He handed me a thick white envelope, always a think white envelope.

“As usual Mr Pipkin,” I hated the way he overly used my name “you have carte blanche on your kill, however my employer wishes the job to be finished by Sunday.”

“Two days?” My hands flexed.

“Thats correct, two days. I’m sure you can have the job finished in time.” he walked to the door “I’ll await your update Mr Pipkin, good day.”

“Good day?”

The door clicked shut and I forced a few deep long breaths, letting the air fill my lungs and the hate leave my hands. The still unlit smoke hang from my mouth almost forgotten until my eyes found the match book on the side board. I struck two matches at the same time, an old habit, the smell of burning sulfur helped rid the sleep from my head.

“Ok, so who am I going to kill?”

I opened the envelope, spreading the contents over my bed. All the usual files were there, family history, known contacts, regular haunts but no photo. I picked up the envelope and found it stuck to the inside.

“Oh Jesus.”