There's all kind'a people on this rock. The kind that sit down to dinner with their family every night, enjoyin' the tales'a the day over good food. The kind that slip cozy-like into bed with the missus. Maybe chuckle an' share a kiss. Maybe go at it like animals, in what they think is "makin' love."

An' then there's the kind who lay in a muddy ditch for three hours, unmovin'. Piss runnin' downhill, which in this case is towards their chest, down the sleeves'a their shirt.

Guess which kind I'm just lucky enough to be.

It's worth it, though. It's worth it, because two hours later, get to squeeze up on my trigger. I see pink pops of mist come out'a his chest. Ain't take a headshot on account'a how big the round was. The round's big cause he always runnin' around in the company'a two or three bodyguards, after all the threats'a someone puttin' him down after he walked on all them charges'a child molestin' an' murderin' 'em after, I would'a gon' get myself a few'a 'em too. So it's a ways off, I take the shot from.

A .408 round to the head might destroy the dogtags I'm gon' end up plunkin' down on Alain's desk. But she come in handy for long jobs like this'n. Nice new little trinket. She fits nice on my back, too. Collapsable stock an' it's slim an' hugs my spine like my little Jazznote does on cold nights.

Them bodyguards're gon' nuts, little insignificant barkers out an' lookin' all around. Worthless lot, they are. Can't even figure which way the shot came from. It's a calm packin' up'a my gear, half hour later, when they've given up an' gon' to drown their mistakes in some ginjoint.

Get a bit'a kismet on the way back to Alain's. Someone's creepin' 'round the neighborhood an' I stop an' study. Thin, short guy. Got a knife in one hand an' a scrap'a paper in the other. Lookin' all around but somehow miss me. Still got the sweetheart on my back, barrel down between my legs like a tail. Makes me wonder how she used to deal with it all the time, annoying appendage.

It's gettin' on into dusk, an' the street's almost empty, a few people comin' out'a their shops, closin' up. I wait 'til he's halfway down the alley nextdoor to Alain's place.

"I help you." It's calm an' level. Some people say it's unnervin', the way there ain't never a rise in my voice, when I ask a question. Why do they think I do it? He whirls 'round, caught off-guard an' the knife is raised up high. I'm sure the sight'a me ain't doin' a whole lot to convince him'a droppin' that shiv down any lower.

"No! N-no. I'm fine, leave me alone. You have no business being in mine!" Give this one credit, he at least ain't movin' away. Got some guts, got a whole lotta stupid in him too, though. The rolodex quits spinnin' an' lands on his ugly mug. He's on the list 'Lain give me. He gon' end up birdfood.

I take a step or two forward, hands out, feignin' like I ain't 'bout to give him his daily'a iron. He lurches, shiv slidin' deep into that little pocket where shoulder meet collarbone. I ain't think the big ol' granny-wolf grin that cut across my lips helped his feelin'a unsettle. Neither did the knuckles in his jaw, most likely.

Give him credit, again. He ain't crumple right away like, but he back up, let go'a the shiv an' stumble. Toss it aside an' come at him. Looked behind himself, an' realize the alley ain't got two exits. He's panicky, then, scrambling an' he picked up a bottle. I snickered an' he just dropped it, seein' one'a my favorite lovelies in a hand. Might not go down on account'a knuckles, but two bites drop him just the same.

Ain't look like Alain is inside. I come in through a crawlspace window, left the .408 under some trash in the alley. Put the dogtags on his desk, an' that little guy's pinky finger. Big, flashy ring on it. Figure Alain'll recognize it as that'n's.

Hope I ain't stink up his office too bad, on account'a my clothes bein' covered in piss an' now some blood. After that, me an' the new beauty go home an' get all washed up.