As much as Kat detested coming into the office he would be lying if he said he hated it. And if you went down into the core of his mind, where all truths lie, you would be met with the realization that he didn’t mind his coworkers as much as his conscious mind gripped. This was something he would never admit out loud of course, but the truth was the truth regardless of its lack of oxygen.

In the bottom left drawer of his desk within a cold, metal box that is padlocked with a lock that has never had a key made there lies his tool. The rest of the room is cold when compared to that small section of the room that holds the devil's arm. Most of his coworkers like to handle their hits in unique ways that are more personable: Howard strangles, Jimmy traps, Roxy loves, The Twins play, and Roberto butchers.

He likes to keep things simple and clean; he likes to keep things silent and deadly.

When he’s ready to finally finish procrastinating, he is going to unlock the bottom drawer, move the files and paperwork that act as a layer of protection out of the way, and pull out the small gun case that does not weigh more than a few pounds, yet weighs life and death on the edge of a finger and a trigger. The space between the finger and the trigger is when you find out a lot about yourself.

Can you bring the two together?

Can you squeeze?

Can you ever be the same?

“Boss is waiting in the conference room.” comes a voice at the door.

It’s a woman's voice, but it doesn’t stick around. Kat knows that it was Martha, the boss's assistant whom he swears he isn’t sleeping with, but anyone with more brains than Howard knows he is. Martha isn’t a killer, at least Kat didn’t think so, which made her all that more terrifying to him. What kind of woman chooses to work in this line of work if she had other avenues? These were the cards you were dealt. If that meant an abusive drunk of a father that forces your hand, a screw missing that sends the whole mind out of whack, or simply a disposition that was always there. No matter your reason, it was never a choice, but a sad truth that you lived with or didn't.

Kat didn’t turn from his chair and look at the voice that told him his fate. He waited for the voice to leave. She knew he heard him and would come shortly, he simply needed time to tell his brain that it was time to talk to the boss. Mentally preparing himself, juggling the possible ways it could all go down.

It wasn’t a plan he was formulating, but a list of options that he could choose from. The one that always came first was quitting, then after he talked himself out of it, he came to the second: telling the boss what he wanted to hear, but that was too easy and he didn’t like to make things easy for the boss. The third was always the one he went with: he would tell the boss some of what he wanted to hear and some of what he didn’t. You can’t always give your boss good news or else he’ll start expecting it.

Getting up from his chair he walked up and out of his little office, down the hall of offices that were beginning to show signs of life, and into the conference room with the table that wasn’t completely round but roundish.

Entering the conference room he was met by the back of a black head of hair sitting in a chair that didn’t fit in. It was a large lazy boy that was surrounded by mundane office chairs, the black kind with the wheels at the bottom that more often than not squeak when you want nothing more for them to be silent. A squeak that breaks tension like a knife to skin.

Kat cleared his throat.

The black-haired man leaned his head back, inspecting his new arrival from the position of a bat hanging from the ceiling. He smiled a smile that revealed teeth that were too white to be both human and real.

“Kat, how's it hanging? You got good news for me yet. Hell, any news would be good news right about now. Now, don’t just stand there looking like you’re some experienced, and overly gullible kid looking to be an intern at a company that never gives back in turn.”

Before Kat could respond, The Boss laughed at this, The boss made himself laugh the best. Laughter is the human pastime The Boss would say, as he laughs at a joke that he had told himself, one that fell flat, but he didn’t know that, because after all, he had heard laughter, even if it was only his own.

Kat took a seat across from The Boss as he turned his monstrous chair with great effort to face him. The Boss was wearing a shirt tucked into a pair of expensive slacks. He wore a bowtie because as he said, you never know when it’s time to break out into song and dance. Kat had never witnessed the musical number descend upon them, but the more The Boss emphasized it, made him sure that he would one day walk in on a song and dance routine in which the bowtie would complement it greatly. His hair was black and slicked back. A pair of hazel eyes that darted across the room, rested on a face that was angular and handsome. The boss was good looking, and good for him, for a man as eccentric, or better put, weird as he was, he would have been tossed away long ago if he hadn't been. Uglier men cannot get away with the comments he made and the “sense” of style that The Boss possessed. If you're ugly they label you a weirdo, a guy that doesn't get invited to parties or would be the one guy who scares you the most if he did. But since he's handsome, since the girls and guys like the way he smiles and laughs, they label him quirky and offer to buy him a drink.

