He sat on the saggy, shabby couch, staring sightlessly foward at the running ads and late night smut TV. The glow bathed his strong, haggard features with a flickering blue sheen, broken occasionally by the orange flare of the cigarrette as he drew on it. The men in the doorway regarded him catiously, at their boss who had gone quietly unhinged. Or at least non responsive, which normally wouldn't have been too uncommon for Kaufman. Except this bout had followed on the heels of a job.

The blood stiples on his face glistened with his movements, as his cheeks sucked in, pulling smoke into his lungs. His fingers, still bloody, left faint red smears on the white cigarrette, like a woman's lipstick marks.

Concientious as usual, he had taken off his shoes before he stepped onto the rug, making sure he wouldn't leave bloody treadmarks on the carpet. He had ignored any questions put to him by the squad of men following him, and those of the men in waiting. He had asked if there had been any messages, as usual, and then sat in the rec room, lit a cigarrette, and hadn't moved since.

Henrikson came up behind Smith, who was standing in the rec room door, trying to figure out his boss's odd behavior. Henrikson peered around Smith, then asked, "What's up with him?" Smith glanced over his shoulder, and then ushered the other man away from the door. "Seems like things got a little sticky for Kaufman in the last outing."

"What? Kaufman getting fazed? No way."

Smith, feeling slightly paranoid, looked over his shoulder again to get a location on his boss. "I hear that the others left to go get the gear, and the security doofs showed up while Kaufman was still there. I think they said he had been unarmed- why is beyond me. Maybe he was just surveying the place. Any way, it all boiled down to Kaufman standing around a pile of dead bodies with a lead pipe. The bodies... uh, well, the bodies didn't look too hot. Y'know- popped out eyes and ripped off skin chunks, and... well, just not pretty. I dunno what was in it that made Kaufman like this, but..."

Just then Kaufman brushed past them, the cigarrette burned so low that it was nearly scorching his lips. "You ladies done gossiping? Get to the vans and help move the evidence and equipment. I'm taking a shower."

They didn't notice that when he lit up another cigarrette, Kaufman's hands shook.

Henrikson looked at Smith. "Back to normal, I guess?" Smith responded by shaking his head, as if he really couldn't tell.

It was only later, when a message had been recieved by their most recent client, that they realized the damage on Kaufman. One of them had been sent to foray into the shower stalls to herald Kaufman of the news.

The man stepped into the shower area and gave Kaufman a shout, telling him he had news, letting Kaufman decide how he wanted to hear it.

Kaufman's gravelly response was as standard- tell it to him, or leave him the fuck alone. The guy had leaned around the tiled corner, and saw Kaufman's wiry back blazoned with colors of the sunset. Bruises, scrapes, and contusions had left him black, blue, yellow, green, and red. The guy just stood there, a little taken aback. When the silence seemed a little too prolonged, Kaufman looked over his shoulder in some annoyance, saying, "What?"

"Jesus, boss. What the fuck happened to you? You get dragged over construction work by a pick up?"

"The news, jackass. What's the news?"

The guy gave him a slightly squinted look. "We got a client- the Russian mob boss. Wants a warehouse of his cleaned out."

"With or without the wetwork?" Kaufaman was scrubbing his colorful back with a worn out wash cloth, blood and sweat washing away.

"Uhhh... dunno. Just said clean it- no evidence that he had stuff there in the first place."

Silence. Kaufman dragged a bar of soap through his short hair, scruffing the suds through. Then finally, he turned off the taps. The silence left from the falling water was deafening. Kaufman turned from the waist to grab a towel from the rack, and wrap it around him. as he passed the man, he shot over his shoulder, "Make sure everyone's fed. Order pizza or something. Then send 'em home, and we'll start in the morning." More exclamations from various other men followed as Kaufman walked through the rec room to get to the stairs, as they got full view of their boss.