The first time was the hardest. And the easiest, when it came down to it. Like so many things, it started in a bar. Not a happy bar, no celebrations here. Wasn't a meat-market either. The only reason for this bar was to consume as much alcohol as you could, as quickly as possible. The rules are unwritten in these places, but strictly enforced. No trouble, ever. If you start anything, the enforcers step in. None of them ever licensed, but they could stand in for Godzilla in the right light.
I saw him, at the bar, drinking like his life depended on it. I guess it did though, in hindsight. In any case, I'd already watched him stalking the streets, shaking down the bums and cheap whores. I knew him. Not his name, but enough to get started. It was easy to sit there nursing my whiskey, if you were quiet then no one would ever bother you.
He wasn't hard to follow. Staggered a little, not surprising given how much he'd been drinking. I caught up with him in a nice quiet spot in the park. Enough light to see from the moon, but that was it. Bumped into him. Slurred an apology. Slit his throat.
It was messy. Noisier than I had thought, as well. But the park was big, and nobody comes running if they hear anything here. Quite the opposite.
I left him to bleed out in the moonlight, just kept walking. Didn't look like much. I can honestly say I felt nothing. No concern. In this town, unless you're a pretty white girl or have someone to push the case, an investigation just ain't happening. He'd go down on the books as unsolved, victim known to police, suspected drug deal gone bad. Christ knows, happens often enough. Just another statistic.
I also felt no joy. He meant nothing more to me than proof of concept. A test, if you will, of strategy and tactics. Some lessons to be learned. Improvements to be made. I can't even say I was grateful. Not for him.