I spared his life with the hope that he would do something with its remainder. After all, he had a family and this was my last job. What was a little water under the bridge for two family men? And then it hit me like a ton of bricks, I collapsed instantly and tried to sit up, my right love handle seared with pain. It burned like I’d been stabbed with a hot poker straight from the fire. But I instantly knew what had happened, that bastard shot me in the back at 20 paces. His tears hadn’t been tears at all but a discharge of a more scaly variety. Two minutes ago he was begging forgiveness for his transgressions and now this. I had made my first and only professional mistake on my last day. My last breath would pour out of me within the hour, the man I trained to replace me would avenge my death, killing this cock sucker in a damp, dingy alley much like this one and the cycle would repeat. Hopefully my replacement’s last day would be less eventful than my own. He’d get to go home, pack his things and move his family to a place outside of town, away from this violence, away from the feuding crime families and bootleggers, out of the bounds of the pimps and pushers, corrupt cops and backstabbing bastards who shoot you when you spare their lives. That is what today should have been for me but all I have now is an ever expanding pool of blood that feels colder to the touch every time I regain consciousness. It’ll all be over soon.

I wrote this after watching Lonely Hearts, an excellent film by my good friend Todd Robinson, the Writer/Director. I’ve always enjoyed Film Noir and this was my first attempt at writing something in that vein.