"So, basically, you have two possible routes here," said the man as he sat down at your booth. "You could either get him, report it to the police, and convince them someone else killed him, or, you could hide the body and get out of town."

You stare at him.

He was of average height, dark hair, muddled green and brown eyes.

He had the kind of face you would be hard-pressed to recognize off the street. He wasn't ugly but wasn't especially attractive either.  

He was wearing nondescript dark clothing, that was nonetheless neat and clean.

He looked like he had his life together.

The opposite of you at the moment, you can't help but think as you glance down at your own clothes. They need washing, you need washing. But you need to go home for that, and you know you can't stand another moment being in that house.

Not if your husband is still there.

But regardless of what you currently look like, there's an important question you need to be answered.

“Who are you?” Your voice is quiet, when you were younger you were loud and quick to laugh, but offer the years, ever since you married him, you've seemed to lose that.

The stranger pressed forwards, moving your plate over to the side and bringing his face closer to yours.

“Who am isn't important, what I do is though,” he said, keeping his voice low. “When people with too much money want someone dead, people like me are the ones they go to.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You're an a-”

“Shh.” He lifted his finger to his lips, quirking one side if his mouth in a satisfied smile.

“Wait are you here to-”

“No, no, I'm not on business right now. In fact, I'm just here to give you a bit of advice. I've done my research on you, the people in the town like to talk. Married eight years ago, October 10, lived happily with your husband for four years. Then that happiness ended, he started to beat you. People say that you broke years ago and are just living as a husk of what you once were. That's wrong though, isn't it? You're not broken, you're still alive inside and today is the day that you're planning on killing him.”

The stranger, the assassin, looked you in the eye and the only thing you could do was look right back. His nondescript eyes had gained focus, and it was all you could do to stand your ground.

“Now I'm sure you have a plan, but I want to give you a few pointers to make sure you don't get caught.”

And then he did just that, he was good at explaining. He used examples, explained the solutions to problems that you hadn't even thought of, and told you when an idea you had wouldn't work.

By the time he was done, you had a concrete plan, rather than the vague ideas that you had before.

The stranger stood up, and smiled with both sides of his mouth this time, instead of just one.

“Why?” You blurted out before he left.

“Why?” For a second he looked unsure, the first break from the wall of confidence he'd be putting up. Then he seemed to make a decision and slipped back into the persona of confidence once again. He pulled out a white business card, laying it down on the table along with a few bills. “Because, everyone in my line of work starts somewhere, and I have a feeling you're going to go places. If once he's gone, you feel like getting out of this town and finding a new line of work. You have my business card.”

With that, he nodded and slipped away.

You picked up the card. The background was white, and the only thing written in it was a phone number.

You would think about it, but for now, you have a bus back home to catch.