However once upon a time I was the 3rd most sought after
assassin in the world.
Only John T “The Gentleman” Morgan and Clifford “Sudden Death”
Belchere have more confirmed hits.
I am a big fan of “The
Gentleman”.
Morgan is an old school artist.
I really admire his work.
I am not as much a fan of the
Haitian.
Oh he will definitely put down his target, but I think he lacks
finesse.
Not to mention the hit that incapacitated me; that motherfucker
finished it.
It should have been an easy elimination.
No muss no fuss, no struggle.
A freaking televangelist. The television preacher supposedly only
had his church members working security, so I have no idea why the chief of
security was so good.
I had blended into the crowd for the Sunday service, the client
asked that the hit be messy and public. I planned on killing the charlatan as
he preached “The Word” right on National Television. I played the role of a cripple flawlessly my
blades tucked into my cane.
I rose with the congregation in song. I waited for the fat showman
to ask for people to come down to be prayed for. I had mapped my escape, I planned on putting
my 9 inch blade into his heart and being out of the sanctuary before anyone
noticed.
The large bald man at the preacher’s side, seemed to know
that something was off about me. I have
never seen a man that large move that quickly before.
I was disarmed and the big bastard had cut the nerves in my
arms and legs leaving me flopping on the floor. The cameras that had just been
focused on the “Reverend Doctor” were now focused on me trying to rise off the
obnoxious purple carpet in vain.
Me, Joaquin “Espectro” Cardenas! Thirty seven flawless
kills. Flopping around atop his churches
emblem I have seen myself on cable news at least a thousand times since. My
fellow inmates at The Federal Correctional Institution in Marianna Florida
tease me about it.
The doctors have sewn my nerves back together but I won’t
ever be able to do the fine detailed knife work that I once did at will.
My walk is very distinctive now. I doubt that I qualify as “the
Spirit” anymore I couldn’t sneak out of an earthquake.
Fortunately, my attorney has convinced the judge that I was
just a crazed fan. I won’t be in prison
long. I have money saved and hidden all over the planet.
Three more years. Actually 38 months.
38 months and I will be back on the street. The first thing
I am going to do is find that head of Security and put him down.
It’s the only thing I live for, I fight hard to gain my strength
again my physical therapist says he’s never seen anyone so determined before.
If only he knew. I exercise long after my session is over I
pull myself up on the bars on the recreation yard over and over despite the
agony that each move floods me with.
My people will locate the former Security Chief, and
whenever I return to the street, his days will be limited.
I don’t really ever have to work again.
I have always been frugal, even though my fees have made me
a very wealthy man.
Prison is full of braggarts. A bunch of losers who think
that they shouldn’t have lost. I listen to my fellow prisoners. I pretend that
I don’t understand a lot of the conversations here. I wonder how the Russians would
react if they knew that I understood all of the things they say in my earshot,
or the Chinese, or the Koreans. I speak 22 languages, but it’s easy to convince
everyone that I am a simple minded Mexican who was fascinated with the
preacher.
I saw the way that the Haitian butchered the television minister.
Even I have to admit it was a thing of beauty. Impalement on the neon cross of
the Sanctuary. Nice one Belchere nice
one.
My arms have gotten stronger, I am tempted to start a fight
just to see if I am still as lethal as before. I bid my time.
It’s prison after all and someone is bound to do something
that earns them a one-way ticket to the land of the dead.
I had a visit today.
A visit from one of the last people I would have expected.
Death himself.
The Haitian somehow got in as my new head shrink, I can’t
help it, I’m starting to like him.
I can’t believe he offered to take out the Security chief for
me. Simply out of mutual respect, yeah the Haitian has more class than I gave
him credit for.
I won’t be needing his help.
Even if the bodyguard kills me, I will die the way that I
want. Facing an enemy who is actually good enough to kill me. What more could
anyone in my field ask for? Violent people tend to die by violence. I have
always suspected that I would die at the hands of a foe. The guard seems like a
worthy one. Even that Haitian phantom respected the bodyguard’s prowess.
19 months. I am stronger than before my injury. My arms and legs feel like they are made of the
same brick and metal of the penitentiary.
I have killed. The Aryan Nation is down two of its shot
callers. My client was the son of a very
wealthy actress.
The Aryan’s sodomized him. I don’t feel sorry for him. He
should have been tougher.
Money, is money though.
Money dictates that the racists die.
That is all that matters to me.
I’m trying not to make this about revenge. I am trying to
find any other excuse for killing the late Reverend’s bodyguard. I have never
killed anyone for personal reasons before. I guess there is a first time for
everything.
10 months. I have located the bodyguard, he lives outside of
Atlanta a small town called Hiram.
His record seems underwhelming. Former Marine, former boxer,
former prisoner, nothing says that he should be good enough to have presented a
challenge to two of the most formidable death dealers in the business.
5 months. My sources tell me that the bodyguard has left
Hiram. He is now working for a Saudi Prince? Something in the milk is unclean.
Maybe I need to reconsider.
I am free.
The bald man is in my sights.
As soon as take off the safety it seems like he is looking
in my scope.
He disappears from view.
I’m breaking down my rifle when I hear a deep bass voice.
“You should let it go. If I had wanted the damage to be permanent
it would have been.”
Yeah, either this guy is amazingly good or I have lost a
step either way. I am retiring.
