[ WP ] Try writing a story where the main character is just complete and utter scum , but give us a reason to still root for them .

`` Billy Turnbaugh,'' a grizzled bullet headed man sneered. 
 
 Billy eyed the man's cheap suit and badge and sighed. `` What do you want, Detective?'' 
 
 `` I heard you were out,'' the Detective said, feigning nonchalance, `` did n't know they let cockroaches out of the motel.'' 
 
 `` Yeah, well, they scurry out of your wife's, Debbie, right? Out of Debbie's cooze whenever she forgets to clench.'' Billy flicked his cigarette butt into the gutter and stood away from the wall he was leaning against, making ready to turn and leave down the street. 
 
 The Detective had other ideas. His meaty hand pushed Billy's much smaller frame back against the wall. `` Real funny, Billy. We always used to think so down at the station house. It was a real comedy show when I.A. handcuffed you in the squad room. Racketeering, fraud, prostitution.'' He said prostitution with the emphasis on the `` prost.'' 
 
 `` Not prostitution, fatty, I was the pimp.'' Billy tried to square up under the gorilla sized hand. 
 
 The Detective smiled. `` Other way around in prison, Billy. He lifted his hand away. `` I do n't want to see you hanging around, Billy. I see you again and I'll get a squad to run you in for littering and being a bag of shit during daylight hours.'' He smacked Billy's cheek lightly before turning away and continuing down the sidewalk to his car. 
 
 Billy stuck his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker and walked the other way. 
 
 Almost a block down the street he leaned against another wall and took out a pack of cigarettes. He watched the street as he lit up. No sign of the van yet. He smoked two more cigarettes, flicking the butts into the road, ignored by the many cars and panel trucks. It was getting colder and starting to drizzle lightly. The misty rain made yellow halos around the street lights. Billy waited another half an hour before looking at the cheap watch on his left wrist. Then he walked a little farther and turned down a warehouse alley to urinate. 
 
 There was a group of five dingy looking kids, maybe ten or eleven years old, playing dice. They all looked up at Billy hesitantly. Billy raised his hands. `` Hey, no problem. You guys playing for cash?'' 
 
 A tall kid, his hair in a low fade, said, `` maybe.'' 
 
 Billy nodded, walking closer. `` I got five bucks.'' 
 
 The tall kid looked at his companions before replying, `` alright, throw down.'' 
 Billy reached the group and then reached to grab the kid. The kid was too quick. `` What the fuck?'' Was all he could say before dashing down the alley, his group scrambling to follow. Billy made to grab the slowest, a chubby short kid wearing a puffy jacket. The chubby kid yelled out as Billy collared him. His friends turned back, unsure momentarily before fleeing. Billy knew he did n't have long before they'd come back with much bigger kids. 
 
 `` I'm not gon na hurt ya, chubby.'' The boy was blubbering now. Billy gave him a smart slap. `` Just need information. Got a question. Okay?'' The boy nodded. `` Okay. Looking for a van, red with yellow stripes down the sides. Little circle windows on the sides. Seen it? Maybe a weird guy in a leather jacket driving? Carrying little kid sized packages?'' The kid began blubbering more deeply. Billy jerked him closer and stuck his face in the boy's view and yelled, `` shut the fuck up and answer me you fat shit crack baby.'' The scared boy began crying full force now so Billy punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. `` Jesus, almost did n't get my hand back. You need to eat some vegetables.'' Billy let him sink to his knees and wheeze out his tears. `` The van?'' 
 
 `` Y... yeah,'' the boy sputtered, `` sometimes it's parked in front a that... building with the fish on it.'' 
 
 Billy rubbed his chin, looking down the alley. He'd been a street off. He still had to pee. He glanced at the boy before fishing out a crumpled dollar and tossing it to his feet. `` Buy yourself an apple, fatso.'' He turned and walked back out of the alley. 
 
 By the time he reached the street he needed the rain had increased beyond a drizzle and Billy walked hunched and wet. By the time he reached the one time Eastern Fish warehouse, his bladder felt like it was on the verge of its own involuntary rainfall. He stood for a moment, looking at the red van with yellow stripes, then unzipped and peed against the tire. The van blocked the view from the lighter traffic on the street. When he was done he ran a hand through his wet, limp, greying hair and muttered, `` why not go to the back, why risk being seen going in with them?'' 
 
 He turned and walked down a short access to the back lot, where the loading docks would be. It was almost entirely filled with old tires, rotting planks, and mounds of liquefying cardboard. Billy could smell the urine and mildew from where he was standing. He turned and went to the front of the building again. As he stood in the rain looking from the heavy steel door to the van and back he considered. Wait for the guy to come out or try to get in? If he waited he risked someone seeing. If he went in he risked booby traps or alarms or who knows what. 
 
 He unzipped his jacket, hunching over to further hide the removed a snub revolver he withdrew. With an expert care he checked the ammunition before transferring the gun to the jacket pocket and rezipping. Billy stood for another few minutes, tapping his foot and thinking. 
 
 His mind was made up when the door began to creak open. Billy briefly considered rushing the door but there was a chance the guy could get it shut again. He quickly glanced at the street. A pickup moved past and Billy began walking towards the door with his hand in the gun pocket. 
 
 The man that stepped out into the rain was dressed like an aging greaser from the nineteen fifties and had a butt hanging from his lips. He half sneered as Billy approached. Billy smiled apologeticly and said, `` hey, man, I'm trying to find Brewster Packing. Agency sent me and screwed up on the address or something I ca n't...'' 
 
 The greaser cut him off, `` never heard of it,'' and moved towards the van, his guard down. 
 
 When the man was somewhat blocked from the street, Billy stepped in, lightning quick, and pressed the barrel of the gun into the greaser's kidney. `` Alice's mom says hello.'' The greaser gasped lightly, the cigarette butt falling as he turned, and Billy pulled the trigger. The man twisted as the bullet rupturing through leather jacket and skin alike before Billy fired another two times at close range. The greaser's body spun like a top and fell onto its side. Billy stepped in and emptied the rest of the bullets into the man's head. Then he turned and walked briskly away. 
 
 He did n't consider going into the warehouse and looking for any kids. The cops would probably do that and Billy had just left a dead body on the sidewalk. Besides, nobody was paying him for that. Within another few minutes of walking, the gun was wiped and dropped in a storm drain. Maybe he would call the cops from a payphone, let any kids be found a little quicker. He checked his pockets for quarters and found none. Fuck it. 
 

