[ CW ] A multi-billionaire offers you 100 million to kill a stranger ...

I need you to do me a favor. 
 
 We were sitting in a hotel bar, across the street from the funeral home. The waiter brought us our drinks, and I took a sip. 
 
 Okay. 
 
 He watched me, and smiled, and took something from his pocket. It was his grandfather's cigarette lighter. I remember when he took it from the old man's pocket at the funeral. 
 
 Do n't you want to know what it is. 
 
 He turned the lighter over in his palm. The golden eagle engraved on the front shone in the light and made his hands seem bigger, more masculine. 
 
 Is it dangerous. 
 
 No. 
 
 He flicked the lighter's lid open and closed and then put it back in his pocket. 
 
 Not for you anyway. 
 
 What then. 
 
 He raised his glass to his lips, and, laughing through his drink, let his eyes wander the room. 
 
 We've never met, and yet you know who I am. 
 
 Of course. How could I not. 
 
 Right. Then you know my line of work-God I hate that phrase, line of work-my passion, can be stressful at times. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Sometimes it helps to be assured that things can get taken care of without having to stress about them. Understand. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Good. You're smart. I knew it when I saw you standing there with my sister while we put our grandfather in the ground. You looked serious, and calm. You must have been a cop, or military. Other people lose their heads and think about their loved ones or their own mortality or all that kind of stuff. But not you. No, you and I are different. 
 
 A beautiful woman in a black cocktail dress walked by, and he raised his eyebrows as she clicked past us in heels. I smelled her perfume: lilac. Vanilla. 
 
 What is it you want me to do. 
 
 As you might have heard, this upcoming year is a very important year for me. If I'm going to keep my job, the public needs to be reassured that I am still in control. 
 
 He leaned in toward me. 
 
 And I am. I am in control. Do not forget that. It's just that the media would have you believe otherwise. They're goaded on by a certain thorn in my side. You know who I'm talking about. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 He's a real up-and-comer. He thinks he can rejuvenate things, bring new ideas. If he would take a moment to change his diaper, he would realize that he's rehashing my ideas and riding the internet toward his fifteen minutes of fame. 
 
 I've seen him. He's good. 
 
 Yes. He is. But his fifteen minutes must be cut short. 
 
 You want me to kill him. 
 
 I waited for him to respond, but he only searched my eyes. 
 
 Look, not that it's any of my business, and I have n't said yes or no yet, but why not just kill his partner. He's been around for so long, God knows he'll croak any day now. Make it look like an accident. Take out the real threat. 
 
 Finally he leaned way back in his chair and took out the lighter again. Flicking it open and closed, and taking more drink, he looked deep into his amber liquid. 
 
 Pacific mottled dolphins. Have you heard of them. Of course not. The Pacific mottled dolphin is the second largest species of dolphin, behind the orca, killer whale. Unlike all other members of the dolphin family, orca excluded, they hunt for prey much larger than themselves. They've been known to attack harbor seals, California sea lions, and even minke whales. It's not widely accepted in the scientific literature, since most of the attacks were discovered post-mortem and assumed to be the work of an orca. But no. I've seen them do it. You know what they do with the whales. They find a mother and her calf. They follow it all day long, chasing them, wearing them down, and when the calf is too tired to go on, struggling to stay above water, they attack it. One will bite at the mother, and the others will jump on the calf, drowning it. And then-the best part-you would think working that long, that hard for such a large meal that they'd eat the whole thing. No. You know what they do. They eat the lower jaw. Nothing else. The baby is left floating there in the middle of the blue, blue ocean, no mouth, her mother watching helplessly before swimming away. 
 
 He leaned in close again. 
 
 The Pacific mottled dolphin knows: the adult, the mother, is too old to have more babies. She's dying. She's useless. A blob of fat bobbing around aimlessly. But her baby. The baby has a future. The baby will grow big, consume the nutrients, take up space, own the water. The baby must die. 
 
 The waiter brought us separate checks, and he reached for both of them and put his card on both. 
 
 Do you understand. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Good. 
 
 He handed me a business card. 
 
 Be here, prepared, however you define that, at ten p.m. Saturday. When it's done, you'll receive an unmarked package at your back door. Inside will be a check for one hundred million. 
 
 Why. 
 
 Why you. 
 
 No. Why one hundred million. 
 
 Come on. We both know it's not about the money. I know you would have done it for free. 

