Anton sits in Kyle’s kitchen, thinking that he’s been doing this filthy shit work for ten years. Every time he gets the phone call he feels his stomach cramping, beads of sweat form on his forehead and an almost crippling anxiety takes over but he’s learnt that it will pass. He’ll breathe again and feel well but Kyle’s a dead man.
He sits straight-backed on a hard wooden chair, hears the click of the front door lock. Kyle and his woman, Sandy, talking. He shouldn’t have done it. He hears them laughing and talking as they walk down the wooden-floored hallway past the dining room. He shouldn’t have done it. They enter the kitchen, Anton looks up and shoots Kyle in the face, silencer attached to the gun. Blood splatters all over Sandy. Anton doesn’t blink when he shoots her and she slumps down the kitchen wall leaving a dark red stain. Anton can feel his stomach cramping again; he can only just stand up. Ten years of this filthy work that gives him his income, his life. He shouldn’t have done it. That’s how Anton rationalises these jobs, this work. He makes the people who hire him tell him clearly and with as much detail as possible exactly why they want it done. He shouldn’t have done it.
He always cleans up after himself that way he knows nothing will be left to chance. There will be not a single drop of blood, not a mark on the wall, not a scratch. They won’t know he was there, no-one will see him leave. This filthy fucking job that he’s been doing for ten years. He can’t imagine any other life. How could you go back to normal after this?
***
Between jobs, he has a quiet life. Ten years divorced marks the beginning of this new career. He worked in the public service for twenty years, Department of Defence. Worked his way up to a very senior position. A fitness fanatic, he was a black belt in Karate, worked out in the gym, pummelled the heavy bag and snapped the speedball at a furious pace. Sharp mind and body; don’t piss around with him, that’s what his co-workers said to each other, looks like he means business.
***
Someone had been watching him. Two weeks after he resigned from work while he was hoping for a sea change he hadn’t planned and possible dreams of a new love life and a job that paid well enough to allow him to travel when he liked. A guy calling himself Peter Geoffrey started talking to him in a bar. Small talk: football, politics, gentle, easy, nothing heated. Anton kept running into this guy in a little bar down Springfield Lane in Kings Cross, Sydney. A slow build up to what he truly wanted from Anton. Started slipping the name of Anton’s first hit into the conversation. Talked about what a rat this guy was. Then one night he went into detail about why he hated this guy and Anton found himself hating someone he’d never met. Then he just said it.
“I’ll pay you $30,000 to kill this guy.” Anton was so shocked his face froze in disbelief but Peter Geoffrey took this to mean he had ice in his veins. Anton felt the beginning of those stomach cramps for the first time, slowed his breathing. Geoffrey told him quickly that there’d be more work if he could do it. Anton turned to him and said,
“When do you want it done?”
“One month from today.” And he did it.
***
With the stomach cramps and sweat and guilt trips that nearly sent him to the psych ward, there was that instant of pure adrenaline rush just as he squeezed the trigger. The look of utter anguish, that split second of total fear on the victim’s face, power over life and death. Goodbye Kyle, you shouldn’t have done it. Shoots him in the face. For years he tracked his victims for a two-week period, dragged them down alleyways, or caught them on a deserted night-time street, hogtied them and threw them in the boot, took them somewhere and did it. Then he made a connection on a new job. A client gave him the keys to the victim’s apartment. That was it. That was how he worked now. In and out. He has skeleton keys, a locksmith in his back pocket.
***
Anton lives in Elizabeth Bay, close to a beautiful park, views of the harbour. He sits and smokes staring out at the deep blue water, drinks too much coffee, reads pulp fiction paperbacks and wishes he could share this life. Introduction. Anton, I kill people. He has two adult children. Graham, his son, lives in Queensland, rings once a week, two young kids, a girl and boy that Anton never sees. They talk sport, polite enquiries into each other’s lives. He’ll bring the kids down for a holiday soon.
“See you, Dad, look after yourself.”
“You too, son.”
Graham and his sister, Haley, they think he invested his money wisely, that he’s retired. His ex-wife, Milla, their mother, she re-married to Andrew, a successful builder. Milla doesn’t talk to any of them. She thinks the kids sided with Anton in the divorce. A whole new life for her. Good riddance. Haley floats around from job to job; she’s just twenty-two, lives in Sydney, flat of her own (rented). She rings hardly ever but at least they meet up, maybe once every three months. Coffee in a Kings Cross or Bondi cafe. She drinks camomile tea and talks her head off and he wishes she’d meet him every day. He’ll leave her sitting there, as she makes constant notes, tells him she’s going to be a writer. Sometimes he gets a work call as he’s walking away from the table, as she smiles and waves goodbye.
by 
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