And then, when it came time for him to show them what he had developed, they threw it back in his face.  They said that what he had given them wasn’t what they were expecting.  They said they had thought he could do so much better.  That he did, in fact, have the potential to do exactly what they wanted, it was just that he hadn’t done it this time.  Perhaps with a little more work.  A little more preparation.  A little more…

But the problem was that he had given them his best.  At least, that’s what he thought.  He thought that what he gave them was from his heart, true, honest, sincere…and he knew that he had talent…he didn’t just have talent, he had The Talent…and he didn’t need to hear it from them. 

But that, apparently, wasn’t what they were looking for.

Two months prior, Gabriel had begun his project with an unprecedented fervor.  The advisors gave him their blessing to go about the process in any way he saw fit.  They trusted him because he had shown his ability to think for himself and solve problems that others would not.  He knew exactly what to do and how he was going to handle the project.  He had been doing this kind of thing for years.  “This kind of thing” was very simple for Gabriel.  Something that mankind has been doing for ages.  Some people are just naturally good at it, like Gabriel.  Others can’t bring themselves to ever do it.  Some have trouble even thinking of it.

Killing came intuitively to Gabriel.  Not only that, he found it incredibly simple to do.  The hardest part about it was getting into the business.  At first, no one knew who Gabriel was, and he had no credentials.  It was difficult for him to find anyone that needed someone killed.  He had to keep his eyes and ears open for any opportunity.  Finally, he found what he was looking for on the wonderful world of the Internet.  It was amazing, the information that was available on the Internet, if you looked in the right places, knew the right keywords, phrases, pass codes.

Once he found a job, his first experience had been so perfectly natural that afterwards he basked in a feeling of pure rapture.  The feeling was overpowering.  It was not unlike the feeling that most people get when they are going through the first stages of falling in love.  He would walk through the busy streets in a daze.  The rude strangers that would bump into him or treat him poorly that would normally send him into an awful mood were now nothing more than barely noticed inconveniences.  He would smile at angry people.  He would thank clerks at convenience stores that didn’t even have the courtesy to look him in the eyes while serving him.

After that feeling had finally worn off, Gabriel wanted nothing more than to do it again.  He sought out a target with a desperation comparable to that of a drug addict searching for his next fix.  The need was something that he felt with his body.  A buzzing sensation in the base of his spine, at the small of his back.  An itching, tingling feeling in his gums that no amount of tongue rubbing would alleviate.

Gabriel would spend hours sitting in his apartment living room on the wooden chair by the window, reliving that first time.  He would remember first the preparation:

There were weeks of following his mark, plotting his every routine.  Every movement the target made, Gabriel knew what it would be before it happened.  He got to know the man so well, he thought he understood him better than he understood himself.  In many ways, he probably did.  And in many ways, that is one of the things that makes the final act so emotional.  For Gabriel, killing the thing that he understood so well was the culmination of a long process of becoming God for one particular person.  Killing was the ultimate control.

After watching the mark’s every movement, Gabriel picked out the best time and place for the kill.  Unlike many others in the same line of work as Gabriel, he would choose a location that was public.  Most contract killers will choose to kill their mark in a secluded, private location, where the aftermath is easy to take care of and cover up.  Gabriel’s theory was that if you did it in the right place in public, you didn’t have to do any of the messy clean-up later.  The people that found the person would take care of it all for you.  Also, blending into the surrounding masses of people that would gather after the incident was simple.  Often, he would stick around afterwards and watch as the police would secure the crime scene and interview possible witnesses.  Once, just to prove how little trace he left behind in the killings, he even volunteered himself as a witness.  He even described to the police the man that he had seen commit the act, describing himself with a few minor adjustments.  They were never the wiser.  The police usually use the victim’s family, friends, and colleagues as the primary suspect pool.  Gabriel was never in these circles.  He had a rule that he would never be even remotely associated with a mark.  If he was careful not to get caught during the act and not to leave any physical evidence behind, he was confident that the police would never be able to link him to the crime. And he was right.

