<span style="color: #BF0000">**Warning: The following post contains some graphic material. I don't think it is that bad but felt an unneccessary warning was better than none at all.**</span><br/><br/>‘She’s pretty’, Hamish thought as he watched the young girl skip through the streets. She was probably no older than 16 with classic blonde looks and deep blue eyes. She accented her full lips and youthful beauty with a minimum of make-up which somehow made her even lovelier. There was no arousal for Hamish, it was a thought that simply breezed through as if noting the sky were cloudy.<br/><br/>He turned from the window and looked at the man lying at his feet. He didn’t like the messy ones. It wasn’t the mess or the screaming or the pleading that upset him. It was the dignity. He much preferred the gun over the knife. A gun was quick and clean. One shot to the head and it was over. No shameful begging, no ugly scene for the family to find. A dignified death.<br/><br/>But in the end, he would shrug his shoulders and carve the assignment into as many pieces as the contract required. Clients often wanted the assignment to die painfully unless it was political. Politicians always wanted an accident. But your average, run of the mill client generally didn’t care or couldn’t afford extravagant services. So it was usually the gun and his choice.<br/><br/>“I am sorry your passing cannot be dignified,” Hamish told the man quietly. “You have angered someone very rich and therefore they feel you must suffer accordingly.” The man only sobbed through his gag. He had already begged, threatened, and bribed. But he was a baker, he had nothing to barter for his life. There was nothing left but the job.<br/><br/>Hamish removed his jacket and withdrew a long knife. There was no malice in his movements, no intent to frighten or intimidate. His movements were beautiful, methodical, nothing without a purpose except efficacy. But to the man on the floor, who lie bound and gagged, there was no mercy in the movements or words. He would die badly and would never know why. As Hamish turned towards him, the baker knew from the blank eyes that no words or offers would persuade this man. There was simply nothing there.<br/><br/>Hamish stopped with the blade inches from the baker’s right ear. He looked into the baker’s eyes and blew out a deep breath. He took no joy in this and it seemed senseless. What could a baker have possibly done to some rich enough to afford these services? He had followed the target for days, knowing he would be alone when Hitler made his speech. He gave old bread to those who couldn’t afford it and often would offer work to the street kids for a penny or two to make deliveries. It made no sense.<br/><br/>Hamish placed his left hand gently on the bakers forehead and nodded. With no warning he plunged the knife into the ear and brain instantly killing the baker. Without a second thought Hamish then removed the ears, tongue, fingers, toes, and finally removing the heart. He washed his hands in a basin and carefully cleaned his knife. It would need sharpening again but that was no concern.<br/><br/>Hamish put his jacket and left the house of the baker. Coming down the street was the baker’s wife and children. As always her gaze slid right over him as they passed each other. Hamish couldn’t be certain if he ever heard the screams, he no longer listened. He had done something good tonight. A quick death for someone who did good things. There was dignity there.<br/><br/>Hamish returned to the hotel and approached the front desk. There was no one behind the desk so Hamish made his way behind and found his room’s mailbox. In it was a letter from Scotland, an address Hamish knew well. It would be another assignment. He had been busy in Germany since he had originally arrived 5 years ago. Several assignments were eliminated in what was no called the Night of the Long Blades. It was political assassinations for Hitler that had put him in such strong power and Hamish had made a very large amount of money that night.<br/><br/>Hamish climbed the stairs to his room on the second floor. Once inside he immediately went about his own clean up. No one would remember him but leaving a bloody shirt would cause suspicion to even the dullest maid. He went to the brass bathtub and started a fire using newspaper and wood he had gathered several days ago. Once the fire was going he added the shirt and pants and as they burned he placed the blade of the knife in the fire as well. Hamish would clean the blade to a sparkling shine after it burned off any remaining blood fragments.<br/><br/>Once the evidence of the shirt and pants were gone, Hamish used the bathwater to put out the remaining fire then thoroughly scrubbed the tub removing all evidence of the ashes and placing it in a trash can. Hamish opened a window and emptied the evidence into the chill night air just as the speeches ended.<br/><br/>He then bathed himself quickly and checked his head to ensure the hair had not come in too thick yet. Eyes may slide off of him now but a shock of red hair would be remembered and there were not many of those in Germany at this point. He returned to the bedroom and picked up the envelope. He sat in a chair facing out the window and let the cold German air attack his sense. It hurt but for Hamish pain meant he was feeling something. The rush of his good deed had already flittered away and left the everyday hollowness.<br/><br/>Hamish opened the envelope.<br/>“James,<br/>(1) - AMN<br/><br/>Assignment attached.<br/><br/>Baird<br/><br/>PS – Hope you are well. This will be your last assignment in Germany then you can come home.”<br/><br/>Hamish took the photos out of the envelope and looked the over. AMN would mean “any means necessary”. The (1) indicated it was personal for Baird. Someone had not paid their bill. That someone was Adolf Hitler. Hamish smiled to himself as a final roar of the crowd echoed through the night air.