At first it was OK. The FBI provided me with a little house and a job working nights in the mall. “Keep to yourself and it should be fine,” they told me. “In a few years, they’ll forget all about you. Statute of limitations.”
Right. No such thing with a 100k contract on your head.
Thing was I couldn’t stand the boredom. I had to get out. I took my paycheck to the Horseshoe and parlayed it into enough to buy the RV.
Now I move around, never staying too long. “My name’s Frank,” I say.
No last names ever.