**********

For his first time, he chose the target’s favorite restaurant for the location.  It was a quiet, dark little Italian place just outside of the main downtown area of San Francisco.  Gabriel remembered the flight to San Francisco well.  He had never been there before and was excited and nervous about the job.  He tried to sleep at the beginning of the flight, but the man sitting next to him was a large hulk of a man whose girth couldn’t help but squeeze Gabriel uncomfortably into the side of his already too small seat.  He used the restroom at least a dozen times on the six-hour flight just to get up and stretch and work out some of his anxiety. 

Gabriel knew that his target was going to be eating at Fredo’s on a Friday night, meeting business acquaintances.  He knew that his man always showed up about fifteen to twenty minutes earlier than the scheduled time, just to be sure that he was always there and seated by the time the others showed up.  It gave him, Gabriel guessed, a feeling of control, knowing that the others would feel like they had made him wait. 

The man was sitting facing the main entrance so that he could watch the people he was meeting come in.  No chance for surprise.  But Gabriel made friends with one of the Mexicans that worked in the kitchen, oddly sharing the same name with the man.  He would hang out back of the restaurant with him, bumming a few smokes, learning a few Spanish phrases from him, and telling jokes. 

The night of the job, he told this other Gabriel that he needed to use the restroom and he showed him in the back entrance, telling him the bathroom was just through the kitchen at the very back of the eating area.  Gabriel already knew this very well, having memorized the entire floor plan of the restaurant down to how many urinals there were in the men’s room.  When he came through the swinging door, into the main dining room floor, he saw his mark sitting with his back to him, waiting patiently, as always.  Gabriel noticed that the man was twirling his butter knife on the table.  He was fidgeting.  He never fidgeted.  Gabriel suspected that he intuitively knew that something was special about tonight.

Gabriel had his chosen weapon in his right hand, cupped so it was invisible to onlookers.  He glanced around, acting confused, as if he were still looking for the bathroom door.  The table the man was sitting at was in the back corner of the room, the one closest to the kitchen, positioned so that he could see everyone in the room but where no one would pay too much attention to his dealings.  The burgundy colored tablecloth draped over the man’s knees.  It reminded Gabriel of the color of blood.  A glass of water sat untouched, sweating a neat circle into the cloth.  The man’s left side was facing the aisle.  Perfect.

Now was the moment.  The moment that all of Gabriel’s weeks of preparation had built up to.  Now was the time for him to prove to the mark that God did exist.  And that he was going to meet him face to face.

The hypodermic gun made a sound like a muffled cough as Gabriel pressed it to the man’s arm and pulled the trigger.  Gabriel knew the liquid-based zinc phosphide compound would take a little while to work it’s way into the man’s bloodstream and begin to have its toxic effect.  He had some time to enjoy what he had just done.  He casually put the medical tool back in his jacket pocket and sat down at the seat across from his mark.  The smile on Gabriel’s face was one of utmost satisfaction.

The man, still rubbing his upper arm, looked up at Gabriel with a look in his eyes that Gabriel would never forget.  It was a look of realization.  Gabriel knew that it was the realization of his mortality.  The knowledge that his death was imminent and that Gabriel had gifted it to him.

In seconds sweat had broken out on the man’s forehead.  He was clutching his left arm and then his chest.  For all intents and purposes, he was having a heart attack.   He stared wildly at Gabriel, but said nothing.

Gabriel said nothing in return, but merely stared deep into the man’s eyes, watching as they began to gloss over in pain. 

Gabriel savored the moment with a feeling close to sexual ecstasy.  The power.  He had taken this man’s life from him so easily, so gracefully.  He reached out and clasped the man’s left hand, which now lay limp and clammy on the table as the man slouched forward to support his weight.  He held the hand and could swear that he felt the other man’s life energy slowly draining out of him like water from a rusty old bucket.  He noticed another ring of dampness on the tablecloth now, this one from the man’s wet skin.  The man was already slipping into shock and didn’t even react to Gabriel’s touch.  The eyes were what Gabriel remembered most.  The eyes remained fixed on his killer’s visage as if keeping him in focus would keep him alive.  Just as long as he didn’t look away, it would never end.  But no matter how hard he tried, the body resisted.  The eyes closed.  The man began to slump forward even further.

