Today's guest is a gentleman who only goes by the name 'Smitty'. He's a private contractor in the field of personnel removal, and I don't mean 'downsizing'. Recently, we had a conversation via the medium of the Internet--a far safer way to meet a hit man than on the job!
Q. Did your parents name you Smitty? I'm picturing a cigar-chomping baby in a bassinet.
My parents originally named me John. For most of my life I was known as Johnny. I'm one half of a set of twins. Or to be more precise; I am the surviving twin. My brother, along with my wife, met . . . shall we say . . . a sudden and violent demise. But you can read it in a story written by B.R. Stateham entitled, "There is No Johnny---Just Call Me Smitty."
It is fairly accurate in depicting the incident which permanently changed me into this persona you call 'Smitty'.
Q. You're a private contractor for jobs that don't appear in the Wanted ads. Do you enjoy your work, or are you training for a new career at the University of Phoenix?
My jobs come to me quietly. Someone needs help; someone is in trouble. The kind of trouble the police cannot handle. The kind a priest of cleric cannot touch. My name floats around in the darkness. If you listen closely enough you'll hear a whispered voice. That will be me.
As to whether I enjoy my work, all I can say is that I am not bothered by it. And I find I have a somewhat macabre talent for it. But I will confess that sometimes . . . sometimes . . . a particular conclusion of an assignment takes place that gives me a measure of satisfaction.
Q. I've done a number of job interviews recently. They always ask me if there's a particular piece of work I'm proud of. Do you have a favorite bit of work in your past, and if so, what made it special?
One job comes to mind; I was asked to intercede in a family feud. A set of brothers from a family of mobsters accused each other of removing their father permanently from the scene. So each brother quietly hired me to bump off the other.
I did. At the funeral of their father. Father, and his two sons, were each buried in the same cemetery that week. I laid a black rose onto the grave of each.
Q. What items are in your 'toolbelt' besides a Dan Wesson .357?
Whatever can be manipulated into a weapon. Guns, knives, baseball bats, detergents, bailing wire, even a Bic pen. Whatever is handy.
But I prefer a switch-blade. Murder should be up close and personal, don't you think?
Q. What makes you so sexy?
I've been accused of being a lot of things. But 'sexy' is a description that fails me completely. Women, for some reason, especially those whom I help escape from one danger or another, seem to hold this view about me.
I find it interesting. But puzzling.
If you'd like to learn more about Smitty, perhaps in hopes of a future business arrangement, you can learn more via B.R. Stateham in Call Me Smitty: There Are No Heroes.