I tug on the elastic bracelet with plastic charms that I made with my mom when I was a kid and have never taken off since. It’s a steady reminder that things aren’t so bad, and I need it right now because it turns out sudden motivation isn’t a magical portal to finding a job. I’ve applied for everything that doesn’t need experience, from late-night cleaners to gas station attendants to this one suspicious listing for a “personal nursemaid, no experience, must have nice feet,” and honestly, I’m not even sure I’m qualified for that.

Putting myself out there again and again and only hearing silence back is threatening to put a chink in my positivity and send me on a weeklong reality TV binge instead.

There’s nothing Judge Judy can’t fix.

I need to resist though. For my sister.

Margot has always been the responsible sibling, and after our parents died, she’s jacked that need up to a thousand. I wouldn’t say she’s overbearing, but I would say that she could worry a little less about me and my life and the cute mice I share my apartment with.

I’ve been desperate for money before, but this is the desperatest I’ve reached yet, and I’m at the point where I need anything that will pay me money.

When I approach Lethal Poison, the bar I love to hang out in because of the interesting people there, I smirk at the help wanted sign in the door.

Help wanted.

Wink wink.

Sure, most people don’t know what that means, but I’m an intuitive, trustworthy kind of guy. I pick up on things. I talk to people.

And Lethal Poison isn’t just a bar.

It’s a meeting place for the most ruthless ruffians Seattle has to offer.

From thieves to vagabonds to contract killers and everything in between. I’m not … actually sure what comes between those things, come to think of it, but I don’t need to know all the details. I just know that if there’s something illegal you want done, there’s someone to do it, and those someones hang out at Lethal Poison.

Margot wanted me to find a job, so here I fucking go.

I push through the front door, bell tinkling, and walk into the cute little bar. For a place where dangerous people hang out, it has the decor of an old speakeasy with upbeat country music always playing, the happy chink of pool balls knocking together in the back room, and smells overwhelmingly like Christmas cookies.

I fucking love it here.