I hung the phone up. Why did she want to meet me again? The job in JB was well executed. I got paid. That should be the end of that story. I rarely met my controller unless it was for another job. Something about this line of work: that we didn't mingle outside the world of assassination. Conscience, which could go by the name of guilt, things like that, you don't share it with the next hitman. We may look hard to you, but when we're together, we're a bundle of neuroses and nerves.

I shook off the thought and went to wash my face. As the cool water splashed on my face, I looked hard at my face. Damn. The bags beneath my eyes could carry the corpses I had killed. I was barely in my mid-30s, but already my appearance bore the brunt of my work. I looked like hell, even the devil would run if he saw my face.

The doorbell rang. I dried my face and got out of the toilet, and as I was about to look into the peep hole, a distressed voice, somewhat familiar to me, asked:

"Is that you, Hazadi?"

A hail of bullets

In a split second, instinctively I side-stepped to the right and away from the door. Gunshots blasted through the thick hotel door, and the nozzle of an Uzi poked itself through, spraying bullets throughout the room.

I jumped up and grabbed the top edge of the toilet door, barely avoiding the hail of gunfire, as more and more bullets went through the walls of the toilet. Locking my leg on the shower curtain railings, my arms resting on the top edge of the door, I waited for them to come in, bidding my time in the thick gun smoke and dust from the shattered wall.

As the dust settled, the honeycombed door creaked open. One man stepped slowly into the room; I waited for a few seconds, and sure enough, another man followed him. The clicking sound of my safety pin startled them, but not enough for them to react. The shower curtain railings could no longer hold my weight, and when it gave way, I too fell to the floor. Just as I was about to recover my wits, a nice leg stepped into the room. I pointed my gun to her, ready to pull the trigger, when she shrieked:

"It's me!"

It was Fiona. Her face, as I got up and straightened up, was a picture of sadness. She smiled, as she hugged me, and said,

"Hazadi, they made me come and find you. I am so sorry."

You're a man. You're a man. Get off me, I kept telling myself.

But I returned her embrace. I hugged her as she sobbed on my shoulder. Clicking the safety pin back, I holstered the gun to my side. Fiona held my head in her hands, smiled again, and said,

"I'm glad you're still alive, because I could then kill you myself!"

She blew me

She head-butted my nose so hard, that I was thrown backwards, flailing onto the sink behind me. Without losing a step, she threw her leg forward, thrusting her high heel, stabbing the left side of my stomach, not enough to be lethal, but enough to cut the side. Again, without losing balance, she slapped her left leg clean across my head. I fell into the bathtub.

Oh no. I was not about to be thrashed again.

I reached for my gun, but she managed to sock it off my hand, and the gun fell into the toilet. Lucky for me, I had flushed.

Two very well-placed feet to her side caused her to fall back, as I tried to reason her out.

"Why are you doing this, Fiona? I thought controllers don't kill professionals like me. I thought you liked me well enough? That kiss you gave me when we parted, I kissed you back, remember?"

"Yeah, you kissed me back. But I will never forget that look on your face when you saw me without my makeup. Without my wig. That hatred in your eyes. I'd kill you even if there was no price on your head. And only I know who killed Ah Man!"

Loosening my combat stance, lowering my guards down, I looked straight into her eyes.

"I have never hated you, I have never hated your kind!"

"Huh, 'my kind'? I hate you Hazadi!"

She threw herself onto me, pinning me down with her weight, all 50 kilos of her. She started squeezing my neck.

I punched her face. I tried smashing both her ears with my hands. She didn't even flinch. This she-male was one strong woman. My eyes were getting blurry as I began to lose my focus. Suddenly I remembered. I remembered she had balls!

Kicking her straight where it hurt the most for all men, she immediately loosened her grip as she girmaced in pain, curling beside me in a foetal position. I imediately got onto her and threw so many punches at her face such that her makeup and her lipstick stuck to my fists.

I reached into the toilet bowl and grabbed my gun, switched the safety pin off, and pressed the nozzle to her neck.

She began to sob again. Pleading for her life.

"Don't kill me, Hazadi. I do not want to die yet. Belum taubat lagi." There were tears in her eyes, welling into soft droplets, mixing with the blood on her face. The face that I wrecked but a moment ago.

Love kills

"Fiona. Look into my eyes. Stop crying, look into my eyes."

"Yes, Hazadi. Yes." But her tears kept on coming out.

"Fiona, I did not hate you, and I did not hate your kind. But I hate you now. Could you please mengucap?"

"Apa ni Di? Please don't kill me!"

She mumbled something, and I pulled the trigger. I could not hear the gunshot; for a moment there somehow the image of her crying out for her life to be spared, stuck in my mind, and as I gathered myself again, I saw an opening on top of her head as the bullet went straight through from her neck. A 9-milli can do a lot of damage. Especially at point blank like this.

I had to kill her. For my own sake.

THE ARMY CAPITAINE has malaysiakini wondering if he's plain nuts or hallucinating all these premises. Living in Bintulu can do wonders to a man's mind, we suppose. Email him at armycapitaine@yahoo.com.