17 Apr I Kill One Person Per Year, It’s My Job
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"I Kill One Person Per Year, It's My Job"Written by
Estimated reading time — 4 minutes
“So, you think your husband is trying to kill you?”
“Yes! He is, I know it. I know he took life insurance policies out of me. Well, we did it together, actually…”
“But how does that prove that he’s trying to kill you?”
“He is, just trust me. You’ll be paid really well!
“Listen, I don’t trust people who are trying to kill someone else. You have to prove to me that one, you have proof that he’s trying to kill you, and two, prove that his life insurance policy is real as well.”
“Okay, well here are the documents from the insurance company, and I found a loaded gun that he purchased recently in our bedside table. Here is the picture.”
“That still doesn’t prove he’s trying to kill you.”
“Well then can you do some surveillance on him or something?!” She stood up, slamming the desk.
“Mrs. Goodrim, we are here in a place of business. If you don’t like my services, you can ask any of the other hunters in this place, but if you are being rude to me, then consider yourself refused.”
She sat back down, looking down, showing some sign of remorse.
“I apologize, I just want him dead before me.”
“Well, do you have the money?”
“Yes. 20% of the life insurance policy, right?”
She reached into her purse, and pulled out 10 stacks of $10,000.
I counted them, totalling $100,000.
“Alright, now do you have any other proof that he’s trying to kill you?”
She pulls out her phone, and begins going through her text messages to her husband.
“Read this. This is proof.”
Honey, do you want to go for dinner tonight? Maybe Lalabella restaurant on Fifth, maybe around 7:30PM?
“How is this proof? This just shows a man offering to take his wife out for dinner…”
“Do you not understand? He’s trying to lure me to a restaurant!”
“Yeah, a public restaurant, with many people around. He wouldn’t try to kill you there if he doesn’t want to go to jail…”
I looked at her, questioning my own stupidity, asking myself if I could be more stupid than she was… But I wasn’t here to judge, I guess.
“He doesn’t care, he’d get to cash in my life insurance policy! Do you not understand?!”
“Look… Mrs. Goodrim, I’m just here to do a job. Whether you can prove to me that this case is a legit one is up to you. Whether I decide to take the job is up to me.”
“Listen, you mongrel. I put $100,000 on your table to kill my husband, and I expect him to be dead by the morning.”
“Alright, well. I’m just going to reach over here, to grab my big red DENIED stamp, and press down into the ink…”
I looked up at her, and she was fidgeting. She wanted to play chicken, trying to put her balls on my table. I think she thought that with $100,000 sitting in front of my desk, I would just go ahead and say yes, but it doesn’t work that way. I only kill one person per year, and expect to get the highest payout.
“I’m going to life my stamp off the ink, and move it clo—-”
“Alright, wait.” Mrs. Goodrim looked at me with anger, as if she just lost a bet worth $100,000.
“Just do the job, okay? You can take my phone, take my bag. Here, you can have my 7 carat Diamond Tennis Bracelet as a tip, okay?”
“Well, I still have to make sure that this is a sound case to take on.”
I stand up from my chair, and step out of the room, closing the door behind me.
“Cher, send it to the client please.”
After about five minutes…
I step back in the room, and look at Mrs. Goodrim.
“Here, take this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s so that I can begin the assignment. Take it if you want to proceed.”
Without a second thought, she takes the pill and puts it in her mouth, takes the water bottle and gushes it with water before swallowing it.
“Okay, now what?”
“Well, let me show you something.”
I pull out my phone, and show her the picture that her husband sent me.
On the left, it showed that her life insurance policy paid $1,000,000 and that I would get a 25% cut. On the right was a hand-written note saying that she was deathly allergic to peanuts. Below was a transcript of the conversation that his wife and I were having, prepared by my secretary, which proved that she was trying to kill him.
“This is proof that someone is trying to kill him. This is the proof I needed.”
She put her hands up to her throat, grasping it tightly. She was choking.
“What was… you give…?”
“It was just a peanut in a dissolvable capsule.”
“Epipen… In… Purse…”
“Oh, the purse you gave me earlier? I’m sorry, but this is just business, your life insurance policy paid more.”
She collapsed on the ground, lifeless, in front of me.
I sit down, and begin to count the payment.
“One, two… Ten. One hundred thousand plus… This bracelet. It looks nice on me.
“Ma’am, Andrew Goodman has wired the money. The total was $250,000.”
“Thank you, Cheryl. Here’s a tip. Clean up after, will you?”
I throw one stack at her.
“I’ll see you next year.”