Mr. Contract Killer

The first life I took was my old man's. He made it real easy, considering he supplied the murder weapon. I found it poetic, strangling the washed-up man with his own belt; The same worn leather belt used to lash at my flesh till it split. Looking back, it certainly hadn't been the cleanest work I'd done, though it proved the most satisfying out of the lot. Every job I've picked up since has yet to fill the lingering void. At first, I had tried to pick and choose jobs that would give others a sense of freedom I felt upon eliminating my antagonist, however, people were hardly in the market for such things. So I expanded my target range and got to work.

Hanging an unfaithful in their closet, throwing a CEO out the window of his brand building from the 23rd floor. Even sniping people who were just a name on a list, which lost its appeal. Killing had become quite the potent addiction, and it was fairly attainable for someone who was good at it. But much like any addiction, the dose needs to be upped after a time for a true intoxication. I craved something stimulating, invigorating. A challenge.

I could only keep the predator within content for so long before my resolve gives way and I allow the beast to hunt its own prey. Just how long would I be able to lay in wait? What could suppress the hungry beast for even a day more?

The answer found me like any other job. It was handed to me. Only this one was different. Rather than being approached by someone's lackey and offered a sum of money, this one appeared via the mail. My brows pinched together upon finding a manila padded envelope addressed modestly to a 'Mr. Contract Killer,' written in crooked black ink laying among the overdue bills in my dropbox. I scanned down both sides of the street for any sign of a lingering messenger, however, I was the only one standing outside.

There have been many who have attempted pinning down my location, getting close but never striking true. In order to keep the police and detectives guessing, I abandoned several identities, now sporting the fabricated persona of Quill Oakley. I had been laying low for the past several months since my last move which dumped me in a shabby duplex just north of Raven Way.

Upon further inspection, I discovered an annoying factor. The package lacked an address; I couldn't even find one in invisible ink! The sender likely didn't want a killer to know their location in the case of the contract going south. I flipped the large envelope curiously in my hand, slouching on my beaten down couch that I had pressed up against the farthest wall of the apartment near the window. A mug of already too cold coffee sat among the pile of bills and fast food leftovers on the low coffee table.

I sat forward, picking up the mug and mentally cursed, nose scrunching up once the chilled bitter liquid brushed my tongue. I swallowed it anyway, too bothered by this mystery to bother reheating the beverage. The sender had been careful, ensuring that there were no hints upon the package of where it had come from or who had sent it, save for maybe it's contents. There was a distinct weight to its bulky form, the sound of muffled clinks a result of shaking the envelope.

That factor certainly caught me off guard. It could be anything: a bomb, a puzzle if the sender was just that dramatic or even equipment the sender desired to be used in the takedown. Unable to harness my curiosity for a moment longer, I ripped open the envelope and watched as way too many pennies, dimes, nickels and maybe two quarters rolled out to further clutter up the table with noisy metallic *plinks*.

"No way..." I scrubbed tiredly at my eyes to make sure I was seeing this correctly. Unfortunately, I was. "Do they take me for a cashier?"

Muttering over the rediculous situation set before me, I brushed the coins around, quickly counting a strange total of $23.42. What kind of sick joke was this? What did they expect me to do with this? Even if this was only half of the payment, the most it would get them would be a drowned cat. Reaching back into the large bubble padded envelope, my fingers pinched at the piece of paper inside. I hoped this had the answers to all the questions parading in my head. If not it was more than likely that I'd drop this all in the wastebasket on my way out to find something more entertaining.