But there's got to be an opening
Somewhere here in front of me
Through this maze of ugliness and greed
-One Headlight by The Wallflowers

I'm passed around like a cheap whore. Word of mouth gets around that 'this one is good' and I end up with a new job and some crisp bills in my wallet. I have tight lips and a steady hand, so I guess that's what makes me so good in this business. Like a cheap whore I spread disease, in my own way. Like STDs I can be annoying, crippling, or lethal. Everything depends on the request of my newest boss. I can be wielded like a weapon or an asset, depending on your preference. I imagine what my ad in the classifieds would look like. I bet it would read something like:

For Hire: Individual with knowledge of computers, electronics and guns. Lacking moral compass and interpersonal skills. Payment dependent on job.

I'm damn proud of that résumé, thank you very much. I don't really have references though, client confidentiality and all that. Ask about half of the people working in illegal dealings and they'll say how great I am. (The other half pretty much hates me, for reasons that I hope are obvious.)

I chew on the end of my cigarette, only half listening to the man in front of me. I'm in an abandoned restaurant. The sign on the front reads 'Sal's Pizzeria,' although one of the i's in Pizzeria have fallen off. The windows are boarded and I've seen at least one rat scurrying along by the floorboards. I exhale smoke, leaning forward.

I'm talking to John Harrington, and if you think that's his real name then you're pretty much a dumbass. I don't use my real name, why would anyone else?

We've taken up residence in one of the booths, striped white and red vinyl. I don't question his choice of meeting place; I've definitely been in worse. The place is dingy and the light is dim at best, but we're out of the way of prying eyes.

John Harrington is an Associate, something I know without him telling me. His skin is light, and I know that for something like this the Family wouldn't send one of their own. (Even with my impeccable record, no one trusts anyone else in a business like this.) He's a little too chatty for my taste; I really just want to get on with the job.

"Give me the picture," I say shortly, and he pulls a picture out of the bag at his side and lays it on the table in front of me. I pick it up, studying the face. "His relation?"

"Consigliere." John Harrington supplies immediately. "His name—"

"No names." I interrupt.

"What should I call him then?" He asks, seeming uncomfortable. Good, he should be uncomfortable.

"Call him 'Eighty-six'." I say, feeling witty.

"You've killed eighty-six men?" He asks stupidly, and I sigh, closing my eyes behind orange lenses. Luckily John Harrington isn't a complete imbecile, because he's quick to move on. He pulls out a second picture and places it on the table in front of me. "His boss."

"Rod Ross." I pull the name from memory. His bald head and facial hair are a dead giveaway to his identity. I glance to the other picture, my target. "Let me guess, this one is the brains behind the operation? I always thought Rod was just a brawny idiot."

"I'm not at liberty to say."

I simply nod, unsurprised. "Have you set up a location where I can take him down?"

"We'll be sponsoring you to attend the Weapons Expo."

I raise an eyebrow. The Weapons Expo is well-known in the crime syndicate as the place to be for the best and newest weapons. It's one of the rare places where the Families are able to be in the same place and not…well, kill each other. It's like an unwritten rule: Violence at the Weapons Expo is strictly prohibited. It's a very exclusive event; someone like me wouldn't even know where it's being held. "That's kind of dangerous, don't you think? Unless you want me to start a war." Or if he wants me to get killed myself, which goes unspoken.

"I'm sure you'll be able to take care of it discreetly." John Harrington says lightly.

"I usually only require a fractional payment up front, but you're asking me to kill a Consigliere in a very public place. I'll need half the payment now."

John Harrington pulls a white envelope from his bag and hands it over. I tear it open and finger through the stack of hundreds. "This will do. One more thing," John Harrington pauses in gathering his things. "Who am I working for?"

He smiled a bit. "We'll contact you soon with information on the Expo. Keep in mind that until you are successful, that money belongs to the Boss. Don't do anything stupid."

I'm silent, watching John Harrington stand and leave. I drag a gloved finger through the grime on the tabletop in front of me, drawing idle patterns. I lift my other hand and look down into cerulean blue eyes set in a young face with unusually long blonde hair. I smear my dirty thumb across his unnamed face, leaving it besmirched. "See you soon Eighty-Six." I murmur, standing from the booth and exiting the abandoned restaurant through the back door.

AN: Welcome to the prologue of my newest project! If you've read Tinted Gold then you've probably noticed the different tone and subject matter of For Hire. I am writing Matt very differently here, and I'm interested to hear what you guys think of him. This story is an alternate universe, so I have much more freedom to do what I want with the characters. I'm so excited for this story! Your reviews really make a difference on how fast I update, and might even change the direction of the story depending on what people say about it! Chapter 1 will be posted before you know it; this prologue is just a little taste of what's to come!

I also wanted to note that if you are unfamiliar with the structure of the Mafia, there is a great article on Wikipedia under American Mafia. It would take too long to explain here, but I will say that the Consiglere is the adviser and right-hand-man to the mob boss.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!