[ WP ] You think to yourself , `` I would kill for $ 25/hour '' . The next day you get your first contract .

I don ’ t know how they knew, but I ’ d been too afraid to ask. I went to the docks like they told me to. After all, this would pay better than my day job, if I could get the hours. 
 
 Crouched in the shadows, I tried not to think too much about the day before. I felt along my boot for the forty-second time since putting them on. Just like every other time, I could still feel the outline of the handle. I relaxed momentarily. Of course the blade was still there. But as soon as my hand left the boot, the nagging concern rose again. 
 
 *The knife is just a backup*, I reminded myself. *Stop thinking about it. You ’ re being unprofessional. * 
 
 Forty-three times. 
 
 I closed my eyes and took a shallow breath. My hands felt along the rifle in my hands to check for the suppressor, also not for the first time. It was, of course, still there. I resumed my watch and my mind resumed its churning. 
 
 How had they known? It couldn ’ t have been coincidence. One night earlier, before all of this had happened, I ’ d had a passing thought. I didn ’ t tell anyone, but somehow, they'd known. 
 
 My walk home had been peppered with the usual range of lecherous looks and comments, and I guess my shift had been more tiring than usual. Overtime will do that to you. I was angry and I felt powerless, and I don ’ t know why I feel the need to defend my reaction. I wanted to lash out. I thought, “ Murder for the sake of murder isn ’ t any good, but I ’ d probably kill for $ 25 an hour or so. ” 
 
 That should have been the end of it—it really seemed like just a passing thought—but then they contacted me. They didn ’ t say they knew I ’ d accept, but they somehow knew my asking rate and what kind of target I ’ d be most comfortable hitting. And I did accept, which was how I ended up at the docks with a rifle and hunting knife. 
 
 Finally, the door I ’ d been watching from across the way opened. A man stumbled out, haloed by the bright light within the building. I closed one eye to keep my night vision until the door swung shut, then switched eyes to check the target. It was definitely him. 
 
 I found myself checking for the silencer again. And then the knife. Forty-four. The target was walking away from the building, now—heading toward me. I set up the shot and set my finger on the trigger. 
 
 Twenty-five dollars an hour. 
 
 I still don ’ t know how they knew, but it ’ s starting to matter less, now.