Gabriel knew that he was lingering longer than he should and quickly got up.  He looked around to make sure no one had seen him sitting at the table, adjusted the dark tie that he had on and strode casually away from the table.  He went back out through the kitchen, and took the time to have another smoke with the other Gabriel, his facilitator, though he would never know it.  He knew that no one in the restaurant had seen him sitting at the table with the mark.  And even if they had, they would only have seen the back of his head.  And just like that, Gabriel had faded into the background. 

For weeks he had been such an important player in the man’s life, learning his schedule, watching his every move, paying attention to the slightest detail, but he hadn’t known it until the last moment.  Lying on the floor in the back of the restaurant, clutching his chest, spasms wracking him into a fetal position as the drug took full effect, his last thought, Gabriel knew, was, Where did I go wrong?

**********

The general conception of people who’s job it is to kill other people is that they are cold, emotionless, uncaring people.  For some, this is true.  For the others, however, it is the exact opposite.  They are people so filled with raw emotion and a lust for the joys and tragedies of life that they seek out such extreme measures to fulfill those desires.  The “normal” things in life just don’t cut it.  Gabriel is one of these. 

Similar people are known to become deviants:  rapists, thieves, etc.  Most of them, however, are you normal, average, everyday thrill-seekers.  Cliff divers, bungee jumpers, snowboarders, and surfers alike, are all just one step away from becoming hired hitmen.  Hitmen like Gabriel don’t do the job for the money.  They do it for the thrill of it.  They do it because it is the only thing that they have found that can make them feel truly alive.

The problem with Gabriel’s advisors was that they were expecting the work of someone that was cold and unemotional.  They wanted an end result that didn’t have any markings of lust or passion.  They wanted Gabriel to be as detached from the end result as a machine is with the work it is programmed to do.  But that wasn’t how Gabriel worked.  And they should have known that.

But apparently they didn’t, and so they were disappointed with the end result of his long prepared work.  He had taken a special pride in this most recent of his death-dealings.

Sitting, again, in his wooden, high-backed chair, looking vacantly out the second story apartment window onto the rain streaked cars and concrete of the parking lot outside, he remembered, vividly, the initial meeting with the advisors:

He had only had enough time to take a cab from LaGuardia to his hotel and drop his bags on the bed when his cell phone rang and the indistinct voice on the other end directed him where to go to be picked up and brought to the meeting place. 

When he was seated in the conference room at the meeting location, the interview began immediately.

“It pleases us greatly to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Slate,” the advisor that spoke was the one that Gabriel referred to in his own mind as The Boss.  He sat in the middle of the five advisors.  It was obvious to Gabriel that he was the ringleader.  Whatever the Boss decided, the others would concur.  He spoke first.  Gabriel spoke only when necessary during these meetings. 

He liked the name Slate and used it for his jobs.  He thought that it was fitting.  He liked to think of himself as the bringer of change.  And, to Gabriel, change was closely linked to the concept of a clean slate.  Also, referring to the rock, it implied strength and darkness.  The advisors, like most of his employers, didn’t seem to take notice of the name.

Smoke curled around the five figures across from him.  Four of the advisors were smoking, while the Boss did not.  Two had cigarettes tucked between fingers.  One had a pipe.  One, a large cigar, most likely Cuban. 

The office they met in was on the thirtieth floor of a high-rise office complex.  The room was anonymously bland.  It could have been any office conference room anywhere.  Which was the point.  Gabriel knew that the office that they conducted their meetings in was in no way linked to the actual firm that the advisors worked for.  It was a front, a rented office using secret money, maintaining the anonymity of the meetings.

