I'd snuck up on him while he was stroking his pud to a video on his computer of some 18-year-old redhead getting airlocked by three well-hung black guys.
The fucker was wide-eyed oblivious, his three chins resting on his chest, shit-stained boxer shorts bunched around his ankles, his body convulsing with big asthmatic breaths.
He went down with one punch to the back of his skull, right where the spine met up with bone.
Looking at the fat bastard, I could understand why old Chrissy wanted the dude gone. Of course, she wasn't no prize pig herself, but she could do a hell of a lot better than this guy.
She told me she wanted him disappeared, but I wasn't no big fan of the cunt either and there wasn't no way I was gonna haul this tub of guts out of their shitty little place for the five hundred bucks she paid me; so I figured I'd leave her a nice little present.
Well, not little...
My going rate was a lot more than the five hundred Chrissy had given me. That was part of the reason I didn't haul Wideman out. When we first met, I told her that I wouldn't do it for anything less than two grand. She kept trying to negotiate me downward while she was going down on me.
With my cock in her throat and her hands squeezing my balls, I decided that I wasn't going to get any more out of her. I took the five hundred and blew my wad down her throat. That was the first and last time I was doing that or her.
I had about five minutes to work before the corpse shit itself.
Wideman had stunk while he was alive and smelled twice as bad now that he was dead. Once he evacuated his bowels, this place was going to be considered a biohazard area worthy of containment and condemnation. They'd probably have to burn the fucking place to the ground.
I found some nails and a hammer in the garage, did the best I could to prop Wideman's wide frame up against the bookcase and started pounding the ten pennies through his palms and into the wood.
I finished up just as a lifetime's worth of shit came pouring out the asshole's asshole. Have fun with your Shit Jesus, Chrissy, I thought, as I shut the front door and inhaled the outside air.
Smog never smelled so good.
BIO: CK Black is a former contract killer (what Hollywood refers to as a hitman), having worked various jobs around the world in the last twenty-five years. A lot of what finds its way into his fiction comes from personal experience.