As dawn breaks around him, Hanz Killum is dimly aware of a sensation he hasn’t felt since Cuba: apprehension. He’s been hired by the Alleged World Elite Sex Crimes Cabal before to enact the unspeakable upon their speakable enemies before, but this time felt different. No one had died in the secure housing unit of the Metropolitan Correction Center in over 20 years. Could he make it in, alert no guards, destroy any video evidence, eliminate his target (ideally in a way that suggests suicide or misadventure), collect the microfiche, and extract himself via jetski all while using no save slots? It was time to find out.
“Alleged Sex Criminal Jeffrey Epstein, I presume” Killum intoned while collecting the crepe-paper bedsheet between his outstretched hands. Epstein recoiled, “I thought they would simply give me, Alleged Human Trafficker and Procurement Specialist for the World Elite Jeffrey Epstein, the same kind of CIA Cancer that they allegedly gave to my butler!” Killum padded closer, exuding the kind of coiled malice that is allegedly afforded to those working for the Alleged Sex Crime Cabal Including Chris Tucker Among Others. “I just wanted to spend time with you, Jeffrey. You could call it…” Killum looped the bedsheets around the neck of the alleged sex criminal. “A limited hangout.”
An excerpt from “Kill St. James: If I Did It (I Probably Did.) Book Seven of the Killum Chronicles”