“There’s nobody here,” Hazard. “You’re not talking to anybody.”

“I mean, I’m just standing here, thinking out loud. I’m thinking about this crazy-ass motherfucker I’ve heard about, keep seeing him on the news. I was reading the comments on this news story, and holy shit. I think this guy, I think he killed like fifteen people last year. Just lined them up in this old hotel and went down the line, popping them in the back of the head, pop, pop, pop. And they were so fucking afraid of him that they didn’t run away, they just stood there.” The kid mimed a gun, mimed a little recoil as he repeated, “Pop, pop, pop.”

When he gave Hazard the next sidelong look, his eyes were glowing.

The kid started down the stairs, and Hazard followed. They went down to the basement, and the kid was still glancing over Hazard, his eyes shiny, his pupils dilated. Hazard had met people like this kid before, although usually they were older, usually they wanted to buy him a beer, usually they’d figured out that they needed to mask their interest under the guise of something else—just a sincere respect for law enforcement, the boys in blue, thanks for your service. But he knew what they wanted to hear. And he knew what this kid was trying to ask.

“It’s an awful feeling,” Hazard said. “Sometimes. And sometimes, I don’t feel anything except that they deserved it. It depends on a lot of things.”

“That feels good, right? When they deserve it? When they get what’s coming to them? You’re like, the hero. And they deserve it.”

Yes, Hazard wanted to say. With some of them, the ones who deserved it, the satisfaction was so deep and visceral that, if he were honest, it was hard to distinguish it from feeling good. But he sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell this little ghoul that.

“That story about the hotel is bullshit,” Hazard said. “It was an apartment building. And it was one guy. And he fell, he didn’t get shot.”

Disappointment painted the kid’s face, and then, as Hazard had expected, it hardened into disbelief. Ghouls, young or old, already knew what they wanted to hear; if they didn’t hear it, it’s because you were a cocksucker or a pussy or a liar.

The kid stepped off the last stair, his whole body communicating that Hazard had ceased to exist. Hazard grabbed the little shit by the throat. He swung the kid into the wall of the stairwell, and the kid squawked as the bucket hit the floor and clanged.

“Ok,” Hazard said. “You wanted me to talk about it, so I talked about it. Now I’m going to tell you something, and then I’m going to ask you about the security footage again. Here’s the first part: if you ever get a little boner when you think about shooting someone, if you ever get a little wood when you’re playing with your guns, remember that I know you and I know your face and if you do anything like that, I will find you and make the last hours of your life so fucking miserable you’ll pray for death. Is that clear?”