The blinds in the room were always drawn shut for his job interviews, the lights left dim, as if a video presentation were just about to begin.  It never did.  Gabriel guessed that they just liked to keep it dark to set the right mood.  One thing that Gabriel noticed was that in these kinds of meetings, people always tried to imitate the movies.  It was a subconscious thing.  No one ever had a meeting to negotiate a death contract in a well-lit, comfortable setting.  It was always in a dark, smoky, eerie environment.  It just wouldn’t feel right to have it any other way.

The Boss leaned forward in his seat.  Gabriel, sitting across from him on the oblong conference table, sat attentive, but not excited.  He had done this same thing many times before, now, and it was nothing new to him.  Nothing to get excited about.  He knew how to handle himself.  Most of Gabriel’s jobs were relatively low- to medium-profile, he wasn’t the stereotypical international hitman portrayed in Hollywood movies, had no political agenda, conducted all of his business within the States and had never been hired for one of those legendary, big-time hits that paid millions.  He had developed a considerable amount of experience, however, in the business of killing over the past few years.  He had no desire to be assassinating leaders of nations or multi-national corporations.  The hitters that took those jobs made the millions, but they also tended to make a lot of enemies and get themselves killed rather quickly.  The types of jobs that Gabriel took were only semi-lucrative, but as Gabriel always told himself, he really wasn’t in it for the money.  Even dealing with the gang leaders and power-hungry businessmen that were his usual clientele, Gabriel had learned how to carry himself during the interview process.  Gabriel would say that it all came rather intuitively to him, that his unreadable, hard demeanor was a part of his natural personality.  It was his “game face” and he wore it well.

Gabriel was wearing an all black suit.  A black button-up business shirt, with a black tie.  He didn’t usually dress in suits, but for business meetings such as these, he made the exception.  Gabriel always found it easy to blend into his surroundings, no matter what they were.  And, wearing a suit to a meeting with a bunch of suits was only appropriate, and he didn’t stand out.  In this dimmed environment, along with the suit, his short, straight, dark hair, tan skin, dark brown eyes, and subdued features, Gabriel knew that he must look like nothing more than a shadow to the men sitting across the table from him.  An apparition that may vanish, along with the smoke in the room, into the dark corners.  It was exactly the image that he wanted to convey.  Gabriel always strove to be there but not there at the same time.  Noticing everything, while not being noticed himself.

“You know why you have been contacted.  We have been looking for someone with your talent for quite some time.  We have been faced with nothing but frustration, since no one seems to be experienced enough to handle this delicate of a project.”

The one with the cigar spoke up at this point, “You have a daunting amount of experience over a relatively short period of time, Mr. Slate.”

Gabriel nodded.  It was true.  Even though he had only been in the business for a little less than four years, he had racked up a lot of jobs.  He had built up a strong network of nameless contacts over the amazingly powerful and anonymous internet, taking any job that came his way.  He saw each job as an opportunity to slake his lust for death.

Cigar man was obviously uncomfortable.  Not used to these kinds of situations.  He wanted to know more but didn’t know how to ask.  “Uhm.  How many times…well…how many jobs, exactly…have you been…uh…”

Cigar man just trailed off, looking to the others at the table as if asking for help.  Gabriel continued to just look at him, as if expecting him to eventually finish.

A full minute of silence passed.  Gabriel’s eyes never left cigar man.  Cigar man would nervously glance at Gabriel and then look away.  The others seemed to find some kind of humor or entertainment in this because none of them spoke up.

“Forty-six,” said Gabriel, at last.  He even spoke with a calmness that made him seem less than tangible.

“Forty-six?”

“You have my file, don’t you?” asked Gabriel, getting frustrated at the amount of time this seemingly irrelevant conversation was taking.

The Boss stepped back in now, “We do have your file.  And it is exceptional.  Hence, why you are here.  Your mark for the project is a Mr. Alexander Caldwell.  He is an exceptionally powerful individual.  His power conflicts with ours.  We would like the conflict resolved.  The only way that we can see to do that is to remove Mr. Caldwell from the equation entirely.  You are the only person that has the skills required to take care of this task with the level of delicacy that is needed.”

