I don't like to kill people in full daylight. I just don't like it. Night, dusk and dawn are more appropriate, more natural, more fitting. The victims know it too. It makes my job easier. That may sound strange, coming from a professional, but I?m really picky about certain things. I don't like killing people named Frank, for instance. It's a good name. It was my Dad's name. I liked my Dad. And I don't like killing people who wear green either. It rarely happens, fortunately, but when it does, it's usually women or kids or soldiers, and how I hate to see red on green. Of course, at night, everything looks grey. Anyway, the mere idea of that terrible colour mismatch makes me shudder. And people who whistle? Oh, how difficult it is to interrupt for ever a whistled rendition or Ravel's Bolero, even one horribly out of key. Then there are the victims with wigs, or braces, or pimples, or birthmarks. Those who walk with a limp, those who walk with a stoop, those with facial twitches and those who talk to the birds. I find it hard to pull the trigger. They deserve to live, surely. And the junkies, the sinners and the freaks, the drunk-heads, the prostitutes and all the poor bastards. All will get a passing nod from my gun, I'll say hello and let them go. Did I mention the lonely strangers and the single young girls? You have nothing to fear from me. Just stay out of my crosshairs, I'll say I lost you.

Now, if you are