As he peered at the young woman weaving her way past the gas lanterns that lit the plaza, Alistair Galloway marveled at how easily he, if he had already received the go ahead, could have taken her out at that very moment. She hurried, head down, across the deepening twilight, heedless of the shadows that swallowed her where she passed between the streetlamps. Alistair felt a strange relief that Angus had chosen him to kill the girl. Too many of Alistair's coworkers held tendencies toward cruelty, and the girl looked far too innocent to take any liberties with.

She held several books clutched tightly to her chest, and she didn't seem to notice that no other soul inhabited the area through which she trod. Either this girl had spent her life in a sheltered existence, or she had absolutely no sense. Maybe both.

In a way, Alistair despised this assignment - the girl looked no older than his little sister. Not that Alistair held any real moral objection to offing someone if necessary, and Alistair had encountered women far younger with more worldly knowledge than a barroom scrub. When he had handled other cases, though, Alistair had felt that he was meting out some form of justice. Silly, he knew, to require justification for what many would label murder, but Alistair had a peculiar conscience. Some people just begged to run into trouble, and Alistair didn't mind wearing the label. Trouble, he had often chuckled at the thought. My mutha woulda said as much. Besides, he reasoned, people who dealt with Angus Moran knew exactly what they were getting into, and if they chose to double cross the Moran brothers, then they chose their own fate.

This girl, though. She seemed as innocent as a mewling kitten, and about as disheveled, too. How could she know anything about trouble, much less ask for it? Alistair wasn't supposed to know why Angus had requested her elimination, but people talk. Alistair knew. Sure, she had managed to clash with the Rats' interest in a way, and someone needed to educate her about meddling in things she didn't understand. She hadn't, though, known exactly what she was doing. For heaven's sake, he reasoned, she doesn't even know who the Rats are.

Still, conscience be damned, Alistair would do it. Not here; not now. But he would kill the girl before long, and he knew why. In ordering the girl's elimination, Angus would deliver a clear message to everyone in the community. "Don't cross me," the message blared loudly and clearly. Angus counted on using the isolated, unknown girl to let her friends know where things stood. And not only Angus; too many other big players had a stake in making the message clear. If Angus let it pass now, mutiny might stir in the ranks of more than one organization.

One, insignificant girl would hardly be missed when she was gone, but the more significant people - the ones who had aided and probably even funded the girl - cared what happened to her. When she died, they would think twice before they dared trespass against the Rats, or the next time, they would suffer personally.

Finally, the girl lifted her eyes and took in her surroundings. Alistair could only shake his head at his distaste for the assignment. When she saw him standing there, staring at her, she started, and Alistair could see the wheels of her mind churning as she debated whether to remain calm or to flee, panicking, into her apartment. Alistair didn't mind that she saw him now; she wouldn't see him when he came for her, so she wouldn't know to run. Instead of trying to conceal himself, he smiled and waved. The girl gave him a weak return smile before darting into the small campus bookstore. Again, Alistair shook his head. This assignment would prove all too distastefully easy.