Working as a hitman has never been one of the easiest and certainly not the most reliable jobs there was our there, but I did it for the money. The money was probably one of the most tempting aspects of the job. Not counting the thrill of someone else’s life in your hands. The money paid for everything I could ever worry about.
Bills, gas money, food, apartments, hotels, and the occasional parties I would throw after one of my bigger hits. My last hit alone in downtown New York landed me three million. I began my usual route down Darwin Street. My phone vibrated in my leather jacket pocket as I lit my cigar. “Hello”? “Get down to my office in 20.”Sure thing boss.” My conversations with my boss had always short and to the point. He never believed in long conversations.
It had almost cost him his life in 87. That’s another story on its own. I was there before I knew it. I zipped up my jacket and switched off the engine of my new Cadillac Sixteen. This was a present from the downtown gangsters for getting rid of Pachelli. He was causing trouble and someone had to take care of him.
Now the Italian mafia was after me. Pachelli was the second boss in command. I walked up to the shabby old door. I opened it and I was greeted like a celebrity. All the secretaries in their little cubicles were winking at me. This was nothing new to me.
I had decided to take the stairs today. My blood sugar was high and I needed to burn some of it out of my system. I climbed the twelve flights before my boss’ door was visible. I got closer when all of a sudden his annoying secretary Cindy stepped in front of me and asked “Do you have an appointment”? I pulled out my Beretta, cocked it and put it right to her nose. She smiled a sheepish smile and got out of my way.
The Essay on Money Laundering Sources
... and many other means. The most favored technique for the money launderers is buying commercial notes, especially depositing certificates, for example ... while practicing their businesses. 7.The crimes of the politicians: the money laundering operations is connected to the political corruption that is ... area. The local agent can be the owner and the boss of that company where the name of the launderer isn ...
I was hoping my next hit would be her. I opened the door and stepped in. His shadow appeared out the curtains. The scar on his face had gotten bigger.
“You made it”! he whispered in his raspy voice. “Damn right”, I said taking a seat at his desk. He handed me a large brown folder sealed I was about to open it when the distinct sound of a Desert Eagle being cocked caught my ears. He had calmly set his gun on the desk as a warning telling me to be quiet. “Sorry to say but this will be you last hit Richard. All good things musty come to an end you know.” How much am I getting? The money is in 100 notes.
, seven Hundred Fifty Grand. He threw me a yellow sports bag containing the money. I never bothered counting it. He was always honest with me. I thought for a while.
I had enough money to go live in Africa. My plan was to buy a 40 room mansion near L abadi Beach Accra, Ghana. “7: 10 tonight”, he said as he handed me a small piece of paper with an address scribbled at the bottom left corner. “This could be done”, I thought to myself. I got up extending my hand. He shook my hand as if he regretted it or as if there was something wrong.
I could sense there was something wrong. Maybe the Italians were after him too. Who cares anyways, I’m going to Africa tonight. I had to go around saying bye to everyone in sight. After all this was probably the last time I was going to see most of them. Some of the secretaries started crying while some of them asked me to take them with me.
This was probably the most difficult part of the day for me. I tried not to show it as I rushed to the door hiding my tears. I was driving home looking through the brown folder. Her name was Miss Park. She was about 5’4 and had pretty much nothing to live for.
She was divorced and had three kids in college. I flipped through more of the pages as I found out some more about this woman. She was involved in the recent bust of my boss’ best friend. No wonder he wanted her dead… I pulled over the road into a small bush. I reached in the glove compartment getting out my silencer.
The Essay on Survival Tips For Small Businesses
You may be in Mail Order, Direct Mail, or you may be a local merchant with 150 employees; whichever, however or whatever... you've got to know how to keep your business alive during economic recessions. Anytime the cash flow in a business, large or small, starts to tighten up, the money management of that business has to be run as a "tight ship." Some of the things you can and should do include ...
I looked at the time and it was about 7: 03. The address was definitely right. I compared the paper to a small shady street sign; it looked like it was hand drawn. I calmly stepped out of my vehicle as I patiently waited for Miss Park. I could hear her foot steps in the near distance.
My heart started to beat fast as I versioned my future. A beautiful African girl, a couple of cars, houses. I couldn’t wait. I carefully studied her movements. She was constantly looking behind her.
As if she knew what was going to happen. I sprinted to her door as she closed it behind her. Slowly I opened it. I carefully walked forward looking in all directions. I could hear her voice in the kitchen. It was a verse from Dr.
Dre’s “Keep Their Heads Ringing.” I was tip-toeing slowly while her voice got louder and louder with my heart-beat. I stood right outside the kitchen door. I inched closer and closer as I got a glimpse of her body. I raised and extended my arm until my gun was pointed straight to her head. All of a sudden bullets spewed from the left side of the room as they hit her and her body fell to the round. Panicking I ran in the opposite direction reaching for my automatic.
I cocked it and started shooting when I felt a sharp pain in my back. A bullet had penetrated my spine as I slowly felt everything getting slower. I fell to the floor as I frantically looked to see who it was. Footsteps echoed in my ear as they got louder and louder. A dark shadow leaned over my body taking out my belongings from my pocket. It was Godspeed, my boss.
He smiled putting his cigar out on my jacket. “Like I said Richard, all good things must come to an end.”.
