Some kill for passion, some for gain, or fear, or malice.

Allan here kills for money, when I ask him to. While I remain culpable, in the legal–and moral, yes–sense, I find the distance comforting, as if I am buying a sandwich. The sturdy butchers get their hands dirty; I get to enjoy my quarter pounder.

I use the butcher from time to time to smooth my way, when mere duplicity is insufficient. Occasionally, I do resort even to honesty, if that seems expedient, but there are always those intractable problems that are best solved with a careful application of Allan’s particular skills.

I suppose you can guess why I am telling you this. I really did try to resolve this another way, but you remained intractable, to the very end. Don’t try to speak, the fear in your eyes says enough. I do congratulate you on your tenaciousness, but I you understand that I must not waver, not now, not so close to the end.

Allan is very good at his job. Please take comfort in the fact that this will, at least, be quick.

Goodbye.