I dropped all expression from my face and stared deeply into his liquor clouded and bloodshot eyes.  I watched his comfortable bravado fall away.  He squirmed just a little and broke eyes with me to watch his hand ash the cigar.  When he returned his gaze to my direction he steered it clear of my eyes.

I waited for him to break the thick silence between us.  I watched him wish that I would speak first and then realize that I would not.  When he finally opened his mouth, I didn’t let him get out more than half a syllable.  “Fifty,” I said.  His mouth hung open and his eyes told me that whatever he had been about to say was forgotten.  In his confusion, he allowed himself to be sucked back into my black hole stare for a moment, and then had to shake his head from side to side to break free.  He looked down at the table, and then checked the tip of his cigar for new developments.  His squirming was now slight, nearly imperceptible, but constant.  I bore into his forehead with my stare.  He really didn’t want to be the one to speak first this time.  Still expressionless, I savored his discomfort inwardly.  Eventually, the silence again became more than he could bear.  He ventured his gaze as far up as my mouth.  When he began to draw air for speech I cut him off again.  I spoke as if I were trying to explain a simple concept to a child: “I am specialist.  You have a problem involving a particular cop.  I can fix that problem in a permanent way.  That is my specialty.  My price is fifty-thousand American dollars, in cash, up front.  If that is not agreeable to you, fine.  I’ll accept two-thousand dollars for my time and expenses and you’ll never see me again.  If, however, you would like me to solve your problem, then I will need two things before I leave here tonight.  First, I’ll need all the information you’ve got on this problematic pig.  Second, 50 G’s in cold, hard cash.”

Fifteen minutes later I walked out of the bar and into a slushy night with an envelope in my pocket containing some pertinent facts about and several photos of the next cop that I would murder.  My black leather attaché contained a Mac-10, which I had brought with me, and the fifty grand that I’d come to get.

Now, I needed a fix.  At least Baltimore was great city for that.  Hell, maybe I’d even kill a gang-banger to get it.