The Salesman

The Man in the Black Suit

The Salesman

A hit-man without a contract must play the role of a salesman, and a cardinal rule of that trade is not giving the costumer time to think.

      “Follow me,” the man named Jameson commanded.  “Now.”

      He clasped Benedict’s wrist and lead him towards the stairs.  Benedict’s daughter trailed, protesting.

      “This is ridiculous!  Why would an assassin offer to help us?”

      “I am not an assassin, I am a professional hit-man.  And termination has a relatively small role in the services I perform.  I arrange leverage.”

      Benedict was grasping for the stair rail to steady himself, but Aprill seized Jameson’s shoulder.  “Stop.  My father and I are also professionals – in our business – and this is ridiculous!  You can explain, because right now it sounds like a B-movie spy script, and I think I should call security over here.”

      He admired her composure, but it was getting in his way.  Jameson had to move quickly: not to get Benedict out of the room, as he pretended, but to draw as much attention to Benedict’s exit as possible.  He needed to force his opponent’s hand, because after the other professional made a rash move and revealed himself, Benedict would ineludibly take Jameson more seriously.  Like every good salesman, the man named Jameson knew that being taken seriously was the key to the sell.

      He brushed Aprill aside and turned to the stairs again. 

      Now, however, the big man in the gladiator mask was blocking them.