"I have a big job for you" Rihanna’s eyes rolled shut. "There is a man who has worked with us for a long time. His name is Lenny. We call him Lenny Jackpot because he likes to gamble, but...this time he took it too far. He gambled too much of the family's cash away." He stops...and he swallows. "He has to go, kid."

You sit in silence for a moment. You know this is a business move which has to be made for the sake of The Strip. This is your opportunity to prove your worth. Rihanna approaches you and with teary green eyes she nods her head beckoning you to follow. You obediently rise and exit shutting the door lightly on your way out.

You were relieved to find out that you didn't need that obnoxious holster for this task. Piling into the back of Rihanna’s vehicle, you stored the shotgun on the floor of the Bentley and looked out the window. She kept her eyes ahead and her mouth shut as the engine roared. The silence between you two was dreadful and made the cruise to Lenny's house excruciatingly painful, but it was mandatory. You both knew what was going to happen. This silence was needed at least for Rihanna’s sake.

Rihanna parked up in front of a brick red apartment complex and seconds later a young-looking guy with five o'clock shadow on his triangular chin jogged out simultaneously shoving on his coat. He climbed into the vacant passenger seat, an oblivious smile on his face.

"Rihanna how's it goin'?" he asked. His eyes dived onto you. He didn't notice the double barrel 12 gauge at the bottom of the car. "Who's this?"

"A friend of mine," she said, keeping your identity anonymous. You gulped. "Helping us do some business." Lenny Jackpot nodded and the drive continued until the car reached a forest. Once there, though the change of scenery was confusing for Lenny, the journey still pressed on.

"Roll down the window, Lenny. It's hot in here," she had said. That was the line. The signal. You grabbed the shotgun from the floor just as he finished cranking the glass down.

BANG!
 

Rihanna had looked away, but you watched Lenny's head erupt into a sick mixture of brains, bone and blood. Bits of his residue were on your coat and along Vedette's vehicle. Your hands were shaking. You had killed a man.

Rihanna reached over and hauled the passenger door open. Lenny's carcass splattered against the autumn forest ground. She closed the door and reversed the vehicle. Rihanna drove you home, gave you a generous payment, and retreated back to her office without a word.