Confession: A Hitman's Story

Here's the full story. No chapters.

I don't want to do this forever. I have hopes of getting out of this field and doing something else, but I don't have a plan either; so, I guess I'll still do this in the meantime. I won't tell you my real name because there are people in my life that are still alive, and I don't want them to be targeted. But as for going incognito, you can call me Eagle. Don't laugh.

Where I want to start my story is in the middle, then make many foreshadows to the ending, but include my origin story at some point. The middle begins with me sitting in a greyish-blue SUV, parked on the sidewalk, scoping out the house across the street from my driver's side window. The person who owns the home is who I am interested in. To the best of my knowledge, this is a man of wealth with no regard for consequence. If he is a student, then I am the master of consequence, and he shall be receiving a test on cause and effect. The cause is this: a housewife is dead. Bad case of drunk and fell down the stairs and breaking her neck. Any sane, medical examiner will tell you it is plausible the housewife became so inebriated that she lost balance and fell. But a sane, medical examiner will make note of irregularities such as scars on her back and circular bruises around her wrists and neck. That same examiner will tell you that, while tragic, he believes her death was not accidental, but intentional. And if you happen to be the police chief of a certain precinct in a certain city, and used to also be the husband of this dead woman, you would tell the medical examiner to be careful where he treads because the implications of that kind of declaration could be fatal.

You see... (now this is me, Eagle, talking to you, the reader) this world is an endless field of weighing scales: one shift in the weight needs to be counterbalanced by another weight; one problem is balanced by one solution. Add corruption, for example, to a scale and the weight becomes unbalanced, and when it does, that's where I come in.

In the middle compartment between the front seats, I pulled out a Glock 17 with a threaded barrel. Fairly good for a suppressor, especially if you get the Advanced Armament Corporation Ti-Rant 9M suppressor. In no way am I endorsing these companies or advocating their use in the way that I use them for. All I can say is that it's a decent combo.

The method I use for these jobs is simple for the most part. My get up is a white, long-sleeve button-up, black tie, black slacks, black dress shoes, black socks – all from Kohl's – and white, latex gloves and white disposable, shoe-covers from Home Depot. All these things I store in the glove compartment. Prior to my arrival, I style my hair to the right, but not fancy, with Sauvecito brand pomade. Strong hold, to not leave any residual hairs on the scene. And what is my motive for these jobs when I arrive? Well, it's usually improvisation depending on the situation. For this job, in particular, the police chief is on a month-long, home vacation, and I decided to go with a student approach.

My source told me is usual up and about around 11AM, according to their vigilante stake-out prior to them contacting me. I am very cordial and prompt when it comes to my job, so as told, I rang the doorbell at 11AM precisely.

Moments later I am greeted with an open door to a man who smells like vodka and poor choices.

"What do you want?" the chief said.

"Sorry to bother you, sir. I'm student from the community college down the road, doing a statistical survey from my math class. Would you mind filling out this form?" I said, immediately shoving the clipboard with paper listed with multiple questions. At that point, the only thing I had to worry about is if he would take the clipboard at all. When you hand a person an object, they are more likely to drop their guard. Luckily, the chief took the bait. I waited patiently as he scanned through the questions, all more random than the last.

Do you eat cheese?

Do you eat cheese in bed?

Do you eat cheese with a shirt on?