For a long time, neither me or him spoke. I nursed my second beer and tried to think of some other way to support Julie and myself. The only things I could think of made me sick to my stomach.

Ronnie, meanwhile, read the paper. He read it slow and deliberately, taking time to look over sections I know he had no interest in. Like the weather. The only times Ronnie went outside were to buy groceries and stop by the library. I could tell he was keeping an eye on me, though. When I finished my drink, I'd no sooner set it down on the table than he swiped the empty mug away for a refill.

The whole process played itself out for a few more beers, and then it was time for Ronnie to open up.

I'd never sat in Ronnie's bar when he opened it. It's an interesting sight. I'd never taken the time to notice that there aren't many people walking out of the door. For the most part, people wander in and don't leave until Ronnie throws them out, for one reason or another. The first customer walked in not twenty minutes after the bar opened up. He sat down a few stools away from me, and him and Ronnie chatted about something I payed no attention to.

After a while, the place was full. As full as it ever gets, anyway. You couldn't say Ronnie's place ever got 'lively'; there was just a point when as many people that were going to come in did.

It must have been about half past seven when I noticed someone was staring at me.

I didn't turn around to face him, but I could see all I wanted to out of the corner of my eye. He was fat. And wearing an expensive suit. The kind you see in the window and shake your head, thinking about the one kind of person who can afford to buy something like that. Ronnie doesn't get many criminals in his bar-at least not by the classic definition. But when he does, they like to try and blend in. This fat guy and his two friends had settled into a booth near the back, where the light could just barely reach them.

"They've never been here before." Ronnie nearly made me fall out of my stool. When I looked at him, he was staring over my shoulder, and polishing a glass in a way that reminded me of crusty old television bartenders that I smiled a little bit. "Otherwise they'd have known that no one with friends ever sits back there. It's always the real loners. The kind that aren't gonna be comin' her for long, if you know what I mean."

Neither Ronnie or I were foolish enough to think that the two men sitting next to him were his friends. They both wore sunglasses when they walked in, and only took them off when they found that the fat man had decided to sit in the darkest part of the building. One of them was tall, thin, and had a long face. The other one was a little shorter, with dark skin. Both of them had drinks in front of them which they had barely touched, and they were dressed almost the same as the fat man. Except the shorter one was wearing a pinstriped suit.

Whenever the fat man wasn't staring at me, he was telling either a story or a joke to his friends, stopping just long enough to take another swig. It seemed to be a story by the way he waved his hands around in exaggerated gestures, but every once in a while, he would burst out into a fit of laughter. It wasn't just the laugh itself that was annoying, it was the obvious fact that he was laughing at his own jokes.

I tried to ignore him, asking Ronnie to get me another drink. He looked hesitant for a minute, and I can't say I blame him. I don't remember how many I'd had, but if he hadn't known what my situation was, he probably would've cut me off right then.

"Alright," He said, still giving me a concerned look as he poured the drink. "But after this, the only thing you're gettin' is coffee."

After I thanked him, I turned back around to check if the fat man was still there, only to find that the taller of the two men that had come in with him was sitting on the stool next to me.

"Mr. Keeler." He said, in a voice that expressed, if anything, mild annoyance.

"Yes?" I replied. A few hours before, I probably would've told him to fuck off, but the booze had loosened me up a little.

"My boss would like to speak with you." His eyes were a cold, dark shade of blue. "Privately", he added.

"Really? Who's your boss?" I tried to mask my curiosity by taking a drink as I finished the question, but it only served to muffle my voice slightly.

"He is a very successful businessman. He would like to offer you a job."

Job. The word rang in my ears.

"What kind of job, exactly?" Again, I attempted to hide my excitement by feigning disinterest. I did a little better that time, but I could tell the man next to me was not buying it.

"Mr. Keeler, my boss is a very impatient man." I recognized this immediately. Sometimes, during an interview, my guest would become increasingly uncomfortable with the questions I asked him. They would then attempt to weasel their way out of a number of questions by claiming that their boss had instructed them not to answer anything of that sort, when in reality, I knew that they had never even seen their boss's face.

"Alright, I suppose I could sit down with him for a few minutes." I picked up my drunk and stood up, shoving the stool back into place with my foot.

