Page 1 of Shark Bait

ONE

SHARK DADDY

HITMAN

I wrap the body of our latest target in his eight-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheet and throw it over my shoulder, then climb the steep stairs to the deck of his multimillion-dollar yacht, where I deposit him on top of a pile of the other human waste he sailed with.

His crew. All twenty-seven of them.

I inhale the humidified air typical of beautiful midsummer afternoons in the middle of the sea, then stand back and admire the twenty-eight-man pile, all nicely wrapped in white sheets. Briefly, I consider taking a selfie and sending it to Alessio.

Alessio doesn’t ask for proof. He trusts me, so the selfie I’m thinking about taking, while tempting, would only indulge my vanity. I’m working on being less vain and more modest, but for the record, I’m the best hitman in the world.

I’m so good that one time, the minister of foreign affairs of a country that shall not be named kidnapped me and tried to blackmail Alessio into making me take a job for the good of that man’s country. Yeah, that didn’t go well for the minister or his country. Alessio came for me.

That wasn’t the first time he helped me out of a jam, and it’s one of the reasons why I’ll work only for him. Another reason isbecause most other “bosses,” if you want to call them that, ask for proof of completed work. Like taking pictures of a job well done.

Today, I wish Alessio asked for proof. It took three years to track these men down.

A selfie would really commemorate the milestone.

“Resist the accolades,” I tell myself and pat my own shoulder. “Beautiful work. Beautiful. So clean and efficient.” And almost finished. As soon as I dump the pile of bodies into the ocean and feed the big fish.

The fish, a great disposal system for this mission, are why I didn’t wrap the bodies in tarps. The luxury high-thread-count organic cotton sheets I found covering the mattresses in the bedrooms are biodegradable and considerate of the environment, particularly the sharks. “You’re welcome, Shark Daddy.”

I grab the edge of the large fishing net arranged under the pile and loop the rings of the net through a massive deck crane from the fishing boat hooked onto the yacht. I arrived on it under the ruse of being a fisherman delivering supplies, so they’d let me board their vessel.

Carefully balancing on the makeshift bridge that connects the yacht and my fishing boat, the step onto the deck brings me to the controls of the crane. Pulling the lever, the load in the net begins to rise. Once comfortable with operating the crane (haven’t used a crane before, so it’s exciting and new), I push the lever to the right. Moving the crane over the water, I pick a spot and release the load into the sea.

A deep satisfied sigh escapes me as my task is complete. Returning across the bridge to the yacht. I grab the cleaning supplies and start to scrub the deck.

The downside of being environmentally conscious while committing death-row crimes by not wrapping the bodies inplastic tarps is that the blood seeps through the organic cotton, leaving traces of it behind. I must spend an extra hour scrubbing off the evidence. But I don’t mind in this case, and not only because I’m a shark-friendly assassin.

Normally, I’d sink the yacht and erase its existence, but this one, I’m keeping.

Alessio will send men to pick it up. He said it would be a crying shame to waste such an expensive asset. I imagine he’ll change the paperwork on it and use it for leisure afterward. Regardless, he’s buying it from me as if I owned it, so by cleaning up after myself, I feel like I’m preparing the merch for sale.

Before I start scrubbing, I remove my gloves and put them in my pocket. Time for rewards. From the other pocket, I take out a lollipop and unwrap the green wrapper to see which flavor I got. The lollipop is also green. “I like,” I tell it and cross my fingers, hoping for my favorite flavor: sour apple. I stick it in my mouth and moan.Yippee.It is my favorite flavor.

Most people love lollipops, yet they pass them over in the grocery store in favor of chewing gum. They’ll notice the lollipops, acknowledge it’s been a long time since they had one, wonder why that is, and forget about the lollipops the moment they leave the store.

I’m like the lollipop since disappearing from people’s memories is a requirement in my line of work. I’m the executive branch of my family that keeps to itself while accumulating wealth, and I work behind the scenes, and only for Alessio, who is the head of our family.

I suck loudly on my lollipop and moan, enjoying my sweet reward as I mix the cleaning chemicals into the bucket. Once that’s done, I pour the bucket over the deck and get to scrubbing with a deck brush.

“Hey, there. Need help?” comes from behind me.

Pistol in hand, I turn and fire, catching sight of the woman’s big pregnant belly at the last millisecond and slightly lifting my wrist. The bullet’s trajectory isn’t her face, but the messy blonde bun on top of her head.

She turns and touches the bullet hole in the door behind her. “Damn, Shark Daddy, you’re a crappy shot.”

Two things:

She heard me talking to myself and thanking the Shark Daddy, which means she’s been watching or listening for a while without being noticed. Like a little bunny ambushing me from behind her lettuce patch.

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