Hitman

Chapter 2: Drop Dead

Ding Dong.

Someone rung Mr. Sung's doorbell. The door swung open. In the doorway stood a stout man, with pale skin, wrinkles everywhere, a gray comb over, tiny ears, a pointy nose, black beady eyes and a face that could only remind you of a mouse's. His facial hair even looked like whiskers. He wore a deep magenta waistcoat, the buttons threatening to pop off, a pumpkin orange blouse, small round glasses, black shiny shoes and a maroon blazer and slacks. At first, he flinched seeing a tall, intimidating figure standing on his doorstep, but recovered his embarrassment by greeting the stranger with a welcoming grin.

"Greetings, my old friend! I humbly welcome you into my home, please follow me inside so you don't catch a cold sitting out here in this freezing air. But, may I remind you, to remove your shoes at the door. I don't want you to track mud and blood on my precious rugs and wood floors."

Mr. Sung turned around and began to waddle down the corridor of his three-story mansion. The tall friend stood motionless in the doorway, not moving a single muscle.

"Excuse me, but is there a problem of why you're not coming inside?"

"My apologies, but I cannot come inside, for I will still track blood on the floor, holding this bag."

The man lifted up the bag he was holding, to show Mr. Sung.

"No worries, the butler can take that alongside with your shoes. But, again, just follow me. We will head down the east wing on the second floor and in the living room."

The man nodded his head, handed the bag and his shoes to the butler and followed Mr. Sung. When, the visitor entered the living room, Mr. Sung was sitting comfortably in his firm leather seat, surrounded by pillows made with animal skins. The visitor walked over to the squishy salmon pink couch across from Mr. Sung and sat down in it. He sat formally in it, his posture precisely at a ninety degree angle, hands folded in his lap, feet together and his suitcase placed at his feet. Mr. Sung on the other hand, was slouching, legs spread far apart, elbows of his knees and his chin resting upon his folded hands, staring straight ahead at the man across from him.

"Why are you so tense looking? Don't be such a stranger... Jungkook."

Mr. Sung coughed a nasty lougie up onto the tiger rug at his feet.

"Now,let's talk... talk money. It must've been, at the slightest, a bit difficult to find that wretched woman. She's a pretty good at running away and she has a lot of hiding spots to skitter off to."

Jungkook looked to the floor, evaluating his thoughts. After thinking, he looked back up to Mr. Sung.

"A thousand for locating her, a thousand for killing her, a thousand for cleaning up after her, a thousand for transporting her back here, a hundred for making sure I stabbed her cleanly and did not get blood all over her and... throw in a extra fifty for tip."

"That would be... four-thousand one hundred and fifty dollars?! I refuse to pay that-"

Jungkook leaned forward, staring directly into Mr. Sung's quivering face and held his fist high, ready to strike. Mr. Sung pushed himself back in his chair, shaking and putting up both of his hands, as if to surrender.

"O-O-Okay! I get it, I understand you want your pay!"

Jungkook settled back into his seat, maintaining a tight position while sitting and keeping a intense look on his face. Mr. Sung slowly put his hands down, though still shaking, and fished around in his breast pocket for something.

"I-I just thought you would perhaps g-give me a discount for being such a l-l-loyal, constant c-customer. That's all, besides... why so much now? You usually don't ask for such a large sum."

"I am currently low on money. I have not been getting as many requests from customers as I usually do. Therefore, charging more money when I get requests."

Mr. Sung pulled out his wallet and dished out four of thousand dollar bills, one of hundred dollar bills and a fifty dollar bill. He handed it to Jungkook and he took it. Jungkook inspected the money, making sure it was real, just safe measures. He opened his suitcase, placed them neatly inside, shut it closed and stood.

"Thank you for your cooperation and kind treatment, Mr. Sung. I respect you as a loyal customer to my service and hope you will request me again soon. I now shall take my leave."

Jungkook did a quick, small bow and left the room. As he headed down the halls, he sworn he heard a barely noticeable, but still there, voice saying something, but paid no mind to it. When, he arrived at the front door, the butler gave him his shoes to put on and then he left. Jungkook walked down the steps and made way to his vehicle. Opened the door, buckled in (remember safety kids, even hitmen should put their seatbelts on!), started the car, turned on the radio and drove off. On he drove, turning corners down dark streets and stopping at streetlights, he actually started to listen to the lyrics of the current song he was listening to.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my brother. 숨겨도감춰도지워지지않어. Are you calling me a sinner? 무슨말이더있겠어. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, my sister. 숨겨도감춰도지워지지않어.~"

Click.

Jungkook turned the radio off.

"Why is he sorry to be a sinner? Sin is considered a negative, bad thing. But, the people who gave it this meaning, are sinners themselves but just won't admit it. Every single living body on this earth has sinned, is sinning or will sin, its just a matter of time. Why is sinning a bad thing, if the people who are 'non-sinners', actually do sin? Does it not make it okay to sin then? Who has the right to say whether something is good or bad, right or wrong? The general public would see disposing of a person's life as a bad thing, but to others it is not. So does that mean not every person's opinion and thoughts do not count or matter? What I do for a living, is to dispose of people on this earth that other people don't like, its my way of getting rid of evil people in this world so other people whose lives have worth and are good can continue to live and thrive. I want the world to be a better place, where you don't have to worry about 'sinners'. I want a complex of people who do positive, good things to better each and everyone's life. Is there something wrong with wanting everyone to live good lives. Besides... that's my job, after all..."

I am a hitman.