Eric was already hungover and completely drained when he reached the next location-a bar called Sarah Vaughan’s. When he entered, a black giant sitting in the back caught his eye and shot at him with his index finger. Eric ordered a beer and then thinking better of it, changed his order to a pitcher.

When he sat down at the giant’s table, he poured a glass for each of them. After the first gulp, his headache began to subside. Erik closed his eyes and sighed in relief, enjoying the absence of sensation.

“Oh, thank God.” Erik said wearily. “This is one day I’m grateful you don’t say much, Killaman.” He withdrew an evelope from his jacket’s inner pocket and slid it past the untouched beer.

Killaman thumbed through the contents but didn’t give any indication on whether he would take the job or not. Erik knew that the assassin never did. Sometimes he would make the hit and show up for payment but more often than not, the work would be done by someone else. He was as unpredictable- and deadly- as an avalanche.