I know what you did. Well maybe. You were probably board, or maybe a loved one urged you to "find God". What ever the reason, you picked up this bible, you found this story written in it. On the title page, in the margins, in every little space possible. Well, now that you found it, you can read it, my story. A story you wouldn't have herd before, some people paid a lot of money for my face, and my story to stay out of the media. My employers wouldn't risk that. Why, because I am very good at what I do.

This all started four days ago. On a Friday night. I was walking down a street, going to work.

Wait, maybe I should tell you about myself, since you don't know me. My name is (scribbled out) and I kill people. It's what I do. I treat it like I would any other job. I grew up with my grandparents. My parents died when I was little, I don't remember much about them. It was my grandpa that trained me to be what I am. He taught me about weapons, guns mostly. All the parts, how to put them together and take them apart. How to clean them. How to care for them. Different types of ammunition. He taught me how to air. How to breath. How to squeeze not pull. How to take my time.

By the time I was 14, I could outshoot Navy SEALS. By the time I was 15, I could outshoot grandpa. When I was 16, my grandpa had a heart attack. He died. My grandma had died a year earlier in a car crash. I literally had nowhere else to go. The only place was my aunt and uncle's in the big city. If you cant tell already, I don't like them. My aunt would be my mother's sister, and her husband is a lawyer. They have a large apartment, bigger than most peoples houses, 3 floors. I live in the attic, which was my choice, to be as far away from them as possible. They have a son, he is a year older than me. He's a prick. I make a point to do nothing with them. The only real reason I'm ever there is to sleep. I don't eat there food, I don't watch there TV, I don't use there phone. A few blocks from "their" apartment, I have a small apartment rented under the name E. A. Poe. It has all my weapons stashed in it. Some of my clothes, a few suites, and two duffel bags stuffed full of money.

Now you know about me. Back to my story.

I was walking down that street. On my way to the tavern. To get some dinner before going to work. I had my favorite pinstripe suite on. Inside my black leather "briefcase" was a dismantled M14 rifle. I had just started to clear my head and was walking past an ally. I herd sound of a struggle. So I decided it was time for my "good dead of the week". I set my case down, and walked into the ally. There were two men and a girl. One of the men was straddling the girl and had punched her in the head a few times. The other man was desperately trying to grab her flailing legs. I was pretty sure of there intentions. I grab the first one by his hair, pulled him off of the girl, and punched him in the face. I herd the satisfying crunch of a broken nose, and the man lost conciseness. I kicked the other man in the side of the head and he fell to the ground. I walked over to the girl, her eyes were red and swollen up from crying. I sat down next to her, put my arm around her, and she hugged me.

I told her to stop crying.

I told her every thing would be ok.

I told her the bad men were gone.

I stayed with her for a little wile, until she calmed down.

I told her I had to go.

I was in a hurry.

It was then that I realized what she was wearing, just a dark leotard that matched her dark hair.

I thought with her petite figure and that leotard, she must be a gymnast

I gave her my jacket.

I figured she must be cold.

It was a February night.

I asked if she could get home ok.

She nodded yes.

I left.

I told myself she would be fine.

I was back on my quest to find the tavern.

At the pace I was walking, it took me another ½ an hour to get there.

I entered.

The bartender, Bruce, greeted me.

I gave him my brief case.

He put it under the bar.

I sat down at my favorite table.

In about a short wile the waitress, Bruce's daughter, brought out a steak for me.

She sat down.

We talked wile I ate.

I asked her how college was going.

I asked he how much I owed her for the steak.

She smiled at me.

She said that I knew it was on the house.

She is one of my "good deeds" .

A few months ago, her boyfriend took advantage of her.

I roughed him up a bit.

I broke his arm in three places.

I told him if he ever tried anything like that again, I would break more than his arm.

And so, I was welcome in the tavern.

And I ate free.

But I still paid.

I didn't need a free meal.

That's when all hell broke loose.

8 police officers.

Full SWAT gear.

5 through the front door.

3 through the back.

They yelled my name.

Told me to put my hands up.

Cuffed me.

Read me my rights.

And took me in.