[ WP ] The assassin was sent to kill a good man , to this day it haunts him still .

`` I have a family!'' Hands bound behind him, on his knees in the light of a single naked bulb, the target said anything that came to mind to prolong his existence. They always did. 
 
 `` I know.'' The assassin's voice was as cold and as unmoved as death. 
 
 The target quailed, understanding his meaning. The target -- Blake Guzman, 41, senior partner at the law firm of Smith, Smith, Smith, and Rogers. Three children, aged four to ten. Married his childhood sweetheart Alicia. He's good at his job. Made seven figures last year, including bonuses. Everything was going great for him until he took the Doan case and won it. Doan's organization was displeased at Guzman's legal aptitude. So they hired the assassin, who was now watching Guzman's eyes. They darted like hummingbirds on speed. He would attempt to make another bargain any moment. 
 
 `` I can pay you more than whoever hired you,'' said Guzman. 
 
 The assassin almost found it funny. Poor people at least knew how to die with dignity. The rich, they always thought they could make a deal. `` No, you ca n't.'' 
 
 `` Are they threatening your family? Is that why you're doing this?'' 
 
 The assassin smiled at that, making Guzman recoil in terror. This Guzman might be a little interesting. It had been quite some time since a target had wondered about the reasons for his visit. `` No. I have not had a family in a long time.'' 
 
 Guzman blinked up at him. `` I'm sorry for your loss.'' 
 
 How very interesting. The assassin left the circle of light and returned with two dusty chairs. He set them opposite each other and took Guzman under the arm to hoist him into one, eliciting a grunt of pain from the bound man. He sat in the other chair, as lithe as a cat. A flicker of hope showed on Guzman's face at his suddenly improved circumstances. The assassin said, `` You seem like a good man.'' 
 
 `` I give money to charity. I helped build my daughter's school. I buy Girl Scout cookies for the homeless!'' Guzman realized he was babbling and clamped his mouth shut. 
 
 The assassin nodded. He had known all of that, but none of that was proof of goodness, only proof of a rich man avoiding taxes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands hung loosely. `` You are the first man in years to worry about anyone other than yourself while in a room with me. That is why I think you are a good man.'' The assassin considered him for a long moment, then shrugged minutely. `` I knew another good man once.'' 
 
 `` Who --'' 
 
 `` I killed him.'' The assassin's flat declaration made Guzman press back into the chair. `` He was much like you, now that I think on it. A pretty wife who he loved very much. Children filling their house with happy noise. A job that filled his soul, if not his wallet.'' The corner of his mouth turned up sardonically. `` Perhaps not *so* much like you, eh? But the most important thing you two good men have in common is that you angered the wrong people. They threatened this other man's family.'We kill them unless you work for us,' you understand. Unless this man killed someone for them, they would eliminate his family.'' 
 
 The assassin paused to gather his thoughts. Guzman stared wide-eyed, transfixed by the story. `` So, of course, he did it. What else could a good man do but protect his family, even at the expense of another? So he took the photograph and the gun and the knife and he went to the place they told him. He found his target there, together with the target's family. Pretty wife, beautiful children. They were smiling. Happy.'' The assassin's hands rose and fell in a helpless shrug. `` The good man thought of his own family. He approached the target. 
 
 `` The target's wife saw him coming. He looked like a good man, so she greeted him.'Hello,' she said.'Can we help you with something?' The target turned to look, and the good man put the gun to his head and fired. His blood covered his wife, but she did not scream. Shock is a powerful thing, Mr. Guzman,'' the assassin mused. `` It is often an ally in my line of work. This good man, with the gun hot in his hand and this irrevocable deed spread out before him, turned to leave. 
 
 `` The woman started screaming then, and the good man thought,'if I want to return to my family, I can not leave a witness.' And he turned back. He raised the gun. He aimed carefully. He fired. The screaming stopped like he'd turned off a switch. He was pleased. He thought of his family. He would wash his hands of what he had done, he would return to them, and they would all be safe. 
 
 `` Then... then the little girl said,'daddy?' and at the same time the little boy said,'mommy?' And the good man, being a good man, knew that he could not leave these children orphaned by such violence. Causing that sort of pain is not what a good man does.'' 
 
 The assassin turned his hands palms-up and fell silent, gazing down at them. `` As he aimed the gun at that child, that good man felt pleasure. Do you know what that good man learned about himself that day?'' 
 
 Guzman made a choking noise. 
 
 `` He learned that he was not a good man at all. He entered that place, but I left it.'' The assassin's eyes rose slowly and locked with Guzman's, as hypnotic as a snake. `` You are a good man with a simple choice: you or your family.'' The assassin rose to his feet and circled behind Guzman's chair. The slick sound of a knife leaving its scabbard made him cringe, but the assassin only cut the rope around his wrists. 
 
 The assassin returned to his chair and drew it closer to Guzman until they were sitting barely an arm's length apart. He drew his gun, turned it around, offered it to Guzman. 
 
 Guzman took it with a shaking hand. His face twisted in anger and he raised the gun to the assassin's chest. 
 
 The assassin made no move, but Guzman was conscious of the knife held loosely in the man's fist. The assassin only continued to meet his eyes. `` Do you want to learn about yourself today?'' 
 
 Guzman read the fatigue in the lines of the assassin's face and saw the old, hard sadness in his eyes. He thought of his family, who would go on missing him as a good man. 
 
 Guzman put the gun in his own mouth.
