wasted (fff#8)

this week's fff. not my best work, but happy i wrote and i'm on time.
including gun, tonne, fun, plum, drum.
the gun seemed to weight a tonne, having held it at point for what felt like an eternity; eyes fixated on my target. nerves gyrated my whole arm so bad i could hear the gun rattle, which i thought only happened in the movies, and i suddenly questioned the integrity of the clenched weapon realising i never had actually fired the thing; not really wanting to fire it now. my free hand (both were wrapped in latex) wiped sweat from my brow, onto the back of my pants and then plunged into my pocket for my mobile. time check. it was a nervous habit picked up since i broke my watch though this time check served it's purpose; startling me back into my task and steadying my hand. it was nearly time for the pick up and i hadn't even begun the first act: murder. 
i stood over the sleeping victim who hadn't moved since my arrival which, if it wasn't for his occasional deep snore, would have me hoping he might have already been dead. i had looked over the hallway pictures of he and his family having fun at picnics and ball games on my way to the foot of his bed. he looked like a pleasant man, a good father and it had me wondering what he had done that i would be sent here to complete this chore. 'why me?' passed through my head too, but that answer was easy; father said so. mafia work had been easy, but i'd never had to pull a trigger making tonight feel a little something like initiation for a family i grew up in. 
my mobile vibrated 'wtf?' from carmen who was waiting with dominic outside at the car and i nearly laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of american mafia texting acronyms (they were probably updating their facebook pages too). the text, while funny, was to be taken seriously and the gun began to rattle again. i moved to the bedside and standing over my mark interrupted his dream firing three shots; two to the chest and one to the head. i couldn't differentiate between the whisp of the silenced pistol and the victims last breath. his white sheets almost instantly turned a deep plum colour. i holstered my firearm and began wrapping the body in the soaking egyptian cotton followed by the goose down comforter. 
i lugged the slightly portly father and husband by the feet down from the bed, back down the hall of family photos, down the steps and out the door to meet carmen and dom. they were anxiously waiting.
'what the fuck took ya so long kid?'
i didn't answer; instead simply dropped my gloves on top of the body and lit a cigarette, sitting on the trunk of the car to chain smoke until the night's events concluded. from there i watched dom open my gift wrapped package. 'nice work' he yelled in my direction, complementing my murderous accuracy, not aware that i wasn't proud of myself. he pulled out a machete and began hacking the body into it's six main parts; finishing the work just as the truck arrived, backing up through the yard right up to dom's butcher work. carmen helped the driver, a man i had never seen before, lower a drum from the truck bed and popped the lid. the driver put on large rubber gloves and reached for a hacked arm dropping it into the drum. an immediate sizzling sound filled the air followed by the most revolting stench fathomable hitting me like a wall. i instantly gagged as the stench hit the back of my throat, choking on smoke and eventually puking on the car's bummer. the body parts melted away in minutes and the lid was returned to the canister. all three men lifted it back onto the truck bed, the driver received a briefcase, a handshake, a smoke from carmen before leaving in his truck which read mancini chemical and waste disposal. 
with the truck's (and the body's) disappearance dominic tossed the sheets back in the house while carmen came over to give me shit about puking on the car and then ushered me into the back seat. dom took the driver's seat and drove us the hour home for which i demanded silence. upon our return my father greeted me with a proud look and my next assignment. 
i threw up on his shoes. initiation complete.