Professional

The man sitting on the opposite side of the desk responded with quiet humility. “Yes, sir. I'm a professional.”

The first man nodded. He looked at the man in front of him. Hard work and an outdoor life had shaped this person. “I understand,” he said, then paused for a moment. “Look, Ben, I know your sense of duty. I also know – how to say this – the victim was your daughter. If you need to excuse yourself, nobody will hold it against you.”

Ben shook his head. “No, that's alright. Won't be necessary. Besides, it wouldn't be right. At the least, you'll be paying another province for using their executioner, and that's not cheap.”

The older gentleman thought momentarily. “That's rather considerate of you. Are you sure you can perform your duties?”

Ben nodded as he answered. “I understand. As I said, I'm a professional.”

§

Days later, Ben sat outside of a small holding cell. On the other side was the prisoner he was to execute. Ben stood to the side of the doorway, leaning against the gray brick wall, out of the prisoner's sight. He waited a few minutes before speaking. “Tomorrow's the day.”

After a few moments of silence, he continued. “Are you ready? Made yourself right?”

He barely heard the quiet and uncertain “Yes.”

“Good, good. It's important to make things right, best you can, especially with your Maker.”

“Yeah.” Another quiet answer.

Ben heard the quiet and uncertainty in the prisoner's voice. “You scared?” The question was unnecessary.

Some moments later, there was another stifled reply. “Yeah.” The prisoner waited before adding, “I'm sorry.”

Ben glowered. The horrible things the man had done to his daughter, and now he musters a pathetic apology? He cooled himself, ensuring the reply was conversational. “It won't bring her back, you know. But, it's all you can do.”

Ben waited in the strained silence. He wouldn't show how much he was hurt and angry, least of all to this scum. He sensed the prisoner was struggling to contain himself, judging by the slight noises he heard from the other side of the wall.

“You know,” he added, “I've hunted for years. I've had a lot of practice to get a clean, quick kill.”

He heard what sounded like a reluctantly relieved sigh.

“Of course, I've had to deal with pest animals, too,” he continued. “I can't say I was as concerned for killing them quickly.” He paused to listen. “No, I wasn't. I'd trap some and see how I could drag out their death. I'd make it so they couldn't move or make a sound. Then I'd find a way to hurt them as much as I could as I killed them. Nobody could tell they were in pain.”

Ben stopped. There was silence. “You there?”

“Yeah.” The reply was quiet, forced.

“Good. I guess what I'm saying is that I've been killing animals now for years. I know how to do it quickly and clean. I know how to drag it out and make it look clean.” He paused. “You could say I'm a professional.”

“Right.” Ben heard the prisoner's voice choke with fear.

“Yeah. So remember that.” Ben looked at his watch. It was unnecessary, but a habit. “Listen. I'm leaving now. Just remember, I'm a professional.”

§

The following morning the prisoner was brought to the execution platform. The prison warden read the charges and the order.

The prisoner was visibly shaken and distraught. He trembled and could barely stammer a whispered “No” when he was asked if he had any final words. He was sweating when the priest administered last rights.

The priest saw the shaken man, and placed a hand on his shoulder as a hood was placed over his head. “Don't worry,” the priest consoled the prisoner, “The man is a professional.”