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Unfair they would shout from the rafters- the ugly people that is, the ones whose shouts go on deaf ears.

Compared to the boss Kat was nothing to glance back at, which was fine with Kat; at least that’s what he told himself.

“News….hit me with it.”

“I’ve been following him, watching him for a while. Doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“Doesn’t matter what he seems to like, it matters what we are paid to do.”

“Still, why again does he need to die?”

“Because we are getting paid to kill him…But if you need more than that…kids and always wanting to know too much. Do you know that most of the time less is more?

Kat stayed quiet and The Boss continued.

“Hmmph…really, you are the only one that ever gives me these kinds of troubles. Don’t get me wrong everyone else gives me hell. Howard is a scary story that I have to read every other week, you know at first I wanted to make you guys come in every week, but the thought of Howard lumbering in on a weekly basis scared the shit out of me, so I made it bi-weekly. Roxy is always complaining over a lack of H.R like she doesn’t know the business we are in. What’s next? Life insurance, then what, Dental? Then don’t get me started on Jimmy, that rat has something going on but I’m just happy he leaves me alone to handle whatever it is. At least Pablo spends most of his time pestering Martha. But no one comes up with the moral quandaries that you hit me with. It’s like every time I see you it’s another meaningful question after the next…”

The boss stopped, realized he was rambling, collected himself (this meant he collected the pieces of stray hairs that had begun to wander off into separate directions across his forehead), and went back to his monologue.

“Life just is. Think about that. There is no reason for “why me” and there never will be. There is simply just you. There may be reasons why you have a target, reasons that started before this hit and will continue after you're done, but it shouldn’t matter to you. Think about it this way, kid. If it ain’t you it’ll be someone else, so why not you? Why not just you…”

Kat sat perplexed as he took everything that was just said in. It was as if The Boss had an idea of where he was going and along the way got lost and ended up exactly where he didn’t want to end up. But for reasons other than logic, reasons that most likely had to do with that universal charm that is only granted to a selected few, The Boss being one of said few…it rang the right bells. It may not have been music to the ears but the words came across and played the intended note needed to be heard.

Kat responded with a resigned but agreeable, “Okay.”

“Okay…” mumbled The Boss.

“Okay, okay!” The Boss came back with a delayed celebration. A big part of The Boss felt like he had lost his course during his spiel, as he often did, but it was okay and he was perfectly content with “okay”. Only idiots wanted more than a simple okay. Idiots and gamblers push their luck; safe and wealthy men keep their luck.

“So when will I have an update on the hit? And by an update I mean a body to collect and dispose of.”

Kat ran some quick numbers through his head. This week he had planned to try to get into Samurai movies, last week it had been Noir movies, and the week before that Orson Welles, it never lasted but he tried anyway. After all, what kind of director-to-be doesn’t watch films? If he was just able to watch more than one film before he gave into his fidgets and made his way out the door and into the night to wander as he usually did, that would mean he could have the hit done on the weekend. His hit could be gone this weekend, and he really didn’t feel like tailing him, so he decided to add another week. And just for good measure, he added one more. And just for double good measure, he decided to throw in a fourth. And just as he was deciding to add in another triple good measure, he caught himself, he didn’t want to be a procrastinator, so he stopped.

“A month, maybe five weeks tops.”

The Boss scrunched his eyebrows as if doing his own mental arithmetic, but he simply wanted to put on the front that he was deep in thought as he mumbled to himself and played with his fingers like a child who has been asked to count the number of apples left after a word problem. After some seconds of bad acting and a couple more stray hairs, the boss responded with,

“I suppose that is acceptable.”

“I suppose I am able to leave then?”

“I suppose you are.”

“I suppose I will.”

“I suppose you will.”

“I suppose so.”

“I suppose.”

Without any more supposes available, Kat got up and left the conference room that had a roundish but not rounded table with a few more weeks than he had bargained for.