"Give me the damn money, Jim." I was hustling Jim Casey again - this was the third time this week. He was holding out on me. I did him a favor doing that drop with the meth a couple months before. Now, he was refusing to cough up the cash. I pulled my suppressed Škorpion submachine gun - something I'd taken from my father's collection of guns after taking him out - and he finally handed over the money, which I stuffed into my pocket.
As he turned away, I shot him several times and stuffed his corpse into the trunk of my car. I took him to a lake, an area that a lot of people didn't visit often, and gave him a proper send-off.
"Still running the old business, I see." It was Kevin White, the one person who knew what I did that would be allowed to live for more than about two minutes. "I have an idea, and I thought your skills might be helpful. Come to my place later."
"What're you up to, Kevin?"
"Just drop by later!"