Professional Conscience

By João Ventura

He was a professional assassin, recognised as one of the best. His bio in Killers Who’s Who inspired respect.

He took pride in the fact that, throughout his long career, he had dispatched every assignment to the clients’ satisfaction, without a single failure.

His agent would place a brown paper envelope, A5 size, in his mailbox, containing photos of the target along with a set of useful information for the execution — from places frequented and family and extramarital connections to eating habits. After the assignment was carried out, a transfer with the agreed payment would land in his account. He never knew who the client was, nor the reason for the assignment, nor did it interest him.

That spring afternoon he had wandered through the city: he visited an exhibition at an art gallery, went into two bookstores to catch up on the latest releases, and sat at an outdoor café drinking a beer. He felt at peace with the world.

When he got home, he opened the mailbox and found a brown envelope, just like many others he had received before. He went inside, changed his shoes for slippers, took off his coat and carefully hung it up, poured whiskey into a glass, and went to the false-bottom drawer to fetch the Colt .38 and a small box of bullets. He sat in the armchair and meticulously cleaned the weapon, then carefully loaded it. It was a ritual he never skipped: preparing what he needed for the assignment before knowing the target. One last look at the gun, he set it down and opened the envelope.

He let the photos inside fall onto his lap, along with a sheet of paper containing additional information. When he looked at the first photo, of a man walking along the Marginal Avenue, he thought for a split second, “I know this face,” and in the next instant, “But this is me!”

He looked at the other photos. It was always him — sitting in a café, in a bookstore leafing through a book, on the beach looking at the sea…

***

He had an exquisitely sharp professional conscience. In his entire long career, he had never failed to carry out an assignment. This was not going to be the first time.

He picked up the Colt, pressed the barrel to his right temple, and pulled the trigger.

About the Author

João Ventura writes short fiction, which has appeared in several websites (AntipodeanSF and Bewildering Stories among them), and also in printed form: Somnium, in Brazil; Dragão Quântico, Hyperdrivezine, Phantastes (Portuguese fanzines); Universe Pathways (in both the English and the Greek versions).

He had short stories in several Portuguese and Brazilian antologies: A Sombra sobre Lisboa (2006), Por Universos Nunca Dantes Navegados (2007), VaporPunk (2010), Antologia de Ficção Científica Fantasporto (2012),  Lisboa no ano 2000 (2013), Lisboa Oculta - Guia Turístico (2018), O resto é paisagem (2018), Almanaque SteamPunk (2019), Winepunk (2019), Regiana Magna (2020), Uma Década de Divergência (2023), Winepunk 2 (2025).

In 2018, a collection of his short stories (in Portuguese) came to light, with the title Tudo Isto Existe, and in 2025 a new one was borne, entitled O Cidadão sem Sombra.

 He is a retired engineering professor, and he finished recently a science communication book which has been submitted to a Portuguese publisher.

Those who read Portuguese can have a glance at some of his stuff in Das palavras o espaço (fiction) and Ciência de todos os dias (science communication).

He lives in Lisbon, Portugal.