The Story

Everything I’d read, everything I’d seen, said that the first one would be the hardest.

And if that were true, this was going to be easiest job I’d ever had! That was a swish, a homer, and a cakewalk all in one!

But they were wrong. Or liars. Which you think is worse really depends on how many times you’ve been screwed over.

I myself have been screwed over many times, but that comes with the territory of the circles I run in. They’re mostly good people. It’s just that criminals and thieves are used to lying and sometimes they can’t help it when stabbing someone in the back will make their life minimally better.

So back to killing people.

Your first one is actually pretty easy. There’s so much emotion pumping through you, and in my case a WHOLE lotta drugs pumping through them, that after the first couple hits your body thinks it’s defending itself and goes into fight or flight response. That gets the adrenaline going on full speed and your extremities lose all feeling, so you don’t even notice the knuckles in your left hand have turned to gravel until the next morning.

And I only noticed at that point because I tried to slap my roommate for barging into my room at 6am, just a couple hours after I’d finally landed in bed. He said it was worth it to watch me pretend not to cry while he fetched some ice and duct tape.

He’s a mole at a couple banks for the mob so he doesn’t have to work nights like some of us. He had an in for the job because his uncle shared a cell with on of the Family’s middle-men for a few years. Privileged ass.

Those of us moving up the ladder in a more legitimate fashion should be allowed to sleep  through the first several hours of daylight, in my personal opinion. Of course, my annoying little roomie got a bit more respectful of my sleeping hours when my third kill was to save his stupid butt. Well I’ll be honest, it wasn’t just for Ronnie the Roommate. I was happy for my name to be dropped in the monthly Family meeting when they discussed why the bartender Ronnie slept with and drunkenly admitted his intel to wasn’t a problem anymore. After that, I started being allowed to sleep until noon.

Oh the second? The second was kinda on accident. I was supposed to just get the guy to talk. But there was a miscommunication on my end, and luckily the ladies who put the order in didn’t mind too much. In fact, they became one of my regular customers. Fine group of gals- a little weird, an unusual amount of sweaters that have cats wearing sunglasses on them, but they always say thank you, and the check always clears.

Yes of course I use checks. What kind of assassin is dumb enough to work in cash anymore? This isn’t the 1800s, those things can get marked and scanned and all sorts of crap. Working in overalls but carrying 50s and 100s is not a good look. I’d just as soon put a sign above my head reading “THIS PERSON DOES BAD THINGS”. No no, those sweet dumb-dumbs get jailed within the week. Instead, you learn to adapt to modern times. And after the recessions, nobody minds a simple self-employed handyman putting a check into his account after doing a little pest control. Hammering out a few issues for a homeowner. That sort of thing.

What was my point again?

Right, riiiiight, killing people.

So it actually gets harder over time, rather than easier. All those Oscar winning crime movies that show a sad young person losing themselves in the hungry world of corruption are, as one my regulars call it, dog shit.

You don’t really lose yourself. You get bored. Go ahead and get over how crass that was, because it’s true. There are only so many ways to kill a person, and when it’s not ‘a crime of passion’ you follow the rules you set for yourself back around the sixth or seventh time you had to burn your outfit afterward.

These rules are as follows:

1. Lure the target to a place where blood makes sense. It’s not worth cleaning up afterwards. If someone dies that people care about, the cops are gonna look at their usual haunts, and if any of those are too clean, well, you get the point.
   • No, this is not a shipyard, you movie-going maniac. This is a back alley that gangs frequent, or a dumpster. Libraries behind dirty middle schools, that kinda thing.
2. Never poison. People have allergies, or sometimes decide to not finish their drink, etc. It’s ridiculous the amount of things that can go wrong in a poisoning. I tried it just once, ending up having to beat the head in ’cause the douche decided to “watch his calories” and not go for the second egg roll, which had my stuff in it.
3. Wear clothes that you would wear anywhere. Another misconception- if you’re wearing clothes that you’re clearly ready to throw out, or were maybe wearing the last time someone disappeared, you’ve made yourself a suspect. As a fake handyman, my entire wardrobe is pretty casual, but I still make sure to rotate the paint-stained t-shirts as usual, no matter the night’s duties.

That’s it. That’s the job. Being a reasonable human being with a task. You don’t even have to be that strong, you just have to not be an idiot. Well, and be okay with breaking the law as well as ending people’s lives.

But really, what job isn’t?

The Word

Profession (noun): 1. A paid occupation, especially one that involves prolonged training and a formal qualification. 2. An act of declaring that one has a particular feeling or quality, especially when this is not the case.