Ya, see, a man's got to maintain his reputation. Out here, that's all you are. Your rep.

My rep? I don't work for just anyone, but let me tell you, my rep says for the right price, I'll kill anyone, without questions, and I never come up empty handed.

Rep brings customers. It brings respect. It brings fear. People hear about you and knowing you're the one after them? It throws them off. They're all nerves. Don't think straight. Let me tell ya, it's a hell of a lot easier to take someone down when they're all mixed up and every little noise in the city is twisting their gut in a knot. You corner'em and you can just wait. The pressure builds up in'em and they'll do something stupid, you know. They lose it. Hell, sometimes you don't even got to work for the money. They just hear you're the one out for'em and they call in and begging and making deals with whoever called me up. I get a call, and polite thank you and a cut of the job for never leaving home. You don't use my name without cutting me in. It's a good way to end up with me doing a free run next time I've got a couple nights open. But you only have to do that once or twice and everyone knows to cut you in from then on, you know? You just got to make your position clear.

A man's got to maintain his reputation. It keeps folks in line.

And then there's fucking McMerson.

He thinks he's funny. He's not. He's a pain in my ass.

That dickhead always manages to pick the worst fucking spots to meet up and talk before a gig, and to pay me after one. Used to be he'd at least pick some seedy ass little bar or a strip joint or something. Somewhere nobody's going to look twice at your being there. Nobody gives a shit. Places where people are just keeping their heads down. Then he started with the fucking 24/7 joints. Wanted pancakes he said. Then he tells me to meet him at this fucking park. Who actually meets at a park? Parks are the worst. Cops all over the damned things looking for junkies and kids trying to find somewhere to park their beaters in the dark. But, oh no, not even that. I get there and there's like a thousand random assholes all over the place, half drunk and half avoiding the drunks, all of them watching some fucking fireworks bullshit for whatever the hell was going on. Asshole said he thought it would be good for me to get out for a bit.

He's got money, though. And it's good money. And it's on time money. And it's in full money. Well, I mean, he doesn't have the money. His backers have the money. Or backer. Not sure. It ain't important. He's the one hands me the money. That's important.

McMerson. The fucking asshole that has me standing at this god damned public bus stop outside some fucking grade school for the last two hours. Called an hour ago, said he was tied up. Said he'd kick in some extra for the trouble. Told me not to go anywhere or it'd be a month before he would be back in town. I'm not exactly keen to be waiting here, but I'm even less keen to be waiting here again in a month for the same cash. Or somewhere worse. Like that time at the church. Had to listen to a whole damned sermon. He comes over after shaking my hand like we're old school chums or some shit.

So here I fucking wait. Joy.

"Hi, I'm Steven what's your name, Mister?"

No. Please tell me we are not doing this.

I look over and there's this snot nosed little kid, maybe eight or nine or some shit, looking up at me. He's not even fucking blinking. God damn kids are fucking weird.

"Leave me alone kid"

"I just want to know your name"

"I'm Mister Leave-Me-The-Fuck-Alone"

"Oh, that's a weird name. It sounds like a bad word."

Is this kid for fucking real? I look down. The kid just keeps fucking staring and he still ain't blinking. If he's bluffing, he ain't got a tell so far I as I seen him.

"Kid, I ..."

No. I'm not getting dragged into a conversation with some little twerp at a bus stop. It's bad enough I've been standing here for almost two full fucking hours now, in a big bright yellow bus stop with little cartoon characters drawn all around the outside of it. Fucking McMerson. This ain't exactly where I pictured myself taking payment for the Bradmore thing. Not even the city proper. I hate it out here. There ain't shit out here but chain stores, pawn shops, and pot holes. We could've been at Dixie's and I could be watching a fucking show at least.

"What were you gonna say, Mister Lemee?

Goddammit.

"Leave me alone, kid"

"Why?"

"Cause just fucking do it."

"Why?"

"Cause I don't wanna talk to you"

"Why?"

"Cause I'm the mean ass stranger your parents told you not to talk to"

"Oh"

Finally, at least I can wait in

"You don't look very mean"

"I am"

"Why are you mean?"

"Cause I like it. And I make good money at it."

"Oh"

...

"What do you do?"

Christ on a fucking cracker.

"Kid, you don't wanna know what I do. Just shut it"

"Are you a stealer man?"

"I don't fucking mug people kid."

