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

For the second time in my life, I took on a job I shouldn’t have to save my life. I wonder if I will end up regretting this decision as much as the first? Fuck it. I had no choice.

Phil put me in the passenger seat of my own truck and talked as he drove off out of town and onto a road on the edge of town which seemed to wind endlessly next to a river. It reminded me of the kind of place where high school kids would sneak off to drink.

Phil stopped the truck in a little clearing centered by a burn bin and some stumps carved into chairs decorated with an endless supply of empty beer whiskey bottles. It looked like the setting of a nostalgic country music video.

I was led to a tree just outside of the party area and lashed to a steel bolt which stuck out of the thing.

“What the fuck is this?” I asked Phil while he lashed my wrists with thick rope.

Phil slapped me gently on the cheek.

“Sit tight, I’ll be back soon.”

What Phil meant by “soon,” was hours, until well after the sun down and I had rubbed my wrists raw trying to Houdini out of his lashing. I had finally given up when I saw the familiar headlights of my Ranger pull into the clearing. I could see two shadows in the car.

My heart dropped when I watched Phil walk over to the passenger seat of the truck and yank out a young woman. It took a few seconds, but I recognized the girl as the warden’s daughter. I had Facebook stalked him and admit to checking out a bit of her profile after noticing some clear bikini shots. I’m not made of stone, okay.

Phil dragged the girl over towards me kicking and screaming and clawing at him with her nails.

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