looking anxious and deadly serious, “That wouldn’t do any good. It’s not the TV itself, you see. It’s Kelly Cook, the breakfast TV weathergirl. She looks out at me, through the TV screen and she always seems to know exactly what I’m thinking or what I’m doing. Like, the other day, I was just sitting down infront of the TV having my breakfast and thinking, ‘Oh god, I hope it doesn’t rain again like yesterday” and, you know what she said? She said, “If you’re worrying about the rain today then don’t because there’s going to be clear skies and plenty of sunshine all day”, now how did she know that was what I was thinking?”.

It was difficult to keep a straight face as I listened to this fruitcake but, in those days, my philosophy was always ‘a client is a client. As long as the money is real and plentiful enough then I’m happy to kill anyone, even the imaginary creature hiding under their bed”.

And, fortunately, Kelly Cook wasn’t a hard person to find because, apart from her TV work, she also did a lot of openings; turning on Christmas tree lights and that sort of thing. I only had to put her name into an internet search engine to find out that she was due to open a new supermarket in
a little village, I forget the name, near Brighton.

I had to wear a disguise, I remember, which I’m never keen on, just because I’m so awful at disguises and they make me feel self-conscious but it was necessary that day because I would have to kill Kelly Cook in a crowded public carpark. I just put my hair up and wore an old black wig, one I’d got out of the bargain bin of a fancy dress shop, over it.

I used the old “Can I please have your autograph” trick and, I remember, she didn’t even look up
but just took the autograph book out of my hand instinctively and then I fired a pellet of abrin
through her knitted sweater. It’s like Ricin only even more lethal and she complained of a sharp stinging pain in her side.

I snatched back my autograph book quickly then and, as I was walking away, out of the carpark, I heard a commotion behind me as Cook collapsed next to her Mercedes and shoppers round about gathered to help her.

“I don’t think she’ll be reading your mind anymore”, I told the Client face to face, the next day, “Unless it’s from beyond the grave”.

That’s when things started getting out of hand.

“You think I believe a single word from your lying mouth?!”, he snapped, his eyes becoming furious as he took what looked to me like a starter pistol from his jacket pocket and held it inches from my face, “I know you work for them. I saw your name yesterday, spelled out, blood red, in a plate of Alphabetti Spaghetti. I know that it’s me you were sent to kill”.

“Why should I kill you?”, I said, looking him straight in those insanely flashing eyes, “You’re just a robot or didn’t you know?”.

This had him puzzled for a moment , just long enough for me to seize hold of his gun and punch him hard in the Adam’s apple and then he collapsed, choking, on his living room carpet and I just walked out in disgust.

So, yeah, I never work for crazy people although, I suppose, some people might say I was a little crazy; a psychopath but, like the office mug says, ‘You don’t have to be crazy to do this job… but it helps’.