I sit down in the little cozy café my client chose. I always meet them in places like that, fir their and my safety. A waitress comes and asks what I would like to drink. I order a single black coffee and lean back, waiting for my client. My right hand rests on the small caliber gun at my chest, well hidden beneath my coat. It is not illegal to possess weapons, but it's better not to show off.
A girl, maybe 15 years old, enters the café. She looks around, searching, and makes her way to me. Her eyes are hastily looking around, avoiding my glaze.
"Talon?", she whispers and looks askingly in my direktion. I nod, only slightly noticeable. So this is my client. This girl, who is sweating like she just ran an entire marathon. The waitress comes and asks her for her order - a water, nothing more.
"So, what do you want me to do?" The girl flinches and fumbles with her handbag. A photo emerges. An older man, maybe in his forties, a passport-photo.
"This is my father. I want you to ... get rid of him", she says silently and looks down. "Can you do that?" I nod.
"That's my job after all. Give me all the data you have of the target. Birrhdate, adress, workplace, family and so on", I answer and take rhe photo. "The more the better." She pulls some sort of note out and hands it to me. In a hasty, shaking writing, the most important info is written down. I read it and tuck the paper away. "That will be enough for such a target."
"... the price?", the girl says, staring down at her lap. The waitress interrupts us by bringing us our orders. I sip my coffee and run through our price list in my head.
"$7,000" She turns pale and gives a little sad chuckle.
"I don't have that much", she whispers. "I've got $1,300." I look at her.
"That won't do."
"Okay." She stands up and leaves. I sit in the café, drinking my coffee and thinking. I sigh and stand up, leave a ten-dollar-bill on the desk and get out. I inhale the fresh air. A faibt sound catches my attention and I walk around the café. The girl sits between the trash containers and cries silently. I kneel down.
"Why do you want me to assassinate your own father?" I ask. She looks up, into my face, for the first time. She isn't pretty, has a faint birthmark under her mouth and little freckles. A big, badly stitched up scar sits on her cheek, bright red. It can not be much older than two months.
"He killed my mom and almost us too. Me and my brother." She sniffles and wipes her tears. "But the court did not do anything - he is so scary, and I can't- can't live that way anymore. Either he dies or I do." A burning rage filles me. A father abusing and killing his own family, while our law does nothing. And the daughter has no other way of contacting an assassin. I pull down my hood and put on gloves.
"You wait here. I will be back." I pull that little info-paper out and read again. He should be on his way home now. I turn around and climp one of the containers, to get my bag. I check my rifle and load it, then I turn to the girl.
"You won't have to worry about that idiot anymore." Then I leave.
Two hours later, I return. She actually waited. The moment she sees me, she jumps to her feet.
"He's dead." I say and hand her a photo. She looks at it and then drops to her knees. A faint smile mixes with tears.
"Thank you. Thank you", she mutters, and then passes out. I catch her and sigh. Then I pick her up and walk through the back alleys to my home, to take care of her.
She wakes up early in the morning. I kept watch and bring her some bread.
"So, what do you want to do now?", I ask her. "You're still a minor."
"I will not go back." Her voice is hard and shows no sign of regret. Then she looks up. "Teach me."