Diary of An Assassin
“He took out a package of cigarettes, Belgian with no filters, and smoked. The sky, which had been dark and gray, began to clear to a soft hue of orange as the sun began to shine through the clouds. He took out his cell phone and called his home. His son answered, informing him his mother had left for the market.
“Tell her that I love you both and I miss you.”
“Okay, Papa. I love you too.”
When he finished smoking, he went inside and asked the front-desk receptionist for the detective working the shooting at the Garden Line.
“He’ll be out in a minute.”
“Thank you.”
He sat on an old couch and flipped through some magazines on a coffee table. They were mostly gun magazines, a few Sports Illustrateds, and he put them back and leaned into the couch, staring at the floor of the police precinct.
Cops were busy swapping war stories, giving each other a hard time, joking about cases, and complaining about superior officers.
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