“It’s never anything easy with you guys, is it?” Wilson always reminded Eric of a blond Steve Buscemi- wiry, bug-eyes, big lips, standing uncomfortably in a tailored suit that didn’t seem to fit. The man stared at the contents of the file in front of him without expression.

“You become an assassin for the ease of work?” Eric asked.

Wilson pursed his lips and gave a ghost of a shrug. Then he shook his head. “Naw, I got a, uh, certain moral latitude, let’s call it. I never feel remorse.”

“We’re calling in two more too.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Killaman and the Green Dragon.”

“The Mountain and the Beast.” Wilson mused, “You guys ain’t fuckin’ around.”

Eric smiled. “That should be our goddamned motto.”

Wilson looked up and smiled but there was something wrong with the look on his face. It was the same kind of smile that morticians stuck on the dead. On a living man the effect was grotesque. Worse yet, there was no emotion in his eyes.

Eric swallowed and looked away. “You get paid as soon as the job gets done.”