As far as anyone knew, he was a travelling salesman, selling kitchen utensils.
The agency provided his cover. Although he was equipped with a suitcase full of brushes, potato peelers, dish cloths, etcetera, he never actually sold anything. He spent most days driving around in the car they provided, doing very little. His undercover work took him around the country, sometimes abroad. That was the case when he wasn’t actually carrying out a hit for the agency. Quite naturally, his work for the government meant that his activities were such that he would always be totally immune from prosecution. On this occasion he had received a termination order and was looking it over on the evening before. It was a brief document that contained only a photograph, name and address. That was all he ever needed to carry out the work. He could see that the photo was very grainy and the text was more grey than black.
This particular job would entail a car journey of several hours. He would carry out the hit on the following day. He couldn’t help thinking that there was something about the address that rang a bell. He went to his old school file and pulled out an invitation he’d received. It was for a recent event that he’d not attended. It was in order to celebrate the retirement of his old headmaster, a person that he had nothing but trouble with when he was a student. He was forever receiving low marks for his work and asking for them to be reviewed. The truth was, he had not liked the school, any of the teachers and certainly not the pompous headmaster. It had resulted in his name being wrongfully smeared.
Anyway, it just so happened that the penny dropped when he noted the man’s address. He was amazed to find the current target’s address indicated that he not only resided in the same street as the old retiree, but he lived next door. His next victim lived at number fifty-five, the other at fifty-three. Considering the poor resolution of the photograph, together with the almost illegible text, he figured it was his turn to smear. The number fifty-five could so easily be smudged.
At the end of the following day he returned, having sent one more soul to meet its maker. When sending in his confirmation report he added a postscript. This was done to make sure the agency saw it as a mistake of their own.
It read: PS I think the printer is running low of ink.
