They hired me because of my reputation. Not only was I known for my family, but also that my methods were untraceable. Each one of my 43 contracts so far died in what appeared to be accidents; A slip and fall out on a daily jog, a patch of ice on a winding cliff-side road, an overzealous night with a hooker bringing on a heart attack, a stray peanut down the windpipe. Everyone saw me as some kind of "maestro" for the coordination and creativity it must have taken. They had no idea.
I planned for weeks ways to take people out. Scouted locations. Watched habits. Learned weaknesses. I had all the tools ready, garrotes, sniping rifles, knives, poison, bombs, you name it. I planned out every single one to the nth degree. Then every time I lined up to take the shot, stood in a dark alley ready to lunge out and stab someone, or sat hiding in their closet with a pistol, they'd drop dead seconds before.
For a while I thought someone was trying to get in on my jobs. Maybe make a name for themselves or discredit me or my family later. But after 10 hits there still wasn't any sign of another contractor. There weren't any threats or taunts. The only thing I could think of is that they were playing a long game. So I just kept taking the jobs. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, and still nothing.
After that I started to suspect my mother. Oh she acted like she wanted me in the business. She trained me right along side my father. Her training though was always about defense and hiding and getting away quickly, while dad was always showing me how to really get in and close to get the targets. I thought maybe she was just trying to keep me safe. But then I started keeping track of where she was through dad and the contracts she was taking. One day she was on a job in Phoenix and I was on a job in Paris and my hit came out on his hotel balcony. I lined him up in my sights and as he leaned on the balcony railing, it just gave way. A four story fall and a broken neck. My mother is good, but his room and hotel choice was purposefully random. It couldn't have been her, or really anyone for that matter.
I had gotten so paranoid about another contractor that I started watching the people around the target more than the target themselves. I even hired sub contractors to be my eye's and ears during a hit. That only helped to foster a new reputation as "THE MAGICIAN". Other contractors thought I was showing off by pulling off hits right in front of their eyes without them seeing how it was done; Like killer sleight of hand.
Then one day a chance encounter with another contractor made everything clear to me. David Pageant, a pompous windbag with a bevy of nasty looking kills under his belt was constantly asking me to join his little coven or warren or whatever stupid name he called his bunch of circle jerking buddies. I'd told him a hundred times I wasn't interested and he'd always retorted that maybe something bad might happen to me someday, that maybe I needed protection that friends brought. It was so cliche.
I told him to just go die. Which he did about 45 seconds later. He winked at me, turned, stepped off the curb, bent down between two parked cars to pick something up and a speeding pizza truck knocked his head sideways right where he knelt. He died picking up a quarter off the street. At first it was just such a funny coincidence. Then it started to fester a little bit. What if there was just something about me. What if I could kill people without actually doing anything.
So with my next contract I tried it out. I did my usual research, watched for patterns, learned about the target, and then I picked my moment. I walked right past Rod Smith, a local crime boss, right as he and his body guards went to pick up pizza and payola. I smiled at him, looked at the body guards and thought "you're all going to die." Then, a few hours later came the reports that Rod and his gang had died of CO2 poisoning in the basement of the pizzeria. It had been their safe-house to talk and sort cash for a couple of decades. But with all the money they still neglected the furnace, and it paid them back. By the time they realized something was wrong they were too disoriented to unlock all the locks on the basement door and died piled up on the stairs. Some of them still gripping money as if they would pay for someone to let them into heaven.
I got a bonus for taking out Rod and the guards and putting a big dent in the local syndicates operation by exposing that safe-house. Then came hits 42 and 43 that went down in similar "accidental" ways. An aneurysm and a diagnosis of cancer followed by suicide. Not anything I dreamed up, just random stuff. I wished them dead and they were. That was it. I wasn't a maestro. I wasn't a magician. No more need for flashy names, expensive weapons, backup plans, or stakeouts. I was Death and I was unavoidable.