A Phoenix Comes A-Calling (2)
I am a liquidator. I have been liquidating people ever since I knew how to hold a gun. It does not matter who my victims are - politicians, underworld big-shots, tycoons - as long as my asking price is met, I send them a one-way ticket to hell, no question asked. But I do not kill children; it is my religion. My clients call me "Mr. Clean", a satirical name actually - I am never a morally pure guy, not even by a long shot. Rather, I always do a clean kill: a direct shot to the victim's brain; no suffering and no mess to the other parts of his body.
It was 10:30 P.M. on March 20th, 1913. Despite the passing of winter, the northerly wind was unusually cold. Nonetheless the sky was clear and the stars were bright. Disguising myself as a porter, I was at Shanghai Railway Station getting ready for my next hit: a young politician named Song Jiao-ren. The place was crowded but I managed to spot him standing at the platform waiting to board the train to Beijing. He was impeccably dressed in a black western suit, his hair was neatly combed over the top, and his mustache was perfectly trimmed. Calmly I approached him. Right up to the last moment he did not suspect anything amiss. When our eyes finally met, mine's flashed like lightning. Quicker than a wink, I whipped my gun out of my uniform pocket. Only then did he realize that he was targeted for assassination. His face turned pale.
"Y ... You are making a big mistake, friend," he spluttered, overwhelmed by fear to defend himself.
"So sue me," I said, firing at him at point-blank range. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes on the concrete floor - his life was snuffed out instantly.
