"The Hitmans Confession"

To whoever may read this.God forgive me.

My name is Charles Reynolds.I am 32.I am a white male,5 ft 8 ins. tall.I am 175 lbs with a medium muscular build.I have black hair and brown eyes.My hair is slicked straight back. I am a hit man. It wasn't what I wanted to be in life.I wanted to be a firefighter. I grew up on a normal child hood.My parents,Jim,I am a carbon copy of the old man,picture me at age 58 and Joanne age 54,My mother looks is frail looking about 110 with brown hair,5-6 In tall , are still together after 33 yrs.I have one sibling.My sister Catherine,who has dirty blond hair,hazel eyes,about 120 lbs about 5 ft 7 in tall,who is 2 years younger than me.Catherine is a lawyer for the New York Chapter of the ACLU.I grew up on 47 Th St. in Hells Kitchen.I still live on 45 th and 6 th. in a walk up apt.
I am married.My wifes name is Sara,she is 27 yrs old.She is,I would say  about 125 lbs.Auburn hair,green exotic looking eyes and about my height.We have no children.We have been married for 3 years.
I came about my profession through a buddy of mine from my days as a Marine.I was a Scout Sniper for the Marines,Headquarters Co., 1st Bn., 27th Infantry Regiment, 25th Infantry Division.This was in 1995,I was 20.
I was assigned to an Elite Unit,paired with some hard core CIA  guys.
We were called "The Freedom Fighters".We were cold blooded killers,thats what we were.
We were sent to all different Counties,we would get out assignments through an intermediary,and then go on the assignment.
I wasn't always the shooter.Sometimes I would just guard the perimeter.
I got out in Dec.14, 1999 with an honorable discharge and no real job skills,other than picking people off from up to a mile away.
I took a job in a warehouse right out of the service.I worked in a paper mill in Garfield NJ called Marcal. I loaded trucks for 10 dollars an hour.
I was there for over a a year.Still living home.I got a letter from my old unit,we were going to have a reunion,they chose,New York.
We rented a hall in a church on 54 st of all places. We order Chinese,drank beer  and told old war stories.the night ended around 1 AM a 6 hour marathon.
As I was leaving the hall,one of the guys I know,Paul Milano,Italian guy from Kansas,pulled me aside.
I confided in the reunion I was unhappy with my job.The boss is a jerk,not enough money,that kind of thing.
Paul said he could make me some real money.I asked how.
He said just one word,or that is all I thought I heard him say "Hit".
I was kind of shocked. I never killed anyone,that in my mind,didn't deserve it.
Paul gave me his number.Told me to think about it.
I got home that night,shocked,a little drunk,speechless.I thought a lot that night.
2 months  pass. A bit of warm spell for Feb.It is 50 degrees and sunny on that day.It was Feb.25 2001.It would be a day that would change my life forever.
I got up that day and decided I am going to call in sick. I get up and shower.I fumble through my dresser and I found the number that Paul gave me.I quickly pull on a pair of jeans and a Yankees t-shirt.I call,Paul.He agrees to come to New York and explain things.
Paul meets me at the Hooters on 56 th and Broadway in Manhattan.at 8 PM.We have few beers and flirt with the girls.Paul is peppering me with questions  of what  I have been doing,who I have been doing,living etc.Paul was sizing me up.I finally convinced Paul I was good people,not a rat.
Paul tells  me to set up a PO Box under an assumed name.I would get a call from Paul,jwe would just bs.I would then know to go to the PO Box two days later and get my orders.
We left Hooters at about 10 P.M.
On March 1 st .I got a call from Paul on my cell.I was about to 'Bust My Cherry"
On March 3 Th I went to the post office on 51 st and nervously approached PO Box number 3781.I open it.Inside is a Yellow envelope,9 in by 12 in.It appeared to be half full.
I take it out.I go straight home.
I open the envelope.There was a picture of a middle aged man.and a bio.Says his name is Frank Jones.42.Lives in Farmingdale,Long Island,Wife,Vicky 40,One kid.Jon.20.Goes to Hempstead.
Mr Jones is an Investment Banker for Goldman Sachs on Wall St.And pretty soon Mr Frank Jones,42,family man will be dead by my hands.
Mr Jones,liked to jog in Central Park after work.
I watch and study my taget for two weeks.Mr.Jones usually jogged about 6 PM every night and then went back to Long Island.I decided I would do that job on March 24 th.
I went to the Trump Building on 59 th and Central Park West.I dressed like a maintenance man and managed to get to the stairs.I climbed up to the 21 st foor.I broke into an office and set up my M40A1 Sniper rifle.Set the sights and waited for Mr.Jones.It was 5:30 PM.
Finally at about 6 P.M. I see Mr Frank Jones,42,6 ft tall ,Brown/Grayish hair,,about 200 lbs,Muscular build.He was wearing a pair if blue shorts and a gray t-shirt.I watched him take one lap through the sight of my rifle.The second time around.I fired one round.I shot Mr.Frank Jones,once in the head.There was mayhem on the street.I packed up and left. I was home in time to see the Breaking News on CNN.
