A supposedly easy gig.
Meet the guy in some back alley. Take possession of the dogs and bring them to the shop. Collect my five hundred bucks.
But the deal went south, and I was left chasing three yappy dachshunds while he was watching red grow across his white Oxford.
No sympathy for that idiot though. He was the one who tried to renegotiate last minute. He was the one who wouldn’t let the leashes go. And he was the one who stupidly went for my gun.
Deep sigh.
I should’ve listened to my mother. I should’ve been a dentist.
The Weekday One Hundred 