Twenty minutes later, he returned. "Job done," he said, sitting back in the car, his voice rough but relieved.
I handed him $350. "For your own safety, I can't drive you back to where you were before; others will know that you have cash with you."
He took the money, his face tweaking slightly.
I then drove to a different side of the city, far from where I'd picked him up. There, I let him out of the car, and drove off.
'Knowing Joshua Jackson, he won't take it seriously and will still show up in Wahneta, but at least the threat will be always on the back of his mind.' I thought.
I went back to the parking lot of that dorm to quickly make sure the job was done. With a swift glance, I saw that the message was indeed scrawled across the driver's window of the red Mustang.
I disappeared from the scene.
I knew that for a minor incident like this, investigators would never dig deep enough to connect it to me.
