Johnson grabbed the small ballpoint pen. He put the pen on the paper, wait, he thought to himself, what if I get caught, or worse, killed? Or what if I do kill him and don't get caught? Hmmm...
“Would you hurry up and just sign the dang paper?” Demanded the large African American man sitting across from Johnson.
Johnson was sitting in the middle of a rain forest in the middle of South America. He was trying to negotiate another 'hit' as he called them. But this one he just didn't have a good feeling about...
“Well?” His thoughts again interrupted by the man across the table.
“Oh, what the heck,” Johnson scribble his signature on the long black line at the bottom of the page.
The man grabbed the page lightning fast and said, “Well, it's about time.”
The large man was soon replaced a lot smaller and skinner white man.
“Well, it's a pleasure to be seeing you again Johnson.”
“Yeah, you too Dr. Mosley.”
Dr. Mosley had already hired Johnson twice before this and had given Johnson quite a lot of money for it.
“So, when am I leaving?” asked Johnson.
“Well, I want you over there Saturday or Sunday. And I want him dead by Wednesday. You know that voting day is on Friday, correct?”
“Yes sir, I did.”
“Well then, get to the airport, your plane leaves in 2 hours.”
“Thanks again sir.”
“Don't mention it.”
Johnson stood up from his chair and walked over to the door. He opened it and exited the room quietly. Johnson, after he had left the building, quickly found a man outside near a car.
“Mr. Johnson?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Well, I was called here to come here, pick you up and take you to your hotel and then to the airport.”

“Ok.” Was all Johnson said.
Johnson opened the passenger side door and got into the small car. The car trip took about an hour, to get from the middle of the rain forest to the Johnson's hotel was around 50 miles. Finally, they pulled into the hotel parking lot.
“I'll be out in 5 minutes.”
Johnson then exited the car and lookup up towards his room's window. A quick black shadow flew across the window.
“Hmmmm,” came to Johnson's mind. “Why would someone be up there?”
Johnson hurried up to his room. Put his hotel card into the door. Beeeeppp, said the doorknob. Johnson grasped the handle and charged into his room. He heard a little click in the bedroom like someone was putting more ammunition into a pistol. He walked into the room. The man had his back to Johnson. Johnson pulled out a pistol of his own and pointed it at the man's head.
“Put your gun down Johnson.”
“Dr. Mosley?” Dr. Mosley turned around.
“Yes
, I decided to stop by and wish you good luck, besides you forgot your weapon.”
Dr. Mosley handed Johnson a tiny silenced pistol.
“Well, good luck with your mission.”
“See you later sir. I hope.”
Johnson exited the room with suitcase in hand. Went down the elevator and exited the hotel quickly and quietly. Then he walked to the cab.
“Got all your stuff?” asked the driver.
“Yeah, all set.”

