When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 49: Old Habits

Chapter 49: Old Habits

"Lately, I’ve been thinking about our times in the organization," Jones leaned back against the storage table, pulling a gold coin from his pocket. He spun it idly on the surface, the metallic clink filling the quiet room. "A little nostalgia trip."

Kant crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "And?"

Jones smirked as he caught the coin mid-spin. "I was thinking—why don’t we take that cult apart?"

Kant’s brow furrowed. "The cult? Suddenly?"

"Yeah," Jones tossed the coin in the air and caught it lazily. "We used to be the real pros at taking out the trash. Might as well do it once more in honor of the old days. Something good for a change."

"Something good, huh?" Kant asked, his voice inexpressive. "You don’t move unless there’s something in it for you."

Jones chuckled. "And what do you think that is?"

Frankly, Kant had no idea. They held eye contact, trying to read each other for any clues, but both came up with nothing.

"Tsk. You used to be so easy to read," Jones teased, tossing the coin again. "But now you’re like a stone. I almost miss it when your expressions had subtitles."

Kant couldn’t help but scoff.

Early in his days with the organization, Kant had gotten curious about Jones and asked, "When did you become a Bear?"

"I’m not a bear, I’m a fox," Jones had replied, spinning a throwing knife with the same sly smirk.

"A fox?" Kant had echoed, confused.

Jones had then tossed the knife past Kant’s shoulder, and chuckled as he flinched. "Foxes don’t get caught in traps like bears. Foxes make the traps. They’re smarter—they get what they want."

At least in the present, Jones tossed Kant a coin, not a knife. "What’s on your mind?"

"I’m busy today." Kant tossed the coin back. "Cut to the chase."

Jones’s smirk widened. "Scopolamine."

Kant stiffened. "Drugs?"

"Not drugs—money," Jones corrected smoothly, rolling the coin between his fingers. "Once the cult falls apart, the dealer is mine. And I expand the business. The innocent walk free, the sinners move on to serve the next devil. Win-win."

Of all the schemes Jones could dream up, this—becoming a drug lord—was his master plan? The very thing they used to hunt?

It was laughable, but Kant didn’t dare laugh. Not when he was already on thin ice.

"Don’t look so tense," Jones said lightheartedly. "I won’t ask you to sell drugs. Absolutely nothing will change for you."

He spun the coin on the table. "Think of it like a chicken shop expanding a bit and selling candy on the side. The butchers keep cutting meat, but the seller gains a new product to pitch."

"That simple, huh?"

"Life’s always simple if you don’t ask questions you don’t need answers to."

Kant’s eyes lingered on the coin left spinning on the table, its spin slowing until it toppled with a dull clink.

Jones tapped the coin, leaning forward. "So, you in?"

. . .

The sun had fallen from the sky, leaving red-bellied clouds to line the horizon.

But by the time Kant finished moving the last piece of furniture into the new storage unit, the evening had darkened into pitch black.

He stood for a moment under the lamp outside the unit, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"Well, that was fun," he said sarcastically, taking off his gloves. "Hope I don’t have to do this again anytime soon."

Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky as the storage unit door clanged shut, the sound echoing faintly in the empty lot.

Kant walked to the borrowed truck and brushed off the thin layer of snow on the windshield before hopping inside.

The heater struggled, reluctantly blowing warm air. Kant leaned back against the vinyl seat and watched the peaceful snowfall for a bit.

After the hours of lifting, dragging, and shifting every piece of furniture, he could already feel tomorrow’s soreness. It was a workout in itself. He paused, remembering the gym plan with Gabriel.

Kant quickly pulled out his phone to check the time, only to find a row of notifications. They were all messages from Gabriel, stretching down like an ancient scroll.

(Hey, you still dealing with the furniture?) 6:01 PM

(Need help?) 6:01 PM

(Why no reply? Did you get tackled by a raccoon? Should I call animal control?) 6:17 PM

(Hello? Did the raccoon steal your phone?) 6:44 PM

(The gym is open 24/7, just saying) 6:45 PM

(If you’re trying to avoid the plans, it won’t work) 6:45 PM

Kant read every message, smiling despite himself. He paused at the one about avoiding plans, an odd sense of guilt or responsibility gnawing at him. He shook his head and scrolled down.

(Have you eaten? I’m making dinner, enough for two) 7:05 PM

(I wanted to say I’m about to file for a missing person, but I think it would sound more like a threat if I sent it to you, haha) 7:58 PM

The thought of someone eagerly waiting for him felt unusual, somewhat burdensome.

Kant turned on the sound so he wouldn’t miss any future messages, and started typing a response when he saw a shadow run past the truck.

He paused, then slowly put his phone down, keeping an eye out for any suspicious figures.

Was it his imagination playing tricks again?

Kant hopped out of the truck and circled it, just in case. No one was around.

The world had felt still before, almost peaceful, but now everything felt... too quiet. The snow had begun to fall heavier, adding to the thick blanket that covered the lot. Even the traffic of the city seemed to have dulled, making the silence almost suffocating.

He went to get his gym bag from the unit, but as he was locking up the second time, the faint crunch of footsteps cut through the stillness. Someone was there.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Kant paused, pretending to mess with the lock. It could have been staff, so he waited to see whether the person would pass him by.

The steps drew closer, their sound growing louder. A hooded shadow entered his line of sight, stopping right behind his back. This person reached into their pocket for something.

A weapon?

Kant’s heart grew cold. He wasn’t about to take any chances. He made a sharp move, slamming the man into the wall and pressing the key to their throat.