“I understand,” replied Gabriel.  “When must this task be completed?”

“No longer than three months from now.”

“That is sufficient.”

“We will supply you with a file on Mr. Caldwell that contains all of the information that we have on him, including recent photos and an appended bio.  Also, you will be given a blank check to pay for any expenses you incur along the way, on top of the agreed upon payment.”

“Do you have any requests as to how it will occur?”

“We feel that it is best if you make the decisions regarding when, where, how.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We only ask that the project be done in such a way that there would be no one coming around asking how we were involved.  Becoming entangled with the aftermath would be worse to our cause than if we were to allow him to live.”

“If I’m to avoid that, I will have to know how you and Mr. Caldwell are associated.  It’s hard not to step on toes without being able to see where they are.” 

“Let’s just say that his professional life is closely related to ours.”

“That’s pretty vague, but I do think that I understand.”

“Then, I believe that concludes our meeting for the time being.”  Standing, The Boss said, “Mr. Slate, I have faith that you will conduct this matter as well as we hope.”

All five men then turned and left the room in single file.  Gabriel waited until an assistant walked in carrying Caldwell’s file and then escorted him to the elevator.  In the basement, a car was waiting to take him back to his rendezvous point.  There, he hailed a taxi and took it to a nearby coffee shop where he had a cup of his favorite while he concentrated on the task ahead of him.

**********

The excitement of getting to satisfy his need again so soon was empowering.  He felt as if he could do anything.  He saw a girl sitting at a table nearby, sipping her cup and reading a book.  She was attractive in an ordinary, pop-star girl kind of way.  Her short, wavy, blonde hair called attention to her large mouth with thick lips.  Gabriel didn’t personally find himself that attracted to her, but he knew that she would satisfy a craving.

Gabriel walked over to her table and stood behind her, reading her book over her shoulder for a second, trying to discern what it was.

Without turning to look she said, “It’s easier if you just buy your own copy, ya know?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” replied Gabriel coming around and easing himself into the seat across from her, “but I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” she asked with a knowing grin on her face.  Gabriel knew that she was inviting him in, wanting him to ask her.

            “About whether or not you had plans for tonight.”

            “I do now,” she replied with an even wider grin on her face, amplified by the already large mouth and lips, it seemed to stretch across her entire face.

            Gabriel broke himself out of his reminiscence, realizing that if he kept on that line of thought, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the problem at hand:  the advisors were unhappy. 

The project was done.  There was no changing what had happened.  Gabriel knew that even if he could, he wouldn’t.  It had been too perfect.  Everything had fallen into place.  Even with a slight hiccup, he had still pulled it off with a seamless beauty.  He was proud of himself for his quick thinking and true display of Talent.  It had given him such a feeling of power.  It hadn’t felt that good since that first time.  The rush was ruined, however, when the advisors apprised Gabriel of their displeasure. 

There was nothing that he could do to satisfy the advisors.  Gabriel knew they would be brash when they were angry.  They might decide to take out their frustrations.  And Gabriel knew what that meant for his safety. 

Never before had he had to deal with a situation like this, because he always took precautions.  Not taking any jobs in his hometown of Chicago was one of the most important things of all.  And he had never, not once, broken that precaution.  Not allowing them to drive him directly back to his hotel was one example.  A determined tail, however, would have been able to locate where he had been staying.

And if they had been able to find out where he stayed, no matter how well he swept the rooms clean after he left each time, there would always be a chance that they could find out pertinent information about him.  Pertinent information that would eventually, if they looked hard enough, be able to lead them to Chicago, to his base of operations, to his home.  No matter how many things you did to make yourself untraceable, there was always a connection.  Sometimes, it was the smallest thing, but it was there, regardless.  Gabriel knew this himself, because he had used the same techniques to locate some of his harder to find targets in the past.

Perhaps it was time to move.