"Very good." The tension is his voice seemed slightly lessened, but his face showed no sign of relief. He stood up and slowly lead me to the back of the room. As I followed him, I turned back at Ronnie. He was staring at me, not sure what I was doing. I gave him a wink, trying to say that I was in complete control.

"Mr. Keeler!" The voice shook me into facing front and center. I saw that the shorter man had taken his place on the right side of the fat man, who was motioning for me to have a seat in the chair he had pulled up.

This particular booth, along with three other from a failed renovation attempt, was built in a half-circle design, so that if I meant to look directly at the fat man, I would not be able to sit on the cushion.

Pausing only a second to set my drink on the table on between us, I sat down. Now that I was close up, I could see the fat man clearly, even in the dim light. He was asian, and every bit as fat as he looked from afar. Something I hadn't noticed were his large ears. Not so large that they drew attention away from his fat, squinting face, but big enough to stick out.

The dark-skinned man had completely shaved his head, but it was doing it's best to come back. He had green eyes, and didn't seemed any more interested in me than his companion.

The fat man coughed.

It took me a second to register that he had stuck out his hand, and that he wanted me to shake it. After I did, he smiled. He had tiny little round teeth.

"Now, what exactly did my associates tell you?" He leaned back into the cushion, placing his hands on his stomach.

"They told me you had a job for me." In order to keep up the rhythm I was used to, I took a sip from my drink, but I had to lean over slightly to do so.

"Mr. Keeler-or, rather, Greg.." I winced at the way he said my name. It was so sudden and rushed, and it came out with a distinctive 'i' sound. "Are you in the habit of investigating jobs offered to you by strange men wearing suits?"

I started to reply, then stopped. In my haze of despair and alcohol, the oddity of the situation hadn't occurred to me.

"More importantly, did you not wonder for a second how someone you had never seen in your life knew your last name?" He leaned forward at this, placing his hands back on the table, staring at me with his tiny dark brown eyes.

I was on the defensive. From the bar, the fat man had seemed to give off the air of a guest a party that no one likes. Up close, his size was no longer humorous, but intimidating. And the men sitting at his side were no longer bored, they were focused. I couldn't run, they would be on me before I got fifteen feet out of the door. All I could think about was grandpa.

Then the fat man burst into laughter again. His eyes clenched shut and his hands fell off the table. When he calmed down, he sat upright again. He picked a handkerchief off the table and, still giggling, wiped the sweat off his brow.

"I am sorry, Greg." He was still smiling. "It's not every day I get to do something that allows me so much room for fun."

I wanted to ask him what kind of dumb fuck would find that sort of trick funny. But I knew better.

He set the handkerchief down again. "But I was very serious about the job offer. I know that you've recently been dropped into the ever-growing unemployment portion of the statistics."

"You know that I lost my job?"

"Of course, Greg." His smile curled up at the edges, revealing his small, white teeth. "There are no coincidences."

I was drunk, so the full impact of this statement didn't hit me until later. Even if I had been dead sober, I don't think anything could've changed my mind after what he said next.

"I want you to work for me. You will be completely taken care of. You’ll be given a new apartment in a much safer area of town. And with-" He paused to take a breath, still short on them because of his recent outburst. "And with the salary we'll be paying you, you'll never go hungry again."

"How much?" I said, from behind the glass mug.

"I'm sorry?" He leaned closer.

I set the mug down faster than I meant to. "How much will you be paying me?"

"Ah." He leaned back again. "It varies. Depending on certain factors, like.. how dangerous the particular job is, how much importance it holds for us.. there may even be certain jobs where you'll simply keep the money as it is divided up for you."

"What's the catch?"

"What do you mean?"

"I worked for eight years, always aiming to get an interview with an elusive man, or a tour of a private building. There is always a catch."

He smiled again, even wider this time. Whatever comes next, I though, is the part he really enjoys.

"You simply have to perform a simple errand that will prove your complete willingness to follow orders." He said simply, and took a long drink. the first he had taken since I sat down.

The table was silent. I stared across the table at the fat Asian man guzzling down liquor that had been paid for by the pain, the greed, and the misery of others. In the bottom of his glass, I saw reflected my apartment three floors above the street, where me and my Julie slept. Where I covered her ears because I wanted to pretend she couldn't hear the screams coming from down the street, and inside the building.

When he set the gun on the table in front of me, I was not surprised.