The Hit

It was a warm winter day in Brentwood, or was it spring? I can't remember. All I knew was that I was a hitman. A hitman waiting for his hit. On a man. A stranger in town calling himself Speznut gave me a call, and asked to meet me in private in the Liberty Performing Arts Center after the schools showing of Singin' in the Rain. I obliged. However, little did I know, the pigs were out to get me. They had the whole place set up and tapped.



The next day, I received a package at my front door, containing about 25,000 cookies and a picture of the mark. Rocky McGredy.



I knew what I had to do. I chomped on one of the cookies and contemplated what sort of weapon would be best in this kind of hit. Obviously, it wasn't the Longshot Sniper Rifle I normally use for this type of job, this job had to be a quick hit and run, and I knew just the weapon I would need. The brand spanking new CS-6.



I went down to our local weapons dealer (Target Greatland) where they are known to sell black market items at the fraction of the price of what you can get from other black market retail outlets (Wal-Mart.....). I got this sucker for $21.62. Worth every penny because I knew this gun had one function and one function only, to kill Rocky McGredy. As soon as I bought the gun, I figured I would have to get rid of any evidence that I purchased it. I got rid of it's standard casing that most would use to conceal the weapon in public, but I knew the pigs were smarter then that.



Then, everything turned into a disaster. I had no idea what was to come next. Had I known, I never would have taken this job. I'm just lucky I'm still out and able to get this story here.

I arrived at McGredy's house, unbeknownst to me was that Speznut was already in the house with him, playing Rock Band and drinking Mountain Dew and perhaps playing with cat scratch posts. He loves those. I walked up, knocked on his stupid door and he opened. I was ready. I pulled up my gun, took aim and fired. Rocky was fast though, uncannily fast, like Neo from the Matrix or some junk and he some how managed to dodge my ballistic dart. The dart whizzed straight past his lucky face and nailed Speznut.

I had messed up. I had messed up bad. I ran for it, hopped into my car and made my escape. However, this is where things got even worse. The liscence plate on the back of my car managed to fall off in the escape and landed right in McGredy's driveway. Now the pigs could track my car.



Not only that, but the round i used in my attack was registered to my gun, and therefore to me. This was part of some new child's gun regulation that just got passed. Child's? I never understood.



Good thing I got rid of the evidence of my gun earlier. Well, at least I thought it was a good idea. It didn't help too much because once they tracked down my car, they found my gun, with and identical registration number. UB-37.



And just in case the pigs still didn't figure out who I was, they found a damn piece of my hair on McGredy's front doorstep.



That went straight to their forensics lab, ran through a polymerase-chain reaction machine (PCR) and then loaded up into an agarose gel for electrophoresis. My DNA happened to be compared to another known criminal in the area, who has been blamed for attacks like this in the past. But, as you can see, the DNA tells you very clearly that I was indeed the hitman.



I'm still on the lam. I can't tell you where I currently am, because, well. I don't need the cops to know anything more about me as it is. Bye for now, keep your teeth clean.

-Robert.

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DNA being processed at the lab.



Dramatization of the attacks that ended up in the hospitalization of Speznut Spikoo Monkey.