Not that it would be very difficult.  Gabriel didn’t have much in the way of possessions.  His apartment was nearly empty save for the bed, the table and wooden chairs, an old 13” television that sometimes worked, a reclining chair that didn’t, and his clothes.

He just didn’t want to do anything hasty.  When Gabriel did anything, he had thought it entirely through.  He was methodical.  His whole life was like that.  Everything was in check.  He was in control of every aspect.

The advisors were attempting to deprive him of that control.  He wasn’t going to allow it.

They were very powerful, as they had indicated.  They had always been extremely vague about what the firm they worked for had its interests in, and they didn’t even tell him the name of it.  But, Gabriel was resourceful, if anything.  It took him two hours after accepting the job to find out who his employers were and what company they worked for.  The names he learned of the five advisors were just that, names.  In their backgrounds, they were as indistinguishable from each other as clones.  It was easier for Gabriel to go on thinking of them as he had, one entity consisting of five separate people, the advisors.  The Boss was the only one that really mattered.  He was the head, the one who Gabriel had dealt with primarily and who would be the true source of any of his problems.  The other four would follow his lead in anything.  The Boss’s real name was James Deacon, but it was just as easy for Gabriel to think of him as the Boss.  The company, called Square Two, was a research and development firm in downtown New York, working primarily on nanotechnology, which to Gabriel seemed benign, and frankly boring, enough that he didn’t need to concern himself with looking too far into it. 

The interesting thing was that the advisors were so corrupt that they used a large, but relatively unnoticeable amount of their R&D funds on many things unrelated to nanotechnology.  One of those, that Gabriel easily discovered, was a fairly extensive, and professional group of armed bodyguards.  They were professional enough to go unnoticed to the casual eye, but Gabriel noticed several of them on his first visit, standing out like so many sore thumbs.

He knew that attempting to take them out would be nearly impossible, and extremely risky.  He wouldn’t have enough time to plan a thorough strategy and the room for error would be extremely large.  Also, five targets, rather than one or two, would complicate the entire thing beyond belief.  Even if he were to succeed without getting himself killed in the process, it would be a very messy ordeal.  Not easy to cover up.  Not easy to remove himself from entirely.  There would almost surely be a mistake, a trace left behind.  Gabriel didn’t like it at all.

No, it was better to play defensively.  Anyway, killing your employers was bad for business.  He would find it nearly impossible to ever find work again in the future.  And not being hired to kill ever again was painful for Gabriel to even think about.  That was not an option.

Neither was getting taken out himself.  He would do what needed to be done to prevent being “removed from the equation”.  But only what was absolutely necessary.

**********

“Necessary” lead Gabriel to the Leprechaun.  He, of course didn’t refer to himself as the Leprechaun, but instead said that his name was Mr. Pascinetti.  But, to Gabriel, he would always be the Leprechaun.  It came from the first time that Gabriel ever saw him.  He was eating at an IHOP one morning, reading the weekend paper, when a man wearing a mint green suit with a white shirt and green tie came in and sat at a nearby table.  Another man sat with him.  The other was wearing a t-shirt and jeans.  Upon closer inspection, the man Gabriel immediately labeled the Leprechaun; he noticed was also wearing very large, thick, heavy looking gold rings on at least six of his fingers.  The gold-headed walking stick he carried with him also looked fairly expensive.

The other man, Gabriel assumed, was the Leprechaun’s bodyguard/driver.  The two were so diametrically opposed sitting together at the same table; they could not possibly have been just two friends eating breakfast together.

Then, Gabriel overheard the Leprechaun mention something about a “contract”.  People talk about contracts all the time, but Gabriel knew the difference between a normal business contract discussion and a not-so-legitimate one when he heard it.  Gabriel didn’t like making contacts in person, and especially didn’t like making contacts in his hometown.  It left too much to chance.  But, considering the circumstances of his situation, how he was personally endangered, he felt that he needed to make a local contact, and the safest way was to do it the “old-fashioned” way.