Johnson piled into the back seat and they set off for the airport. Not a single word was shared during the 15 minute trip. When they arrived Johnson left the car and scurried into the airport. He quickly got to the correct gate with not a minute to spare. “Thank you,” was all the ticket lady had said.
“Yeah,” was his reply.
He quickly walked through the terminal and entered the plane. He found his seat and sat down he had a first-class ticket and a row all to himself on an 8 hour plane trip. He put his head back and dosed off... He woke up to find the plane heading down towards a runway; they landed on the runway with a thud and slowly drove to their correct terminal. Johnson got up from his seat, grabbed his suitcase and left the plane. He didn’t expect anyone to pick him up from the airport and to take him to the politician’s mansion. But instead of having to have to have a cab to take him there, there was a woman holding a cardboard sign reading JOHNSON in bold black lettering. Johnson slowly approached the woman.
“Are you Johnson?” she asked.
“Yes, are you here to take me to Mr. Braxton’s estate?”
“Yes, I was hired as Mr. Braxton’s personal limo driver.”
Johnson though to himself, “A limo driver this guy must be richer than I had thought.”
The driver and John exited the airport and loaded into the limo, and took a drive to the politician’s home. They stopped in front of a white mansion, the woman exited the limo, came around to open Johnson’s door. Johnson walked up the long walkway to the front door, rang the doorbell and hoped for the best.
He heard a couple locks unlatch from the inside, and suddenly the door burst open.
“Why, hello there, you must be our new security guard Mr. Smith.” Said the man that had opened the door, who was in a suit and must have been the mansion’s butler. (Matthew Smith was the name Johnson was using undercover on the current mission.
“Yes sir, that’s me.”
The butler, who had introduced himself as Sean Johnson, (Ironic, yes), invited ‘Mr. Smith’ inside to go and meet Mr. Braxton, the two men walked through a huge hallway and came to large double doors. “Well, this is Mr. Braxton’s office. You can knock, and go right in.”
Johnson did just that, he opened the door and before him was an older man, with glasses and was balding.
“Why, hello there, you must be Mr. Smith.” He said calmly.
“Yes, sir here I am.”
“Well,” he gestured towards a uniform, sitting on his very large desk, “This is the uniform you will be wearing at all times when you are on duty.”
The uniform was a dull, shabby, dark navy sort of color. When Johnson tried it on it only went down halfway in between his ankles and his lower calf.
Mr. Braxton could easily tell how much Johnson hated the uniform, from the distaste on Johnson’s face.
“Look, Matt,” he stopped for a second, “It is all right if I call you Matt?”
Johnson nodded.
“Well, Matt, I know this isn’t the highest quality of a uniform, but for the time being, I think you just are going to have to man up and wear it.”
Johnson thought to himself, “Man, I’ll be happy when this guy is dead, I hate him already.” Johnson walked out of the room, uniform on, with hatred in his eyes.
Waiting outside the room was the Butler, “Now,” he said, “I will show you to your room.” Johnson followed the man up 3 flights of stairs and down an extremely long hallway. The two men suddenly stopped at a large wooden door, at the end of the hallway.
“Here, is your room, Mr. Smith.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
Johnson was handed a key to his room, then the butler walked off without saying another word. Johnson then inserted the key into the keyhole, grabbed the doorknob, twisted, and walked into his new room. The room was the largest room Johnson had ever had ‘ownership’ of. The ‘room’ was actually included 4 rooms; a living room, a kitchen/dining room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. In the living room there was a large flat screen TV, and a huge couch. In the dining room there was such a large table that it could easily fit 10 people, in the kitchen attached to the dining room there was a stove, microwave, and a sink. In the bedroom there was a king sized bed, plus another flat screen TV. And finally in the bathroom, there was a large bathtub and shower, an extremely nice toilet, and a very nice sink.
Johnson thought, “If I didn’t have to kill this guy, I wouldn’t mind having to live in a place like this.”
After Johnson was done admiring his apartment, he concluded he should go and discuss working hours. So, Johnson followed the same path to get from Mr. Braxton’s office to Johnson’s room to get back down to Mr. Braxton’s office. He knocked on the door just as he had before, and went in. He opened the door to the same scene he had the first time he had entered the room with Mr. Braxton sitting at his desk.
“What brings you back, Mr. Smith?” He asked.
“I was wondering what will be my working hours here.”
“Well, you will follow from the time I get up, 6 o’clock sharp, to the time I go to bed, 10 o’ clock. You will eat meals and attend meetings with me, any other questions?”
“When do I start?”
His reply came fast, “You start, tomorrow.”

Johnson was speechless. Not only was Johnson surprised that he would start working tomorrow, but he hadn’t expected to start for a couple of weeks. Johnson excited the room and started to go back to his room to send a Mission Status Update, (or MSU for short), to Dr. Mosley. Johnson made it up the staircase and to his apartment door. He opened his door quietly and closed it even more quietly. He quickly locked the room and headed into his large bedroom.
Johnson had brought little on this mission, (he did not expect it to take this long). He hastily took out his messaging device and quickly sent this message to Dr. Mosley: “Start work tom. Should be done 3 days max.”
Johnson hastily placed the device back into the duffel bag. And then he heard a slight click of a door being unlocked and then soft footsteps in the main room. He got up from the floor and put his suitcase back underneath the bed. After doing this, he creped to the wall. Johnson grabbed a switchblade out of his back pocket, and held the blade behind his back. The footsteps moved from room the room, Johnson silently walked out of his room and moved into the living room, where he thought the footsteps were coming from. Suddenly, a finger tapped his left shoulder. Johnson turned around in a flash hand moving back to his switchblade.
In front of him stood a man, in a suit, holding a plate of: crackers, cheese, and a bowl of fruit.
“Hello, Mr. Smith.”
“Hello, what in the world are you doing here?”
“Mr. Braxton wanted you to receive a welcome gift.”
“Oh,” Johnson grabbed the plate of food from the man. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the man left quietly.
Johnson was famished, he hadn’t eaten since the plane ride earlier that day. He dove into the food and enjoyed every bite of it. He went into his bedroom and heard a slight, bringgg, “Oh,” he thought, “the massaging device.” He went over into his bag and grabbed the device, “Need Braxton dead ASAP.”
Johnson read the message and thought, “No time like the present.” Johnson grabbed the pistol out of his bag and walked down the stairs quietly. He made it to Mr. Braxton’s office, and went right in, no knock.
Mr. Braxton looked up from his computer.
“Yes, Mr. Smith, I assume you are here to thank me for the goodies.”
“No, quite the opposite,” Johnson grabbed the gun out of his back pocket and pointed it at Mr. Braxton and fired right at his head, all without thinking or blinking.
Johnson had completed his mission.