James Little was given the strange gift of being able to kill without remorse. A power most would undervalue, but it can carry a man into deep and dark places and allow them to do things that would make cowards of stronger men. James was born without innocence and as such, had none of it to lose.
He woke on a cold Thursday in Novosibirsk with a bottle of Vodka in bed next to him and a woman asleep on the floor, fully dressed. He put the bottle of Vodka and some money on the floor next to her, took the knife from his pocket and carefully slit her throat. He didn't know who she was or what he had told her and thought it better to end it before she had a chance to speak of the attractive American who took her to his room last night. When the police eventually came, they would take the money and then feel too paranoid to spend much time investigating her murder. Simple and effective, guilt can be a powerful tool. He walked out the door, down the hall, through the lobby and into a city he knew nothing about. He needed to find a gun and a drink and a woman who didn't speak English. He walked, half-frozen and overly cautious, and when the bullet came all he could do was smile. It hit him in the chest and stained the ground with his still warm life. He lay there and all he could think was how beautiful it was, the steam coming off of his blood. He closed his eyes and dreamt of his Mother. How he missed her.
