“The things people do for money,” Belial said quietly.

I laughed from my place leaning against the wall. He had a point, people would do insane things for money, sell drugs, kill people, have sex with strangers, then there was us. We were no less at fault than the prostitutes and dealers, in a way.

I looked down at Belial; he looked up at me with a blank stare, no sign of worry. But he was flicking his lighter constantly, open closed open closed. That was all the evidence I needed.

“You know, we can still make it out of here,” I told him.

“Sixteen grand bounty,” he said, looking back at the wall.

“Yeah I know, but there are other fish to fry.”

“Oh come on, Zero!”

“Greg—”

“Don’t call me that. Look we’ve made it this far”

I wonder if I would have believed that this was where I would be back when I was a kid. That I would be leaning up against a wall in a dark stairway in some office building full of crime lords, carrying a pair of pistols, smoking a cigarette, getting ready to do what I was going to do. I remembered back then life was about playing in sprinklers, eating ice cream, spinning around until I got dizzy and fell over. God I would love to feel that carefree, that safe.
Belial had a point; we went through hell making it up to floor 68. They shut down the elevator after we hit the fourth floor; that was irritating. Honestly, what kind of an egomaniac crime lord actually has an office at the very top of an office building, it was so Hollywood. I felt like I needed a catch phrase, like “You’re game is through” or “hasta la vista”, but I wasn’t feeling creative. Come to think of it I didn’t feel much but a hole in the pit of my stomach.

It was weird, I didn’t feel nervous on the first floor, when we sniped the innocent receptionists full of tranquilizer, or on the 30th floor when we were hiding behind a desk from a blazing machine gun. I felt a sort of aggressive excitement, a bit of adrenaline, but not this worry. We only had one more thing to deal with, apprehending a single man. Easy, right? Somehow it felt wrong tonight.

It was my idea, going into this business. Greg, or Belial as he tells our clients, only followed me because he needed money. I was in it for the thrill, mainly. I could make the same money doing other things, like office jobs or whatever. I had bigger dreams, of course, but what’s the point of planning when you have the moment. Empty fridges were a downer, but we got food enough to live from.

This was our big break, we got all the info just right, and it fell into our laps. It would turn us around, make us some profit. We would be done playing kid’s games with hundred dollar break-and-enter bounties by nabbing this crime lord from his high horse on Manhattan. All we had to do, of course, was get through a building of shady individuals. Honestly, though, the things some people do for money.

“That’s right, man,” I said, dropping my dead cigarette. “We’re here, so let’s go.”

He open closed his lighter one last time and took his tranquilizer pistol from his jacket.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “If you could have one wish, what would it be?”

“Oh come on, don’t get stupid on me. Let’s just go.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” he rose to his feet and headed up the last of the stairs. I followed him down the hall, still unable to shake the feeling in the pit of my stomach, focusing on what I could do with all that money, on the things I could buy. It distracted me alright.

The door to the office we had cornered him in was marked “President Berreitter.” I doubt that was his real name, but it was the right place to be.

Belial opened the door, it was open. He compensated the easy entry by pushing it a little to roughly, causing it to bang against the wall. The room was lit; our target was a tall man in a suit. He had a pistol out, aimed directly at us.

“Shit,” was all Belial could get out. He dashed to the right but it didn’t matter.

Bang.

Greg’s feet left the floor and he glided, spinning, towards the far wall. His long hair and trench coat blew gently as he flew through the stale air. He hit the ground and slid until he bumped lightly against the wall. It was like a slip’n slide, but he was dead.

I had no time for sadness, for anger, for much of anything. I upholstered my two pistols and began firing at the president. He rolled to his left, he was much faster than I had ever expected. I ran forward to hide behind his desk, just missing three shots he fired at me.

I waited, remembering some small thing.

“What do I name these guns,” I had asked Greg.

“Pain and Mercy?” he had responded.

“No, that’s too cliché, man.”

He had laughed and said: “Okay, then. Josiah and Antoinette.”

I grinned only a little bit. I stood up from the desk, guns drawn and ready. The man had somehow appeared right in front of me, I never even heard him.

Bang.

I felt something like someone kicking me in the chest, I fell backwards against the window and it gave out like it wasn’t really there.

Falling…I’m falling through the dark night. It’s strange to fall so slowly….so slow. Everything is shining; I see the world through shattered glass spinning everywhere that picks up the lights from the building that blurs by me. I feel my chest burning from the hole. My arms are cold. I am losing focus on them, on breathing, on memory, on the blood that sprays against empty air. Everything is shimmering. I lay my head back against nothing and feel the sun on my face, shining where the moon was. I feel warm. I stand on the lawn and spin and spin until I get so dizzy I fall. Fall and land on the soft lawn. I close my eyes and smell the sprinkler on the newly mowed grass.