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Killing on friendly skies

by Pamela Widmann 2 years ago in fiction
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Layovers just got more interesting

The plane was finally landing in London Heathrow Airport after a two hour delay in San Francisco go figure always that fog. I was exhausted and if one more person rang there call button for another Diet Coke I was about to lose my mind . I had only about an hour to make it to my appointment . On the crew van on the way to the hotel, I took out my black notebook for the name and address and googled to see where I had to be. The rest of the crew were discussing there night antics . I was hoping to make it back for at least one drink . After arriving at the hotel and taking a shower to get off that plane smell, I was getting dressed in all black feeling like a ninja of the night . The hardest part was leaving the hotel and not being spotted by a crew member .

I had to meet Colin for my weapons, a gun and a knife . Could you imagine getting randomly searched at the airport with weapons in my bag? I would never see the light of day again. Not that I should this was my eighth assignment getting paid 20,000 dollars . This doesn’t all go to me, Colin gets paid for my weapons of choice and the disposal of them and my clothing . No, he doesn’t leave me naked, he does bring me new clothing !

On the way to Mr eight’s location I was thinking of his crimes . He murdered his wife, his children are still missing . Being worth millions his decisions left people without jobs and homeless. Many died from his drug that was on the market and he knew what was happening taking short cuts and did nothing about it . That’s right it would of cost him money . How much evil does one man have ? Another wealthy white man acting like white trash! Yes I enjoy helping rid the world of evil people and I just have a deep desire to kill . So this is a win win. So Mr eight it’s your lucky night. Your goddess of the night is on the way to put out one more dark soul.I keep a piece of each number in my little black notebook . What shall it be tonight ? The notebook holds DNA for all the numbers I use numbers because I seriously do not think of them as human . It would be a death sentence for me if I was ever caught though.

Arriving at Mr eight’s home it’s dark and he is home alone . Of course he is, who wants to be around such evil and madness . My warrior is coming out and the thirst for killing is rising in me like a demon. You must become a demon to kill.

I make my way into the house from an open window that Colin left me access to earlier . Creeping through the house like a cat, not making a sound, I found Mr eights room . He is sleeping in his bed snoring like a big fat bear in hibernation. I want him to wake and see me. It’s always better that way for me . Mr eight sits up all the sudden, could it be from me touching him on the face ?

He says, “Who the fuck are you?”.

I answer, “I’m the warrior of the light ready to put out your evil ass !”.

I take out my knife and say get the fuck up . As he does I want to humiliate him so I make he strip and stand naked forcing vulnerability. Colin texts me we are running out of time, his assistant is pulling into his driveway. Well this is no fun! I must end this quick . I just stand behind him and slice his throat and he falls to the ground. I exit the house and slide into the car that’s waiting. I change my cloths and give everything to Colin. He gives me my cut of the money and drops me off three blocks from the hotel . The truth is I would do this for free !

Going into the hotel bar I see my crew and they are having drinks . Nothing like having a cocktail after a kill. Making small talk thinking to myself what they would think of the truth about my night. They might label me the layover serial killer. I have one more drink and excuse myself. I have to go and put Mr eights small piece of hair and skin in my black notebook and relish it for the night .

The next morning getting ready for my flight and listening to, “This Girl is on Fire”, I was thinking yes I am! London for a kill and no one even knows my name how could they? I’m just a flight attendant that serves the diet coke right?

fiction

About the author

Pamela Widmann

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