Gabriel finished his paper and his too-sweet breakfast and quickly jotted a note on a scrap of the paper torn from a corner.  He then got up and made his way across the room, passing by the Leprechaun’s table, placing the scrap next to his plate as he passed.

The note said, “Need Work,” and then had one of Gabriel’s several different cell phone numbers at the bottom.

When Gabriel came out of the bathroom, the Leprechaun was already gone.  The table had not been cleared yet, but the scrap was gone.  He knew that if the Leprechaun was in the kind of business he thought he was, he would be hearing from him in the not too distant future.

Two weeks passed and the cell whose number Gabriel had given the Leprechaun rang.  The caller ID said “Restricted Line”.  Gabriel was not surprised.  He answered the phone but did not speak.

“I need to conduct an interview,” the voice on the other end said.  “Meet in the same place tomorrow, ten a.m.”

“Understood,” replied Gabriel.  He hung up the phone.

**********

As many “interviews” as Gabriel had been involved in over the course of his career, he couldn’t help but feel a certain nervousness about the upcoming one with the Leprechaun.  He didn’t know why, but for some reason, he couldn’t quell the uneasiness.  Gabriel decided that the closeness of the current situation must have been adding a certain personal stress to the situation that he was not used to.  He realized that what he really wanted to do was to go out and get a drink.  A stiff one.

Maybe even two, he thought as he walked along the wet street approaching the tavern he had decided to go to for the evening.  He had never been there before, but had heard it mentioned by a couple eating near him a few days prior at a late lunch.  They had been commenting about how private the atmosphere was, dark but not cold.  It was called Hunter’s Gamble.  Gabriel thought it sounded appropriate.

He arrived at the front door and immediately regretted having come.  It seemed that the “private” atmosphere only applied on nights that the Bears weren’t playing a game.  There was even a line out the door.  Gabriel hated lines.  He would always imitate sheep or cattle sounds to himself if ever he saw people waiting in a line to get into a bar or restaurant.  For some reason, though, as much as he wanted to just turn around and walk back in the direction that he came, Gabriel decided to stay.

Perhaps, he thought, a little blending in with a large crowd is just the kind of privacy that I need.

After waiting for a much shorter time than he had expected, he made his way into the crowded bar.  There were tables full of people all wearing the distinctive orange and black sweatshirts and hats, all staring at a huge flat-screen TV that was against the far wall.  Apparently, something bad had just happened because many of the people began yelling in disbelief.  Gabriel didn’t care.  Interestingly enough, he blended in with the surrounding group fairly well.  Gabriel himself was only twenty six years old.  Many of the people in the bar were probably only a few years younger than him.  Unfortunately, they all looked like teenagers to him.  Experiencing death first-hand gives a person a maturity that cannot be learned or explained.  Looking around the room, he knew immediately that none of the people here would have the first clue as to the things that he had seen and done.

This, Gabriel realized, was exactly the kind of environment that he needed in order to take his mind off of the recent situation.  And so he took full advantage.

By the time midnight rolled around, Gabriel was well into his second pitcher of a locally brewed beer that he took a liking to immediately, though he couldn’t recall the name of it later, and talking with a girl of twenty-two whom he also took a liking to immediately, though he couldn’t, at the moment, recall her name, either.  They had managed to find the only remaining table left unattended, one that was in a position where the TV could not be seen, and had been talking and drinking for the last three hours.  Well, Gabriel had been drinking, the girl had been talking and drinking.

Her name, she managed to remind him, was Alyssa and she had studied Library Sciences while in school.  She had lived in the city for a year. She had a cat named Fluffy.  The cat was the most interesting topic that Alyssa talked about during her three hour rant.  Gabriel spoke, at most, four times throughout.  Once was to answer “Yes” to her question, “Do you like your job, ‘cause I hate mine and now I’m wondering why I wasted four years studying to do something that I hate.”  Another time was to excuse himself so that he could go to the restroom.  When he returned, there were two shot glasses at the table.

