The Final Entry

October 5, 2004, 12am, Atlantic City1

Well, I’m in my hotel room, and I’m on the job, a job that is getting way too old for me. I don’t think I can take this kind of work anymore, to see another person die from my own hands just isn’t a thrill anymore. I have no idea what my client will do, a young married wife with three young kids, wanting her husband dead for cheating, apparently he was doing it since the beginning of the marriage. Sad. It’s a typical case for me, married wives find out their husbands doing the mess around, and then wanting them dead… and the job is just too old. If I quit I don’t know what I’ll do, I feel like a dog, a pit bull maybe, trained to kill and only to kill, so imbedded in me it’s nothing but instinct. Kill! Kill! Kill! Maybe, just maybe I should turn myself in; the only thing is that if I do turn myself in I have to face prison. I can’t stand being enclosed in small spaces for a long time, and crowded areas too. I’m a claustrophobic…I hyperventilate, and sweat too much, and then I begin to itch. Okay, okay, I know what your saying, how did I get to the top floor of this hotel---from an elevator. Well, I can explain that…and the answer is that I get myself into a trance-like state until the job is done, kind of like a hypnosis thing…I don’t care what other people think…after I write this I’ll go and turn myself in at the police station…I DO BELIEVE IN A GOD YOU KNOW! The last thing I need is Him on my back, The “Big Guy”, and His judgment. Anyway 35 years in the business is long enough. I’m tired of being on the run all the time, watching my back, and all these secret codes and special gestures, this cloak and dagger. Well, I’m going…if you don’t see me in this lifetime, I’ll see you in the next. Good-Bye.2