The Job

The day began with water. Dripping from the ceiling, it repetitively dropped onto my face as I groggily blinked my eyes. "Eunghh" I grunted as I stumbled up from the bed, pushing the rough cover off of me. What time was it? 6:00 PM. Another humid summer day was coming to an end, and I had slept through most of it. Admittedly, I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep the night before. The kind of business I'm in, you have late hours. Very late.  A fan spun lazily on the ceiling, slowly but surely wafting air currents around the small, somewhat decrepit room. Just my luck, the room I'd needed to rent happened to be the cheapest- and the most run down. But Maplewood Crest wasn't all that bad. One of the benefits, was the excellent view of Room #917 in the now abandoned Little Soldier's Inn across the alleyway. I had gone over to plant the bugs a month before. Unfortunately for them, they'd formed a habit. And forming habits is a most dangerous thing, especially for men such as them. I plodded over to the fridge, the floor changing from brown carpet to tile in the kitchen. The cool feeling of the tile was welcome against the bare skin of my feet. As I pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a swig, causing soothing water to run down my parched throat. I mused about last night's job. Simply listening to to them talk was easy enough, but it was only the first half of the job. Now, to do something about that dripping. I pulled on some jeans and a shirt before I left my room, and quickly assessed myself in the mirror. I locked eyes with my reflection, staring deep into the hazel orbs. The hallway was dimly lit, and the stairwell even more so, the slightly amber light illuminating the bare minimum necessary for vision. I ran a hand through my close cropped, dark brown hair as I arrived near the top of the stairs. I slowly approached the door, almost hesistant. Room #1146 of the 14th floor was the room directly above mine, #1136, and was almost certainly the source of the water. I lightly rapped on the door. When there was no answer, I eased it open, it being unlocked. I scanned the room to see a deflated water bed surrounded by a growing puddle. Exasperated, I sighed, and returned to my room.


After placing a bucket on the bed to catch the growing amounts of water coming through the ceiling, I sat to read on the couch. The book was on Taoism, one of the many philosophy books on my personal reading list. I tried not to think about the men in #917. You don't think of your marks as people. You don't use their names. Nor do you do anything to personify them. It makes it harder to kill them. A bad conscience is the last thing you want to be dealing with. Daylight was beginning to fade outside the window, sunset approaching. As I sat musing in my thoughts, the power blinked out. Worst of all, the fan stopped moving. I cracked open a window. "The power decides to quit in this goddamn heat?" I thought. In an especially bad mood, I reached for my box of cigarettes in the drawer. I had been trying to quit, but I needed something to relax. Out of force of habit, I searched for a lighter. But then I stopped. I felt just the slightest... tugging sensation. And leaned back into the couch, taking a drag from the single lit cigarette.