Another day, another coin or I"d bleed for you

While the hunt had been uneventful, the pay was generous. He thought better of his complaint. He unfolded the slip with his next victim's name on it. "So, who's my next daisy pusher, hmmm?" He roared as he read it, Peter Pecker! Ah, it seems the universe has never been kind to this fellow." He crumpled the note and then frowned. "With a name like Peter Pecker, how much nerve could this sap have?" He'd have to come up with some vile and illicit amusements to make this one fun. "Oh well, all in a day's work."

Peter nursed his drink and waited for the mayhem. Janie had cajoled him into joining her at the Gas Light for Karoke and quarter beer- a sure combination for setting off the rabble rousers. He’d rather not listen to off-key reinditions of Duran Duran, but Janie, a normally sensible girl, became a poll dancing dervish (if there were a poll) three beers in. Her hair and clothes would be in disarray soon enough. He’d call a cab, put her to bed and slump into his own flat across the hall.

Janie was pleased with herself having Peter there. By her own assestment, she was pretty enough, gainfully employed and bright- an upwardly mobile young woman. Still every woman likes attention and a little envy. When the girls from the office saw Peter, their eyes validated Janie had it all. So what, Peter was her neighbor and friend; no one need know that but Janie and Peter.

He stood outside the bar watching them, brooding over the restrictive conditions of his employment: only the designated party may be killed and no witnesses. These were frivolous, unnecessary provisions and every time he thought about them he boiled. His mood was as dark as the shadows that concealed him. To distract himself, he slowly pulled off the nail of each digit. It should have been excruciatingly painful instead the discomfort passed too quickly and his agitation grew.

Inside the bar, among her friends Janie laughed and drank. Her girlfriends’ reaction to Peter went beyond impressed. By four beers in, her success backfired instead of feeling elated she felt the dark edges of loneliness curling around her temples. Why can’t I be open and candid with other men? Why don’t I act on impulse, take risks with a guy I might actually have a relationship with? Peter is kind and funny, and catching him by surprised that time wearing only a towel was delicioussssssssssssss. He’s perfect except he’s gay.

“Janie, ready to go, love?”


Flash like a fine blade maligns cleanly.
Red beads stain the flesh before the cut is felt;
bleeding isn’t cryptic.

Roswell waited for Pecker boy to tuck in sleeping beauty. What in bloody hell was taking so long? How can he stand the sound of that snoring cow? Let's get on with it already.The clause prohibiting him from killing her rubbed him like callous feet. While he was a patient man, a methodical fellow, a professional of unquestionable skill, this assignment was dragging on far too long. He would not let that bore of woman interfer anymore. Peter Pecker would be killed tonight, and if he had a take a cut for killing sleeping beauty, too, to do it, so be it.

Finally, Peter locked Janie's door and tip-toed the ten steps across the hall to his flat. His own head was throbbing, a dull, persistent ache the source of which he couldn't figure out. Janie had drank like a fish not he. No matter, to bed and in the morning he'd be fine. The door had failed to latch? Before he could remember if he had left his door unlocked, his univited guest spoke.

"Good evening, Mr. Pecker."

Faintly in the open door, he heard her.

"Peter?"

"Bloody hell!"





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