Raymond Benson - 2012 - Hitman: Damnation Read Free

           I
released the drapes and plunged the room into darkness again.
                 I
noticed that my hand was trembling. This always happened when I woke up. After
so many hours without a pill I got the shakes. Naked, I walked into the
bathroom and turned on the light. I reached for the plastic bottle I kept in a
pouch. I’d tossed it onto the counter after I’d checked in to the resort. I
tapped out a pill into the palm of my hand and popped it into my mouth. Then I
turned on the faucet, cupped my hands, and filled them with enough water to
chug down the medication.
                 My
reflection in the mirror stared back at me. I was certainly no longer thirteen
years old. I wasn’t sure how old I was, although I was “created” in 1964. That
was the downside of being a test-tube baby.
                 I
snapped the lid back on the pill bottle. There was no label. I’d obtained the oxycodone illegally, so there was no prescription
information. Besides, no doctor in his right mind would have prescribed these
powerful painkillers for as long as I’d been taking them.
                 I
supposed people would say I was addicted, but actually I could quit anytime I
wanted. I just didn’t want to. I was pretty sure that, because of how I’m
wired, the oxycodone didn’t affect me as it would a
“normal” person. I started taking the pills after the injury. I really needed
painkillers at the time. But even after I’d healed, I found I liked the
effects. The pills didn’t dope me up the way they would most people. Instead,
they cleared my head and calmed me down.
                 Granted,
if I didn’t take one after so many hours, I got a headache that was unbearable,
I became anxious and jittery, and I had vivid nightmares. I never used to
experience anxiety. Never. Now I did if I didn’t take
the pill. Did that mean I was addicted? In my own way,
perhaps.
                 I
returned to the room. I had a boat to catch. I had a target to eliminate. I had
a job to do. Time to get dressed.
                 I
knew I wasn’t operating at 100 percent. I wasn’t at the top of my game. Ever since the accident. Ever since Diana … It wasn’t good
for me to think about it, but sometimes I couldn’t help it.
                 The
difficulty was avoiding the Agency. They’d been trying to reach me. Messages
had come through the usual channels. I didn’t answer them. I had no desire to
work with ICA anymore. I was past my prime. I wasn’t the assassin I once was. I
knew that. It’s why I worked freelance now. It’s why I supported myself with
easy assignments like the one tonight.
                 Hector Corado . Mediocre scum who
specialized in human trafficking. And my employer, Roget, was just as
sleazy. But it was a job. And it was money. Not as much as I made with the
Agency, but it was enough. I really didn’t care about the money. As long as I
had the means to carry on each day and dress the way I liked, I was happy.
                 Happy. What a concept.
                 If
I could laugh, I would have.
                 TWO
                 The
festivities were palpable on the beach of the Sandals Grande Ocho Rios Resort.
Swimsuit-clad men and women ran in and out of the warm blue-green water, others
played volleyball on the sand, and the rest reclined with drinks in hand as the
sun slowly descended to the horizon. It was the magical hour of the day in
Jamaica, the twilight time when the sky was painted orange-red, before it
turned coal black and was dotted with the twinkling of stars.
                 Agent
47 ignored it all as he made his way to the dock to board a small ferry that
would carry select VIPs to Fernandez’s yacht. Dressed in a black suit made of
the highest-quality light wool, a white cotton shirt, black leather gloves, and
the added accessory of a crimson-red tie,