The young man walked over the bridge, as he had been instructed. The package slipped easily from his pocket, into the water below, and then it was gone, forgotten and beyond recovery in the water below. Just like the deed it had done.
But he mustn't think of that. Just make his way to the place, give the message, and be on his way home, all this forgotten.
He had not expected it to sound like that. Not to mention look like that.
He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Do not think of it. Banish it from your mind. You were merely following orders. Anyone else would have done what you did, in the circumstances.
Somehow, that wasn't as comforting as he'd thought it would be.
He turned down the street he'd been instructed to. It was... rather distressingly dark. But then, it was night. All streets were dark at night.
Though streets without lamps were darker than most.
A foot scattered gravel under it. "Well?" came a gruff voice.
The young man nodded. He'd been told what to say. "They're selling salmon in the market," he declared.
There was silence for a moment. "Good," said the voice, and then the young man felt a sudden stabbing pain in his side. As he hit the ground he realized that he'd known this was how it would end, that the man who used the hammer was destined to die quietly in a back alley, to a man who used a knife. And whose face people didn't know, and who took steps to make sure it stayed that way.
He hoped his family got the money.
And then he hoped they didn't, but were instead... left alone. It felt... safer.