Flash Fiction

The Hitman’s Retirement

copyright BB Thompson 2021

His wife’s catfish frying followed O’Neil’s nose. He sniffed the air appreciatively, took a long draw on a Cuban cigar, and tilted his head back to exhale into the wind coming off the water.

Ten years since he forced Simon Mikkelson to kneel and submit. Minutes later, the hitman caught sight of the water downslope from the dead lawyer’s house and fell in love. When the house came up on the market, no one wanted a place connected to gangland execution. O’Neil bought it cheap.

His metamorphosis into retired man of leisure, angler, Baptist choir member and deacon was complete.

Searching for the breadcrumb trail I seem to have lost. beabethompson.com

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