Dinner

"How could you!" A woman yelled at a man across the table. She was pointing at him with her knife raised to his eyes. He stared at her unfazed. He grabbed his fork and jabbed it into a piece of steak on his plate and put it into his mouth. He took his time to chew the food in his mouth.

"I didn't do anything," he stared at his food. He fiddled with the fork in his hand; feeling every groove it had before jabbing it into another piece of steak.

"You know what I am talking about don't act dumb." She snapped at him as she jammed her fork into her mashed potatoes on her plate. She fed herself and continued to look, angry, confused.

"I'm not acting dumb. I am being serious when I say I don't know what you are talking about." He still was not looking at her. He felt his free hand clench into a fist. The argument continued.

"Then explain to me why your hands have blood on them and why I found bloody clothing in the laundry bin." The man looked down at his hands which he hadn't realized until then had blood on them, specifically around his knuckles. He shrugged and slumped back into his chair, letting out a heavy sigh.

"You wouldn't understand. You would probably just call the police," he said as he forked another piece of steak and chewed. The images would not stop appearing in his head. A dark room, filled with many people, some were hurt, some fine, some dead. He didn't care, he had one job. Kill any that move. They had the sense to stay put.

"Like hell, I would. You know I wouldn't call the police. You can trust me." She paused. "I saw the particles. I can smell the gunpowder."

"Nothing gets past you." He stood from his chair. He beckoned for her to follow. After a few moments, they both were standing. He knelt to a locked chest that sat at the foot of the bed. He felt under the bed and felt something foreign. He took the key that opened the chest, unlocked it, then stepped away gesturing for her to look. Taking her time, the woman knelt and pulled out a fine suit, a piece of paper, a few bundles of cash, and a silenced handgun. The man took the handgun and examined it.

"What is all this?" she asked. She read the piece of paper. She knew what it was. She wanted to hear him say it.

"A contract. The target is some special, rich head honcho. No one important to us," he said. He was counting the bullets. The gun was made especially for him.

She sighed, crumpled up the piece of paper, and tossed it in the trash. "Another one," she said. The man nodded as he slipped the magazine into the pistol and pulled back the chamber. "You must?" she said.

"I must. We both know it is what I'm good at."

"I understand. Go. Be quick." She said getting to her feet and hugging him. He smiled and kissed her head. He held her. He let her go. "How long?" She looked at the clock.

"Two, maybe three, hours. Tops." He put the pistol and a switchblade into the breast pocket of his suit. He grabbed a coin and a suitcase and headed out of the room followed by the woman.

"Come back to me," she said. She gripped his arm hard. He flinched.

"I promise." He opened the front door and walked out to his car. She sighed as the door shut behind him. Why couldn't we have one normal dinner?

Author Notes: This is among the first of my pieces when I was a beginner at writing, to that end I have more well-done stories I will be sharing. I just want to show how I was at the start compared to now.

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