[ WP ] An assassin receives an unusual contract : a man on death row already slated for execution .

``... a call.'' Terry blinked, rubbing sleep from them. 
 
 `` What?'' He called out, fumbling with the many bottles beside his bed. 
 
 `` You got a call.'' His wife repeated from the door way. 
 
 `` Who is it?'' He found a bottle with something in it and swigged it, blanching at the taste of stale beer. 
 
 `` How should I know. I do n't answer that phone. Get it yourself.'' Something heavy landed on the covers between his legs. 
 
 `` What time is it?'' He asked, sitting up to grab the phone. 
 
 `` Answer your phone.'' He flicked open the phone reading the clock inside. It was 1:14 p.m. He'd slept most the day again. 
 
 `` Yeah?'' He asked, picking up the call. 
 
 *'' 10:30. Riker's. `` * The voice announced. *'' Dossier is in your email. Do it before he reaches the execution chamber. `` * 
 
 `` What? Shit. I need more time to prepare than this. It's a freaking prison.'' Terry complained pawing at his coat for cigarettes and lighter. 
 
 *'' I'll add a bonus to your regular fee. `` * The voice offered. Terry shrugged in reply. 
 
 `` Yeah. Okay. I'll do it.'' He flipped the phone shut and found his cigarettes. `` Bring me my kit.'' His wife did n't respond for a little while. When she did, it was with the same callous manner she'd exhibited with the phone. 
 
 `` Be back by eleven.'' She told him. `` I need the car.'' 
 
 `` Fuck you. I'm working. I'll be back when I get back.'' He told her, unzipping the case with his pistol and silencer. He took them out and started cleaning them. 
 
 `` Be back by eleven, you fuck. I need the car.'' She fired back. 
 
 `` Whatever.'' He told her flippantly. `` I'll get back as quick as I can. For you, baby.'' His voice sounded dead, and she did n't miss the gesture he made in her direction. 
 
 He heard her coming and ignored her. She was always over-reacting. He felt the hair on the back of his head being grabbed and his head yanked back. He could n't feel the blade at his throat, but he smelled the oil on it. `` Be back by eleven, you fuck, or I'll cut your fucking throat.'' 
 
 `` Stop.'' He said, shrugging her off. `` I'm working.'' She flung the knife across the room, burying the tip in the wall. `` Hey? What the fuck, Gina. We just had the walls painted.'' 
 
 `` Fuck the walls. Be back by eleven. I need the car.'' She told him again. 
 
 `` Fine. I'll kill him an hour early so you can have the fucking car.'' He said, bowing mockingly before her. She came to her feet and studied him with a quick flick of her eyes. 
 
 `` Thank you. That's all I asked.'' She smiled and blew him a kiss. He chuckled to himself. He knew he should n't feel excited about breaking into prison to kill some sad son-of-a-bitch, but sometimes, it was preferable to coming home. He finished cleaning his gun and changed. Riker's was a good two hour drive. He slipped on his coat and hid away the rest of his gear in its pockets. 
 
 `` Baby,'' his wife called as he was going out the door. 
 
 `` What?'' He called back. 
 
 `` Do n't take that attitude with me.'' She snapped. `` I just wanted to see if you'd pick up a gallon of milk on your way home.'' 
 
 `` Yeah. Sure.'' He called back. `` Skim, right?'' 
 
 `` No. 2 %. How the fuck do you forget that every time?'' She asked incredulously. 
 
 `` It's milk.'' Terry told her with an indifferent shrug. 
 
 `` Get the fuck out of here.'' She told him, aiming a throw pillow at his head. He quickly closed the door to avoid being hit. He stood in the hall for a good five minutes with the muzzle of his gun pressed to the door debating whether or not to go back in and kill her. 
 
 `` I know you're still out there.'' Her Puerto Rican accent unmistakable. He grimaced angrily and jammed his gun back in its holster. `` And do n't pick up the milk till after you're off work. I do n't want warm milk.'' He stomped off down the hall muttering angrily to himself.
