CH 1

How strange that he'd quote a movie. Strange…and somewhat funny. Maybe that's how he handled it. I'd want to think of something funny too, if I had a gun trained on me. Then again, perhaps he was totally serious and only I found humor in what he said.

What was it he said?

"You're neither. You're an errand boy sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill."

I suppose in some respects he was right. But I'm no errand boy. And truth be told, I was sent by the highest bidder. And for all this guy did, I was glad to help. Of course, the 75,000-dollar price tag for me was a plus as well. But man, this guy did a lot. Exonerated stocks man turned killer. Beat a rap for embezzlement, then once that was over he wigged out! Killed his family, and three of his friends because of the pressure. Pressure of work, or just life itself, I don't know. But he did it, and because of a few well-placed greenbacks (that he probably embezzled), he got away with it. But, the powers that be wanted him out.

"He's unhinged," they told me, "we hear you're the best."

"I am the best," I replied to them, "but I'm not cheap."

And thus, here I stand with my gun trained on this psycho, ready to put him down and collect my cash. And yet, I haven't pulled the trigger. The reason why: I can't recall the name of that damn movie. It shouldn't bother me, but the fact is…well I'm fucking curious. And oddly enough, all the while as I'm thinking, this guy doesn't move. Not a twitch, not a flinch, he barely blinked. I guess he was set and ready. All he did was sit in his swanky, 8th floor office behind his desk, waiting for the end. Waiting, knowing he would surely die. Knowing, like most men in his position don't, that he wasn't bulletproof; that he would not survive the apocalypse.

Then it hit me. Like a square kick in the nuts, it hit me. Apocalypse Now. That damn Coppola Vietnam flick! I laughed. The man behind the desk looked at me quizzically. The muzzle flashed twice, the silencer making a whisper of the gunshot. The man then lay slumped over his desk, dead.

An errand boy, he called me. That prick. He has, or rather had, no idea what I am. I'm not an errand boy, I'm a problem solver, There's a difference.