You can only stare at a hotel ceiling for so long before you loose your mind. Frank Carrera felt that he was staring at his destinly, a psycho ward at age 23, all because he had forgotten to buy a danm magazine to pass the time. He turned his head to the side to find some solice, but found none. Just the sight of a cheap remote resting casually on the night stand. It called to him with the promise of an escape from his personal prison, but it was late, and he knew the kind of programs that would be on at this hour. He prefered the popcorn ceiling.
	He was tired, and sick of waiting in crappy hotel rooms all night. Jan had been bugging him to find a career of some sort, but employers wouldn't see what she saw in a highschool dropout with no resume. Employers would see what Frank saw when he looked in the mirror. Which is exactly why he was here.
	A gun shot rang out from the adjacent room. "Finally" he thougth. Frank sprang up and sat on the side of the bed. He felt guilty for a moment at what a morbid thought it was, but after all, he had been waiting there for three hours, and he wanted to get home.
	The dense floral patterns on the comfortor caught his eye and brought him crashing down from the brief excitement that the gun shot had granted him. The nightstand with the bible, the hum of the cheap radiator, everything about this place blended into every place before it, making him wonder just how many he had sat in, wasting his life away.
	A volley of gun shots rang out this time. Frank lifted his head and looked toward the adjoining wall. He shifted his weight to his arms and slid down the side of the bed, siting slouched on the floor. No need to risk catching a stray, he thought. 
	Two years, two years he'd been doing this crap. Jan would leave him in a heartbeat if she knew about it. He had to tell her that he was a janitor. The irony of it forced a grin to his face. He sat in the silent hotel room. The humming of the radiator the only sound. He waited but there were no more shots to be heard. Erring on the cautious side, he waited a few extra minutes in silence.


The door was cracked, and the pungent odor of gun smoke was drifting out into the hall. Frank glanced down the dreary hallway. The florescent glow of the hall lights brought out the ugliest colors of the green wallpaper that lined it.  For some reason he always felt compelled to  look . Not that anyone in a hole like this was gonna come looking. He just couldn't help it. Something about standing in a hallway in a long jacket with a leather duffle bag just seemed to lend itself to glancing down hallways. He grabbed the door handle and cracked the door open a few more inches. 
"Jacob... Jacob it's me". 
Frank waited a moment and then pushed open the door further, allowing him to slip inside. He closed the door and was  ready to take a look at what his nights work would be when he heard the click of a gun cocking. It wasn't Jacob's usual style, but  in a situation like this, to err on the side of caution is  understandable. 
“Relax buddy, it's just me, Frankie”. He couldn't help the twinge of tension in his voice. He had never been particularly fond of having guns pointed at him.
He turned around slowly to be sure that Jacob would see his face. He got upset for a moment at the thought that maybe somehow this wasn't Jacob, that perhaps someone else had been hired to do the job. Someone that didn't know him, and what a fuck up that would be by his employers. As he  slowly turned the first thing his eyes caught was a lifeless body on the floor. It was slouched up against the wall. He was curious as to exactly how many he would have to take care of tonight, when he realized that the body was Jacob.
	He  frose at the sight. His heart sank and his lungs felt as if they'd collapsed. Two years of cleaning up bodies afer hits, and now this.