For Years I Was A Hitman Called ‘The Aneurysm’ And I’m Ready To Tell You Why I Finally Retired

Too late. Time to run. I ran for the bathroom. There was a window in there above the sink that I could jump through. The phone rang as soon as I took off, almost as if it was announcing my flight.

Answer the phone or don’t answer the phone? Run or stay? I stopped in the room and gave it a second’s thought.

I went back to the phone and picked it up. I had left a message with my people up in D.C. Maybe they were calling me back with a plan of action. I picked up the phone…


“Uh, hi, sir,” the nervous voice I recognized as belonging to the pizza-faced teenager who checked me in was instantly recognizable. “I have a question, for you.”

I looked at the window. The blinds were still a little bit open. I stretched the cord of the phone and leaned over towards the window in hopes of closing that little gap. I stretched my arm out as far as I could, hoping to do it, but just couldn’t quite reach it.

“Sir, Mister, Um, I don’t know, uh, someone is here asking for you, can I give them your room number?” the check-in guy’s voice rang in my ear.

“Ah shit,” I squawked back on the line.

I had leaned too far over and fell to the floor, taking the blinds with me. The piece of shit plastic slats ripped off the top of the window and fell on top of me.

The cord of the phone must have fallen out of the phone. The line in my ear went dead. The room was silent again.


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