I'll See You in Hell

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Call me Kingston. Killing is my vocation. It comes naturally to me, so, like the best prodigies, I decided to make a career of it. Some people would say that makes me a sociopath. That’s why I try not to take too much pleasure in my work.

Of all the men I’d killed, I enjoyed Seamus the most, much to my regret. But, to be completely fair, the S.O.B. had it coming.

Ours is supposed to be a quiet profession, done secretly. Anonymously. Discreetly. But professionalism, anonymity, and discretion were qualities that, apparently, were all well beyond Seamus. He reveled in the notoriety and the mass panic that came with a big, bloody, public massacre. Seamus had become an embarrassment and liability to our mutual employers, so when the contract came with his name on it, I tried not to crack too much of a smile. After all, this was a job.

Seamus was a disgrace. But he was also very good. Despite his sloppy methods, he somehow never managed to get caught, and he always got his man, along with anyone else within the blast radius. I needed to make sure he didn’t wiggle his way out of this one.

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