The Scroll said "Possible Sniper in Trump Plaza",one man was killed,it was a frantic scene,cops,firefighters,ambulances.Mayor Guliani and Chief of Police Bernard Kerik were giving interviews assuring the public we were safe,etc.
Success...
I got paid $ 50,000 Dollars for that hit.
I was hooked.
I did a few more hits.I moved out.Got married.
Life was good.
Until...
June 14 2002
Paul called.He seemed a little out of sorts My stomach flipped,not a good sign..I quizzed Paul,he said everything was good.
I should of trusted my instinct.
I got the envelope.
No picture.Just a name and a residence.
Sam Roberts
27 Years old.Lived alone.No spouse,dedicated to work and study's.No family,grew up in an Orphanage in Florida.
An intern at St Michaels Hospital
Sam lived in the hospital apartment building.Apt. 506
It was located right on the Hospital grounds.
The hospital is situated in a quarter mile area.It is situated between Main St to the front.Getty ave to the back.Mary st on the right and Hemlock st to the left.
The main part of the hospital is on the Main St side.
The apt building is behind the hospital to the left on the Mary St side of the hospital.
It says that the job would have to be done ASAP.
I usually like to research the people I have to target before I pull off a hit.I had no time. I had to get to pack my stuff and get too Paterson NJ.
I left my house and walked to the Post Authority Bus Terminal.I am dressed in black jeans,a black t-shirt and gray Nike running shoes.I have my equipment dis-assembled in a black nap sack on my back.
I buy a round trip ticket for NJ Transit,Bus number 190.
It is now 8:08 PM I just make it too gate number 233 on the second floor of the terminal to just catch the bus on time.
I get into Paterson at about 8:54 PM.It lets me off right in front of the hospital.I walk past the hospital down Main St. I make a right onto Mary St. I see the apartment building. It is fenced in with the rest of the hospital.
Across the street I spy out a bodega,Lopezs. It has two floors on top of it.I would have to use that roof.
I manage to get on the roof.
I set up my rifle.I count the apartment numbers. I fix my rifle on Apt. 506 and I  wait.
At approx. 10:14 PM a light pops on in the one bedroom apartment.Finally I thought to myself .I can do this and get the hell out of dodge.
I looked through the scope,finger on the trigger.I adjust the lens,get my target in sight.I couldn't believe what I saw through that scope. I flinched for the first time in my life.
Sam Roberts,27,Orphan,Intern and a woman,
I never hurt a woman in my life.
Why would anyone want to hurt this,young,beautiful girl who appears to want to help the sick ?
Samantha Roberts,was 5-5,I would say about 110lbs.She had red hair,probably Irish.She worked out a nice feminine build.
I snapped out of my funk and called Paul.I explained the situation. I was told. It had to be done regardless,He said it was either my target or me, in so many words.
I sit back and reflect. I have a wife who depends on me.We are talking about kids.My parents.My sister.
I think I should have my fucking head examined for doing this shit.
I should of listened to my gut right after that night call Paul.
I am confused,nervous and guilty.
Everything a Sniper is taught not too be.
I look at the target,She is sitting at a desk in her bedroom now,appears to be studying.Shades open.A perfect shot.
I re-focus. I take the shot.The bullet from my M40A1 rifle pierces right through the glass and crashes into her skull. She goes limp,instantly.
Samantha Roberts,27,Intern,Orphan, is now dead and I killed her.
On that bus ride home I thought to myself.This is my last hit.
I get home around 2 AM.
I kiss my wife and go to sleep.
I wake up at 8 AM the next morning.
Paul was happy.
The hit made the news.
I flip on ABC News.
I then realize the mistake I made.
Sam Roberts 27 was an undercover F.B.I. agent.She was investigating fraud at the hospital.The President and all of the conies he hired were the target of the investigation.Somehow they must have found out.
I went numb.
Sam Roberts real name was Caitlin McKinney,28,Married to Jon McKinney,34,A criminal justice professor at John Jay College in Manhattan.They had a 3 yr. old boy.
His name is Donovan McKinney.
I felt sick.
It is four years since that incident.
It is a a cold bleak day as I write this,overcast,cloudy and cold..
January 8,2006 to be exact.
I am Charles Reynolds,I am 32.
I was a Hit Man.
I was married.
I used to have a supportive family.
Now I am inmate number 175469.
I am sitting in Terre Haute Indiana on death row just one hour before my execution for the Murder of FBI Agent Caitlin McKinney age 28.Wife and Mother.
I knew in my gut that that would be my last hit.



                                                                              Regards,
                                                                              Charles Reynold