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  • Writer's pictureWJ King


Successful murders are best calculated in an orderly fashion. I only boast seven confirmed kills but not bad for seven attempts. Harry Maxfield disappeared a month ago and Cynthia Langley hasn't been seen for two weeks. Neither will be found without a bloody good map and shovel. Miss Langley was the target, while Mr. Maxfield was simply sent packing, so to speak, to provide the authorities something to ponder in connection with Langley. Collateral damage if you will. A few “clues” were sprinkled throughout, for the impression the disappearances were related, which of course led nowhere. I am the individual who makes people disappear. My victims have not necessarily been tit for tat situations, rather they are of a revenge/payback nature. My name is Philmore Dedfoke, I am fourteen years old and I am an assassin.

Children of client’s enemies are my forte. We are based in the midwest and while I can’t divulge our flagship office, were you to guess the westside of Cleveland, you would not be wrong. My parent’s and I live in Michigan, where out our front window, we are steps away from one of our Great Lakes. Mom’s brother Max, who shall remain nameless, introduced me to this business, by showering me with flattery and accolades. I however, find the vocation a perfect fit and plan to make it full time as opposed to only a summer job. That’s if uncle Max agrees. If the truth be told and it would further me in the business, I wouldn’t mind bumping off my sponsor, good ol’ uncle Max. He’s a tad hotheaded and I believe if he were interrogated by a real professional, would fold up like a beach chair.

I continue to carry a 3.8 GPA and mother admonished me, I must if I wished to continue ‘carousing’ as she puts it, with Uncle Max. I’m out to the wealthy neighborhoods tonight. An extermination in Shaker Heights, or Sugar Hill as it’s called, is always worth the trip. It seems the twelve year old daughter of a furnace mogul, knocked the son of a prescription drug czar off his horse during a game of polo. Originally thought a good hard hit, the injured party heretofore referenced as sniveling ass brat, insisted he was fouled and demanded satisfaction. He wanted no personal involvement but pleaded with his father during a 9:15am meeting, he was penciled in for, the girl to be dealt with in the harshest measure.

Father, glancing at his watch and irritated having to spend additional time with his progeny, asked him if he knew what ‘harshest measure’ meant. Upon an affirmative response, I was contacted. My original thoughts were to assassinate the girl during a jump. Her equestrian skills were superb and the jump photo would generate more ‘likes’ on Facebook. I had occasion to meet the girl which was way out of line with protocol. Having chit chatted with her, I thought it best to put rollers on the plan and get this situation behind me.

I put one in the sniveling brat’s ear and dropped him in the Grand River. His father did his best to ostensibly grieve but with the activity of Amazon and Big Pharma, he certainly couldn't be blamed for missing the funeral.

I suppose it was poor form deviating from the contract but everyone needs to draw the line somewhere. There is nothing more revolting than a murder lacking a moral foundation. I am doing quite well and expect to own the lion’s share of a freshman congressman within the year.


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