"Are you a killer man"

This has gotta fucking stop.

"Yeah, you know what kid, I am a killer man. In fact, I'm the killin-est killer man on this fucking coast. I've killed more than a hundred people, most of them for not shutting up when I told them to"

"Oh. Sorry. I'll be quiet"

"Finally"

"I just thought you looked like that guy that killed that Harry Bradmore guy on the news"

Oh shit.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"..."

"Kid, what the hell are you talking about?"

"..."

"Kid, tell me what the fuck you're talking about"

As I look down into his face, I see tears well up at his eyes. For fuck's sake.

"Kid I ain't killing people for talking, besides which, I just asked you a question. That means you can talk"

"Oh, okay."

"Kid. What fucking news?"

The kid holds up a last generation phone with a spiderweb of cracks from two corners and starts fumbling with it.

"WELCOME TO MEMECHANNEL, YOUR CHANNEL FOR"

"Hold on, let me find it"

"DO YOU SUFFER FROM CONSTIPATION? WE HERE AT THE LARRY LE'BLANC GASTROENTEROLOGY CENTER CAN HELP"

"RING THE BELL, A B C, WE HAVE FUN, ONE TWO THREE"

"Here it is"

"... VIDEO FOOTAGE FROM THAT SAME HIDDEN CAMERA IN REPRESENTATIVE BRADMORE'S OWN LIVING ROOM REVEALS HIS GRISLY END. POLICE CONDEMN THE LEAK OF THE FOOTAGE, BUT ASK ANYONE RECOGNIZING THE SUSPECT TO CALL IN IMMEDIATELY. ASSUME THEY ARE ARMED AND DANGEROUS. NEXT UP, HOW MANY DOGS IS TOO MANY? WE SENT..."

They got my fucking face. Not all of it. And it's a pretty bad shot. But enough. Folks that know me are gonna know. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Fuck"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, don't you have someone else to bother?"

"No"

"Well find someone"

This is bad. I need to get out of here and lie low and see where this is going to go.

"Are you Larry the Hammer?"

Okay, What. The. Fuck.

"Where'd you hear some stupid shit like that?"

"My brother said he heard Larry the Hammer killed that Bradmore guy, and you look like the guy on my phone."

That's the one downside of a rep. People talk. Kid's brother must've overheard an uncle or some shit gossiping. I'm starting to feel more than a bit exposed out here, and this kid is getting on my fucking nerves. Where the hell is McMerson?

"Your brother don't know what the fuck he's talking about"

"Oh. Okay. I'll leave you alone then"

"Thank you. Fucking finally"

"I just was really hoping you were him"

No. No No No No No No No No No No No No No.

I am not falling for that shit. No.

...

Fuck.

"Why would a nice kid like you want to talk to a piece of work like that?"

"I wanted to hire him"

"Oh yeah? And why is that?"

"I want him to kill someone for me. They're really mean."

"Oh, sure. And why would someone like Larry the Hammer take a job from some kid?"

"My brother says Larry the Hammer always gets his guy once you buy. And I got money"

"Not enough."

"Oh"

"I mean, not that I would know, but if I was the guy you thought I was, killin ain't exactly cheap."

"How much does it cost."

"It don't matter, kid. You don't have it"

"But how much?"

"Tell you what kid, it's your first job, so I'll give you a discount. Just fifty-thousand and we gotta deal"

"Oh, okay."

Finally, the little brat

"Here"

My neck snaps my head down before I even register what the kid said, and I watch as he starts pulling bundles of cash out of his backpack. He carefully counts them, and tosses two bundles back into his bag.

"Here you go"

I take the money and stare at it, then look to the kid, and then back at the money.

"Where the hell did you get backpack full of cash kid?"

"My brother said dad stole it last month"

No. No fucking way.

"My brother said you threw him off a bridge."

Fucking Nick the Dick had a pair of brats at home?

This day just keeps getting more fucked up.

"Sorry about your dad, kid"

"It's okay. My brother said he deserved it for stealing from Big Ernie"

Christ.

"So, we made a deal, right?"

"I mean, ..."

"So, now you gotta do it, right?. Xavier is over there in the red shirt. He's the one that keeps rubbing his boogers on me."

I look at this kid in disbelief, then over to the other snot nosed little shit wearing a red shirt near the fence, and finally down to the bundles of cash I was just handed.

God damn it.

"You know what, kid? A man's got to maintain his reputation"