Free Diary of an Assassin by Victor Methos Page A

of La Santé simply called the Coffin. It was a crate in which a prisoner would lie on his back and the guards would feed him through holes. Another hole allowed him to relieve himself, and, other than the guards shouting at the prisoner twice a day, there were no interactions.
    Gustav had been placed there for attacking another p risoner that the guards were fond of. One guard in particular, Gy, had taken enormous pleasure in Gustav’s predicament and at one point urinated on him in the box, the other guards laughing behind him. When Gustav was walking out of the prison in the jeans and sports coat he had worn at his arrest, he smiled to Gy and told him he wished he had an enjoyable life.
    “Fuck you, Gustav. If I see you in here again , it will not be as pleasant.”
    “Take care of yourself, Gy. It is a dangerous world we live in.”
    A car was waiting out front and he got into the backseat.
    “Where to , monsieur?”
    “Autour du Monde, please.”
    “Oh, the monsieur knows his clothing.”
    As the y drove, Gustav stared out the window. Five years he had been locked away and in five years the city had changed. It appeared more crowded and dirtier than he recalled, trash drifting over the streets on a light breeze. But perhaps he was wrong? Perhaps he had changed and saw the world a bit differently.
    Autour du Monde , to his satisfaction, looked exactly the same. The small boutique catered to those who preferred something unique in what they wore. Gustav found several shirts and sweaters and a few pairs of pants with scarves and a jacket to match. The driver paid on a credit card.
    “I need a shower,” Gustav said.
    “Of course, monsieur. A room has been arranged for you at Hotel Lutetia.”
    “Excellent. Take me there now. But I need to make a quick stop first.”
    “Of course.”
    After a twenty-five minute drive to a Paris suburb, Gustav told the driver to wait. Parked in the lot of a farm, they simply sat as the minutes turned to an hour. Gustav occupied himself with meditation, but the driver asked if it would be all right for him to go for a walk. Gustav nodded.
    Evening soon came and when darkness fell , Gustav got out of the car and walked several blocks amidst the night air. He forgot how exhilarating being on the streets at night felt. He was like a predator confidently walking through the jungle, certain that he was at the top of the food chain. In prison, he felt much the same way, but because he was held in the psychiatric unit, there really wasn’t anybody there to challenge him.
    Before he’d left, he began an operation smuggling narcotics into the prison, primarily heroin. He preferred to sell heroin, cheaply, to the other inmates, as it made them more docile and easier to control.
    Th e home he was looking for was across the street and to the right. It was an average home, nothing out of the ordinary for this suburb, and inside, through the windows, he could see a family playing with a dog in the living room.
    Gustav walked across the street, and knocked on the door.
     
     
    Gy Tasse finished his shift at the prison and logged out. He checked in his firearm, as the guards were not allowed to take them home, and changed into some sweatpants and a warm hoodie. As he made his way out to his car, he spotted an administrator, Nicolas, stashing something in his trunk.
    “I have some candy for you,” Nicolas said, tossing him a wad of cash. “Your share of Gustav’s money.”
    Gy caught the brick of cash held together with a rubber band. At least twenty thousand francs. Not an enormous sum, but a surprising profit for someone locked away in the psychiatric unit.
    “I’m glad the sick bastard’s gone,” Nicolas said, lighting a cigarette. “He frightened me.”
    “He was nothing. Just talk, like a woman.”
    “I was with him longer than you, Gy. You’ve only been here two years. I was with him from the beginning. I remember one time a good doctor that was employed in the unit gave him a