The wife was in the bath, candles and a glass of wine, earbuds in, didn’t hear a thing. The two teenagers were out of the house: daughter at volleyball practice, son smoking weed with some underclassmen. The General was in his study, reading something, briefing papers, probably. I don’t really care. I shot him before he could look up, one round to the hairline.
That should have been it. But he looked up, surprised, then annoyed, and then kind of a perverse amusement, and the gaping wound in his head sucked itself closed, and he goes, “Who sent you? I’ll tell you who: someone with a sense of humor.”
You know what? I told him exactly who they were, and where he could find them. And I offered to take the contract for half my usual price. Because fuck you, don’t withhold important intel like, ‘your target is a demon’.
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