"Why do you want me to kill you?"

She was walking home, pushing her bicycle alongside her until Ladd Russo came up and interrupted. The broad was just admiring those dim street lights that seemed to hide the filth of the Chicago sidewalks better than they actually lit it up. Maybe the sun just stole their job a little too good.

Her lips pursed together, before she really turned around.

"You know, this really puts alotta questions in my head. Like how do you know about me and my hobbies? I knew I was popular, but I never met you before, Toots." His hands dipped right into those expensive pockets while the rest of him waited on an answer. "What's your name anyway?"

"I'm Priscilla." She brushed a bit of that dark hair behind her ear. It was short and unruly, but a pretty ink black that almost had a shine to it.

Ladd hadn't got to see her face before, not in too much detail. Before, this Priscilla was pretty much a watercolor painting, with its colors running down the side of it like a smear. It was still an interesting piece of art, as far as surrealism would go. But for details-real, photographic details, the far away, running version of her didn't work.

Up close, she had an interesting face. Soft pink lips and fat brown eyes with lashes thick like lace. Her flesh was practically paper white, with the exception of blush bursting into her cheeks-likely put there by a brush or a fever. Her waist was tiny and she had little tits, with curvy hips poking out the sides of her dress. Today it was a happy pink thing with bright white polka dots searing out sections like acid.

They had been staring at one another a little too long.

"You should walk with me. And we'll talk about it. I was just goin' home."

So Ladd Russo took a couple of steps forward and they started moving.

"You didn't tell me why yet."

"Well-There's alotta reasons. But, I guess the main one would be my heart condition." Her eyes pointed forward a minute-while her teeth shredded up the right side of her mouth. "I ain't gonna bore you with some sob story, but all you need to know is that I don't got much time left. I know I don't. The doctors can't help me, and what help they could give runs something like one thousand a week, just so I can sit in some shitty hospital while they shoot me up with needles." On the ground, her clean, white shoes became heavier. Like anvils connected to little Popsicle sticks for legs. "If I'm going, it's by my own means. But see-now it's getting bad enough to where this illness of mine really hurts. I can't sleep no more and it's like a punch to the chest all the Goddamn time."

Then those lips, beet red in comparison to the rest of her-gave Mr. Russo a little curve. "Besides, I'd rather have a cute guy like you do it. Not some ugly old, grim reaper." Those gloved hands were shaking a little, but Priscilla didn't seem nervous. Her mouth even clenched up a bit, like someone just collapsed her stomach with a size fourteen boot.

"That's an unfortunate situation you got there." Ladd's feet were heavy against the pavement too. It was a quiet evening and this was a quiet sort of conversation. The kind that caused weighty, loud thoughts. "Look, I don't really want to kill ya. My favorite people to kill are the ones that don't expect it. Dying is the furthest thing from their mind when I get a hold of 'em. But you-you've got death in your damn blood."

"I understand that." Priscilla stopped, letting the pain move through her a second. You could hear it in her voice-that chronic ache that clenched up her chest like her collarbones were broken. "I'm willing to pay you. I got about five grand saved up-and I know it ain't a lot, but I'd feel like shit, asking this kind of favor for nothin'." Her lungs sucked in a breath like dehydration sucks in water. "I do have some requests though. You see, I got this whole thing planned out…"

They had stopped walking at this point.

"Look, I'll ride your bike home and you can sit on the back. This is gettin' hard to watch."

"Nah. It's been worse." Red lips opened up a bit, taking in as much as they could. Pricilla was worn out, just like a punching bag over the course of a decade. It was obvious, that she worked hard just about all her life, switching from café to café until her body was blistered and bleeding and her heart couldn't work right. It gave out from the poverty and sorrow that came with her type of tragedy.

"You'll have to excuse me-for what I'm about to ask. But before you kill me, if you decide to take me up on my offer-I wanna have something like a date first. You know-go get some pasta and maybe go dancing for a while afterwards. Then you can take me back to my place and we'll get it over with."

They looked at one another for a moment, while Priscilla pushed her brows into one another and Ladd rolled it all over a couple times in his head. Her breathing was coming tough and her shaking hands were gripping onto the handles of that bicycle as if each of them made up a walker.

"If I had more, I'd give you more. Really, you gotta believe me when I say that. But I ain't never been lucky, and now I'm just askin' for your understanding." A little huff. "So, how about it?"

Ladd shifted his eyes over to that gaunt figure, dressed up in such a happy looking dress.

"Yeah, I'll help you out. When you put it that way, it's hard not to. Sure, I'm a bastard but not that kind of bastard- that would leave a poor lady like yourself in need. That's just downright shameful." Then, he shrugged, like that sort of behavior made no damn sense. "If that's what you want, then I'll give it to ya, Doll Face."

"Oh, really?" Those big brown eyes looked like they could have drowned with tears. But instead of crying, Priscilla just placed Ladd Russo inside her arms, her hot red cheek resting right on his collar. "Thank you so much. Can I meetcha here tomorrow? It's my only day off for a while."

"Yeah, sure thing."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Russo. I can't tell ya how much I appreciate this."

Then she kissed his cheek and kept on walking. And they came to her apartment and made their plans.