“Tequila,” she said with a grin.

“I don’t do tequila,” he answered.

“Tonight you do.”

An hour later, Gabriel was trying to remember something.  He had something important to do.  What was it?  Tomorrow, he knew, he had something to do, but couldn’t remember what it was.

Gabriel woke up with a tail in his mouth.  Although effectively describing the feeling that his mouth had, it was also, literally, true.  The tail was attached to a cat.  The cat was very fluffy.  He realized suddenly that he was not in his own bed.  He remembered vaguely the girl.  Alyssa?  Yes, that was it. 

After removing the tail from his mouth and swallowing a few times to regain a semblance of wetness in his tongue, he turned a groggy eye to the other side of the bed.  Alyssa was still passed out, one arm flopped off the edge of the bed.  Over her head he saw the alarm clock.  It said 9:13.

The Leprechaun.

He needed to meet the Leprechaun for his interview.  In forty-seven, no, forty-six minutes.  Gabriel jumped out of the bed, scrounged for his clothes that were, for some reason, strewn about the cramped apartment, and left in a dash.  As the door swung closed behind him on his way out, he heard Alyssa mumble in half-asleep confusion, but he was already halfway down the stairs when he thought that it would have been polite to say goodbye.

At 9:36, he was at his apartment, making himself look presentable.

At 9:59, Gabriel walked through the door of the breakfast place.  He didn’t even have to scan the restaurant to notice the Leprechaun.  There weren’t that many patrons in the restaurant to make it hard, but he stood out almost as much as he had the first time.  This time, he was wearing a red velvet jacket with matching pants.  The tie was blue.  His toupee was obviously not the correct color for his fake tanned skin tone.  Gabriel knew the man did it all on purpose in order to make himself stand out, but wondered why he had to do it in such a seemingly embarrassing way.

The Leprechaun was already gorging himself on a large stack of pancakes.  He did not look up or acknowledge Gabriel’s presence when he walked up to the table, but continued to eat.

Gabriel sat down in front of him, reluctantly placing himself in a position where his back was facing the front entrance.  He knew that this, too, was done on purpose by the Leprechaun to put him in a position of advantage.

Gabriel immediately hated the Leprechaun.  However, he felt that he was at the right place for some help.  At least, that’s what he hoped.

“You have problems,” said the Leprechaun, without looking up.  It was obviously not a question.  He continued, “We all have problems, and I don’t care about yours. 

“I know you’re here because you’re looking for something that I may be able to give you.  Something other than money.  I know this about you, but I don’t know much else.  The only other thing that I know is that you are good at what you do.  I have heard rumors about someone matching your description for years, but never believed them.  Now, having met you, I am beginning to put a little credit into those rumors. 

“You will work for me.  In return, based on your performance, which I’m sure won’t be disappointing, you will receive that which you desire from me.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure if this concluded the interview, or if he was expected to say something.  He had been to interviews that were similar, but he hated playing games.  He decided to wait, patiently, until the Leprechaun told him what he wanted.  He picked up the complimentary glass of water that was sitting in front of him and took a long, slow drink from it, watching the Leprechaun devour his pancakes.

Still without looking up at Gabriel, the Leprechaun spoke again, “You will leave now.  One of my men will contact you in two days with information on what you need to do next.  That is all.”

At this, the Leprechaun finally looked up at Gabriel and looked him in the eyes.  Gabriel knew the meeting was concluded.  He downed the last of his coffee.  He stood, turned and walked out of the restaurant.  When he got outside, he was hit with an intuitive feeling to stick around for a few minutes and see what the Leprechaun did next.

He went around to a side window and peeked inside, allowing a perfect vantage of the Leprechaun’s table, over his right shoulder, and the front door.  Fifteen minutes passed, and Gabriel was just about to leave, when another car drove up into the parking lot.  It was a very, very nice car.  It was, unfortunately a car that Gabriel recognized:  a Square Two company vehicle.  The man that got out was also one that he recognized:  James Deacon, the Boss.