The man sat silently and searched. This was not part of his job, and the anger teetered off him. As he took in the words, he sighed to him self, and relaxed. They were paying, and paying him well. The hotel was paid for, the food, and all the vodka he could drink. He needed the vodka to do this job. He searched for records and came up with a kindergarten photograph of the little girl in question.
He had killed before, but killing a child was something he had never even considered. The vodka answered all his question as he thought of his own gangly teenager at home. His wife never asked questions of his work, and he never told her. All she needed to know was that this last job would take care of the down payment on their new house.
He stretched his feet out and looked through the pictures of the little tiny six year old. Her innocence shown through her eyes, and it almost hurt him to have to do his job. Almost.