Roadrunner stands in a dimly lit room looking a the dead body on the bed. It is the first time he has seen one. He is a little sick to his stomach. He leans against the wall feeling the smooth wall paper against his bare arms. Looking around the room, he takes in everything, the drab curtains, a light brown, the carpet matching. Looking at the blankets, a disgusting shade of green, are now covered in blood from the knife wound in the dead man's throat. The only other living person in the room is an Irishman who came over with his father. The man had found a way into one of the local families and was trying to make a name for himself by taking out an informant. 

Roadrunner's heart is pounding and his senses are crystal clear. He can hear the sounds coming from the streets outside; the cars puttering by, the yells of the corner paper boy, the people talking not far from the room he is standing in. He can smell the blood in the air, a strong metallic stench, he can smell the piss from the dead man along with the sweat coming from himself. He can taste bile in his mouth that keeps trying to come up. He had no idea what was going to happen when he arrived today posing as a delivery man to make sure the one they were looking for was here. Yet he was stuck with the thought that this could actually help him find the same kind of work his father's friend was in making the same kind of money and friends. It was a hard life and things could be so much easier if he could only stomach doing this kind of work. Now how can he get this man to bring him up to the people who could make it happen for him?