"There is so much I just do not care about." he paused, his hand stirring in his coat pocket until it was rewarded with a brass and leather tube. His other hand joined up from the unlit cigarette in his mouth to pull on the top of this little elegant cylinder that my mind cannot define and revealed a rod that was within it. He then took the rod and scraped down on the side of the tube and the tip became a fire. He lit the cigarette, shook out the flame and put the little rod in its tube and sent it back to his coat pocket.

"And yet, I do so much. Do you think it is because I am incentivized by money?"

"I-I am just not sure if you meant for me to answer that or not." I never know when something is just figurative, hypothetical, sarcastic or literal with him. His tone is dry, clipped and quite unnerving.

"You couldn't answer it if you wanted to. I know that this is a question you are having. I can see it all over your face. Don't spend the last moments of your life trying to figure me, out Clifton Neft. I kill because I want to. I am in this work because I don't care about the morality of it.

The money is just the bonus."