Billy drove silently through the city. It was a cool night. The moon was covered by clouds. Good, he thought, his cover won't be blown by its illuminating beam. Billy turned right onto Green Street. He was in ghetto country. To them, he's just a tourist. A nobody, an outcast. But what a white man doing in this neighborhood, at this time of night, is anyone's guess. His destination isn't far, but it's easy to get lost in a place like this. And Billy isn't taking the chance to ask for directions. He knew that they would send him someplace worse, and he wouldn't be seen again. Probably for the best. His boss wouldn't want to get tangled up in this mess. It was supposed to be a quick job. An easy job. No screw ups. One slip up, and it's over. There's no recovery from this. As he drove, Billy thought about what to do after this job. He took the job to care for his sick mother. Working at the drugstore isn't paying what he needed. Fortunately, the boss man walked in with his daughter to have a milkshake. He remembers the girl. Brown eyes, brown hair in pigtails. She had on a red and white checkered dress. Billy couldn't see over the counter, but he imagined she wore penny loafers and socks to her knees. This was a uniform at her school. He's seen other girls wear them when they come in for treats or to buy a magazine. Her hair was disheveled that day, actually. She had gotten into a fight. Her father was giving her a talk. "What did she do to you?" he asked her. "She called you a murderer," the girl answered. The man was silent, probably thinking about what to say. If he were yelling at his cronies, he'd yell a blue streak a mile wide. But Billy could tell that he's the kind of man who refuses to swear in front of his daughter. "Did you hit her first?" The man finally asked. "No," the daughter said silently, "not right away. I told her to take it back and to apologize. She kept on doing it, so I hit her." The girl sucked her vanilla milkshake through her straw. The man exhaled through his nose. "Are you a murderer, Daddy?" The girl asked. He was silent for a long time before saying, "Yes." The courage this man has to admit to his young daughter that he kills people. This is something you would truly hide about yourself. You wouldn't even tell your diary that you're a killer. "But I only kill bad people," the man continued, very smoothly. "There are people who are determined to keep good working people from having a decent life. They cut wages, they remove benefits, they set up jobs overseas, they hire minorities to work for less. "And the people who are hit with this are starving in the streets. These people work hard, save everything they can, to keep a decent home and a running car. And it's people like to their leaders who keep them from doing that. They fall behind, they foreclose, they hide behind dumpsters in the alleyways searching for scraps. Food some uptight pencil pusher sent back because it was cold, it became someone's dinner that night." The man paused to sip his melting shake. He looked at Billy. Billy quickly looked down and began wiping the counter. "Young man," he called out to me. Billy looked at him with fear of being yelled at for staring. "Do you like your job here?" He asked Billy. "It's an okay job," Billy said, "It fits my current situation." "But do you like your job?" He said with a heavy emphasis on "like". Billy was silent. He understood what the man was doing. He's making me an example for his daughter. Billy looked over at his current boss. He was sleeping in his office, a small pile of white powder sat on his desk. "To be honest, sir," Billy finally said, leaning towards him, "I could use some more money." He nodded his head. He was satisfied with the answer. "You look like the kind of man who supports his mother," he said. "Yes, sir," Billy said, "especially now because she's sick." "Your mother is blessed to have you as a son." He turned to his daughter, "You see, young men like him," he gestured at Billy, "are stuck in terrible jobs like this because of bad people who run this country. "Go ahead, and let her call me a murderer," the man continued. "Let her see how I help her father bring in more money to buy her more pretty dresses." He took out a twenty dollar bill, much more than the cost of two milkshakes, and placed it on the counter. "Keep the change," he said to Billy. "Buy your mother something nice." He turned to his daughter. "Come on, your mother is making dinner." After they had gone, Billy went to ring up the shakes when hr saw some writing on the bill. It was a handwritten address. He thought about ignoring it and going about my day, but he felt intrigued. What did the address mean? Billy looked over at his boss again. Still asleep. A dollar short won't kill anyone. That was a year ago. Since then, Billy has run countless missions for the boss man. He quickly rose through the ranks. He became important. It wasn't easy, but Billy earned respect. Billy's mother recovered after the boss man sent her to a convalescent home in Florida. She had a wonderful time there, but she suspected that Billy was up to no good. He'd hear her pray at night, "Lord, let Billy find a good job to serve you better." He never understood why she could be ungrateful. Billy approached his destination, the headlights off. He parked behind a Cadillac. It looked brand new. There was hardly any dirt on it. Such a shame to see a beautiful thing in this horrible place, he thought Billy crossed the street to the alley between two apartment buildings. He climbed up the fire escape to the fifth floor. The fifth floor window led to a small office.The window was open, it was warm that night. He slid the window up slowly and climbed inside. Billy tiptoed through the apartment to the kitchen. Through the dark, he saw a small wooden table with four chairs around it. In the corner was a stove and a refrigerator. They were brand new. Each knob on the stove was fitted with a beautifully embroidered towel, thick enough to double as a hot pad. It was without a doubt that they weren't used for that though. Billy picked one up and swung it over onto a nearby burner. With a turn of a knob, the spiral coil began to glow. Without thinking, Billy sprinted back to the window. The orange glow behind him grew bigger. Once outside, he slammed the window shut. Driving away, Billy saw the apartment building go up in flames. He hoped that that would be the last time he had to do that. Billy pulled up to an all-night diner an hour outside the city. Once parked, Billy turned off the engine. He got out and popped the trunk. Three people were huddled together inside the spacious area. "It's safe now," Billy said to them. "Would you like something to eat?" The little boy nodded. They were a family the boss man despised. They worked a small store the boss man owned. They had recently caused the store to foreclose because they were overlooking casual shoplifters. "They threaten the well-being of our community," he said. My job was to eliminate the threat. I spent my time between missions with the son. I considered them my family. That was where I drew the line. I'll carry out a mission successfully, but when it comes to my family, it will be them first. I walked into the diner after the family had gone in. I asked to use the phone. The waitress pointed to a payphone in the corner. I called my mom. She picked after four rings. "Hello?" she whispered. She was scared. "Hi, Mom," I said. "Billy?" she recognized my voice. "Uhh...listen," I said, "you're not gonna hear from me for a while." "Wha--wha--," Mom didn't understand. "Just know that I,uh, that I love you, and uh," I thought for a long time, then said, "your prayers have been answered." "I...I don't understand," she said. "I gotta go, Mom." As I was hanging up the phone, I heard my mother say, "You're a good boy, Billy." I looked at the family I had rescued. Their son was enjoying some pancakes. I smiled. Then, I walked over and joined them.