Finding the Right Killer

You pour over dozens of competent looking hit men before settling on one. You don’t bat an eyelash that you’re meeting him in a sleazy bar.

You spot him right away. He is thin and about an inch taller than you.

You give him a warm grin.

“Mister Lincoln?”

He smiles at you. “You can call me Abe.”

You favor him with a smile and play his ridiculous charade. His real name is Jason Zines and you know more about him than he knows about himself.

“Well, Abe, I have a job for you with a hundred Ben’s up front and another hundred upon completion.”

“Tell me about the job, miss...”

“Call me Betsy Ross.”

“We’ll Miss Ross, what would you like me to do?”

“I’d like the man sleeping at four hundred twenty Posh Boulevard to have an accident with knife.”

“What kind of accident?”

“A fatal one. I’ll leave the back door unlocked. Drop the knife in the trash and make sure to wear nylons over your head. There are cameras.”

“Seems simple enough. When?”

“Friday night.” You offer him a brown bag with cash.

“You have a deal, Betsy.”

You favor him with a smile.

“Good.”

You exit and drive to the most expensive bar in town. You walk in discretely. Tiffany, being a creature of habit, is there as expected. You avoid her, bumping into the waitress collecting her glass. As the waitress staggers you grab Tiffany’s martini glass and slip it into your purse.

You apologize and slip out the exit. You feel giddy as you hop in your car.