“Seriously, that’s it?”

“Afraid so, Postle,” the older man rasped.

“Well, it’s not much to go on, is it?”

“I’ve had worse assignments.”

“Like He…”

“Hey,” the raspy voice snapped, “We’re in a church, ya know.”

“I ain’t here to worship, ya old piece of…”

“You and yer language. Jeez!”

The younger man scoffed and picked up the photo, “You call me here off book, hand me a mucked up photo of an eye, ask me to find, assess, and potentially terminate the subject…”

“You got a point in there some’eres?”

“Just sayin’, you’re hardly in a position to judge, least of all something as silly as a bit of foul language.”

The lighter clicked in the stillness of the church, and the cigarette lit with a dramatic puff of smoke. The two men eyed one another, sparing a glance at the rest of the empty, dilapidated chapel. Light slanted through what was left of ornate windows.

“So you’ll take the job, Postle?”

“Against my better judgment.”

“Ain’t it always?”

“Don’t expect anything soon.”

“Never do, sonny.”