Resignation Letter received from Mexico City, Mexico, November 20, 2003:

At some point in the span of my career, people began to consider me a madman. Let me set the record straight here and now; this was a lie. Somewhere along the line the majority decided what morals to run everything by, and from that day on anyone deviating would be considered crazy. Varying morals equals insanity.

They say I must have had some sort of twisted, abusive childhood. I was spanked too many times. But, this just isn't true. A few beatings in a broken home can't be an excuse. The simple fact is this: I don't give a shit. I don't care.

Luckily for me, neither did you, my gracious former employer. During my screening for the Central Intelligence Agency, you just figured I was a wise-ass with a snappy wit. Hell, you even enjoyed it. You didn't mind the conviction for possession of cocaine on my minor record. And why should you? It was the eighties, and besides, after I became an agent I once oversaw a carrier aircraft landing in Texas stacked top to bottom, front to back with so much blow it would have made George Jung weep to see it, if we hadn't already jailed him for the same thing.

Not caring is something American agencies do very well too. It's the only way to get anything done, really. Kill a few people, install someone on the payroll. We've been doing it for a dozen decades. South America has been out back yard playpen for some time now, and when the government goes through the motions of catching one of their own involved in something less than savory, the bustee can always get a job at good old Fox News.

But I doubt I'd enjoy that too much. Spouting my own bullshit is far more fun than reciting Murdock's from behind a desk any day (They don't call him insane, and he doesn't even have morals. The joys of money). I like to think I still have a bounce in my step, thought the weight of Mexico's sun might hamper the springs a little. When I first came here I hated it. My body chemistry wasn't mixed properly for the middle longitudes. But, after a few weeks I discovered the joys of tequila, and the chaos they call law enforcement, and my little icy heart swelled. So many possibilities.

I'm good with variables. Manipulation is my game. I'd probably have made a fine magician if I cared to adopt the Christian morals of the shrinks. But I tried that once when I was younger and it was too much of a buzz kill, so I left it on a doorstep for somebody who gave a shit.

I've never gone out of my way to shoot anyone, I just always make sure I have a good reason for passing by.

Can you dig it?

Probably not.

I said earlier that I wasn't a madman, and it's true; I wasn't at the point they pegged me as one, but I'm probably no longer a reliable source on the subject. Ever just have one of those days, where you're pushed a little bit too far? I hope not, because there isn't enough room on the planet for the both of us.

I'm a useless dog to you now, and realize that I will be brought out back and shot for the shit storm on the day of the Dead. Therefore, I respectfully resign my position with the CIA.

Fuck off,

Sheldon Jeffery Sands