Living Among Wasps: The First Case

The Who, The Where, The Why

It seems that the very first sentence of a story is the hardest of them all. At least that's how I feel as I begin to note down my recent experiences. There really isn't much else I can do in my prison cell than to look for yet another way an average height, well-built man in his thirties could settle in his miserable bunk bed. Besides that, you can also read a book, but when you're done with all ten available in here, you can only return back to research on body arrangements. Or you can write. I've heard that giving my account of the experiences of the last couple of years could significantly improve my living conditions. Or, possibly, even secure my release. That is the motivation behind this writing attempt, and it is also the little glimmer of hope that I am now clinging to.

To begin with, I feel obliged to give a brief introduction of myself. My name is Albert, and I am an assassin. At least I used to be until I was caught two years ago. It's safe to say I was one of the best in Northern and Eastern Europe because I only took up a couple of clients per year. My standards were fairly simple – they had to be interesting and the offered salary could not be less than five figures, though I always bargained for six just for the fun of it. Most of my clients were rich, loathsome cowards and would easily raise the pay if the dangerous looking killer in an expensive suit just bothered to ask.

Ironically, I was sentenced for a murder I did not commit. It was a carefully planned and faultlessly executed plot by one sly individual who was driven by love and hate at the same time. Nobody, of course, believes me, but I have given up on trying to convince people otherwise. It's not that I'm innocent of assassinations anyway, right? By now my real crimes are out in the open and easily found on the internet so I'm not going to dwell on this topic any longer, both for the sake of avoiding boring redundancy and to keep your opinion of me as good as possible for as long as possible. I am not proud of my past, but deeply ashamed of it to be honest. Yet there's little one could do to change the past, but the future remains like an ocean – vast, with countless number of routes and destinations. It's just the matter of getting into the right boat.

So there I was, presented with a choice just two months after I was locked up. It came from Rebecca, a woman I used to be madly in love with. I couldn't turn my eyes away from her, but her smile can easily create an addiction. She is also the only person in the world that believed me when I said that I did not murder Vasilevsky, the victim in the case I was wrongly accused of. Rebecca was one of the police officers assigned to investigate it, but I was the assassin hired to avenge the victim. At least, now I can say with certainty that such relationships cannot last.

Since I am basically destined to die in prison, our relationship quickly became strictly professional, with her visiting me whenever she needed help with one of her cases. So, I'm partially responsible for her becoming one of the leading investigators in Latvia. Partially, because she is extremely bright on her own right, but just needs some guidance whenever forensics and crime labs fall short with supplying evidence. And I have the practical knowledge in the art of murder and crime.