The Killer

I continued to walk down the street, ignoring the drizzle. I looked at the cheerful couple walking by, digging their hands in their winter coats, matching steps as they walked away. Smirking at the sickening romance, I turned to see children floating their paper boats in the puddles left after last night’s rainfall, their faces glowing in glee. I smiled, their joy touching my soul; the smile transformed into a broad grin as I felt the thick bundle of currency notes in my pocket. That gave me happiness, money, the one thing destined to fetch a lifetime of happiness.
Once home, I tucked myself in for an afternoon appointment with beauty sleep. I rolled out of bed at the sound of the alarm and walked to the cupboard to remove my favourite dress, the black velvet bustier I had bought with my first pay. A smile tugged the corner of my lips as I ran my fingers over the soft material. Slicking a bright red shade across over my lips and smudging my eyes with kohl, I decked up to please a man. I called them before leaving and took down the address of the man as I walked out of the room.
My eyes searched for room number 301 as I walked through the corridor, the click of my heels the only sound. Spotting the room, I walked up and rang the bell, running fingers through my silky hair. As expected, a man in his mid-thirties opened the door, a phone held to his ears.
“Holly Goddess!” He exclaimed, his eyes almost popping out as he ran his eyes over my perfect figure. “I never knew you could be so good! Thanks mate! You made my night!” he continued on the phone as we stood at the door, checking each other out. 
I raised my eyebrows, inviting him to ask me inside the room. Continuing with his call, he grabbed my hand and led me into the room. I passed him a lascivious smile as I sat on the couch. He sat near me. 
“You are gorgeous.” 
 “You think?” I smirked. 
“Absolutely!” he said, leaning towards me. 
He put his hand on my bare knee, caressing the smooth skin as I ran my hands over his shirt, stopping to fiddle with the top button on his shirt. 
“Let’s get started,” I murmured, sliding closer as he leaned towards my lips.
The incessant ringing of his mobile phone cut through the sensual mood. 
“I’m sorry. I really need to take this call. It will be just a minute,” he said, reluctantly disengaging himself from the embrace. He walked into the second room of the suite with his phone, closing the door behind him. 
Irked with the interruption, I sulked, twiddling my thumbs. Lost in my thoughts, I was startled out of my reverie when the gold ring on my finger rolled out — I had been fiddling with it without realising. The ring rolled away, under the bed. Casting a quick look at the closed door, I went down on my knees to retrieve the ring. A quick peek under the bed and I saw my ring glinting, lying next to a blue duffle bag. 
Curious, I grabbed my ring and dragged the bag out. Why did he need such a big bag for a few hours in the hotel room, I wondered. 
The door was still shut. I opened the bag and was stunned to see bundles of notes stashed in it, and a bulky package wrapped in a handkerchief. With trembling hands, I flipped open the package; something heavy fell on the carpet with a soft thud. 
It was a gun!

“Hey, what are you doing down there?” I jumped around in fright, shocked to see he had walked in without me being aware. 
“How did you get that gun?” he asked, stepping forward. 
I gripped the gun, pointing it towards him. 
“Don’t move or I will shoot you.” 
He stopped, holding up his hands in surrender.
“How did you get this gun?” 
“Why did you open the bag?” he shot back, instead of answering my question.
“First you tell me! Why do you have a gun?”
“I know why.”
“You hire prostitutes, spend the night with them and then shoot them to erase your deeds! You are evil!” I screamed at him, breathing hard.
“You’ve got me wrong!” he insisted.
“How do I believe you?”
“You can ask my colleagues, my friends. They know me. I would never keep a gun under normal circumstances either.”
“I don’t believe you. This was for me right? You are a serial killer,” I shouted, struggling to catch up with the situation. 
“I am not a serial killer,” he screamed out. “This gun is not for you! It’s to kill my wife!”
I was stunned into silence. 
“I suggest you forget this ever happened and leave. I will send your payment tomorrow,” he sighed in despair.
“How do you expect me to forget this and walk away?” I asked. 
“What the hell is wrong with you! You threaten me, refuse to believe me and now you don’t want to leave?” he said, running his hands through his hair in frustration. 
“Let’s make a deal.”
“What? Are you going to blackmail me now?” 
“I will kill your wife for you. In return you will have to give me half of the money in that bag. Deal?” 
“You want to kill my wife?” he asked, amazed. 
“I will kill your wife. But for a price!”
“What makes you think anyone would hire you to kill anyone?” he said, eyebrows knitted together.
I burst out laughing, unable to control my mirth or take the charade forward. 

“Your wife!” I smirked. 
“What the hell are you talking about?” 
“Savannah Jefferey, your wife hired me to kill you. You have been hurting her to access her inherited money and also planned to kill her.”
Your confession is the only approval I needed to take the contract.”
A bewildered expression crept up on his face as the truth and the bullet hit him at the same time, toppling him over.