The Respectable Mr. Howard Kirby.

Introduction

The man slipped slowly in the shadows of filthy houses, hoping he wouldn't be seen. Noon was a horrible time for an assassination, but he had been paid well, so he decided he must try. He crept slowly through the smoggy streets, hoping to go unnoticed. If he was questioned, he planned to say he was a beggar, out roaming the streets, hoping for a stranger's mercy. But being searched was a different matter. He could talk his way out of anything, but if anyone went through his belongings, there was no way out. He walked by shop windows, and in the reflection he saw a mass of skin and bones. His parents died when he was eleven, and he had been on the streets trying to fend for himself. A twenty two year old shouldn't be this mangled and dirty. But that didn't matter now. He saw the man he had been paid to kill, who had only been identified as a "Mr. Smith," standing outside one of the few houses in the city. He pulled his knife out of his boot and crept slowly up towards the man. He didn't want to do this, but he had to eat. He walked up behind the man, and swiftly slit his throat. The man gurgled, and fell into the street. Careful not to be caught, he tied his handkerchief around Mr. Smith's neck to stop the blood from flowing. He then dragged the corpse next to a factory, and left him there, hoping no one would look close enough to see the body.

...

Mr. Howard Kirby sat in his armchair, reading The Comprehensive Encyclopedia of Botany, which those who knew him would find funny because he hated botany. His wife of thirty years, Eleanor Kirby, walked in and gave him a cup of water.
"Ms. Kirby, I asked for milk." said Mr. Kirby.
"I know you did Howard, but you know how milk upsets your digestion!"
"BUT I STILL WANT MILK! It's been a whole thirty minutes since I had a glass of milk!"
"Howard, no more milk."
And with that, their conversation ended because Howard knew once his wife had spoken, he had to listen. He closed his book, and picked up his pipe. He stared thoughtfully out his window over the Chicago river. The city was dirty, and had a thick layer of smog from the factories, but it was home. From his chair he could see Bobby, his friend since childhood, walking up to the path to the house. Mrs. Kirby answered the door, and led Bobby into the library.
"Hallo Reverend!"
"Hallo Bob!"
For years, all of Kirby's friends had called him Reverend, even though he had never held a pious position.
"I've come to see you about the job we talked 'bout the last time I was here."
"And what's your answer?"
"I don't think I can do it. Me wife and childern need money, and i'm not sure this will be steady enough to support 'em"
"Well, I understand Bob, this is a risky proposition, seeing my past in this business and all..."
"No Rev, that ain't what I meant! You're the best there is, but all those who helped you ain't always done so good."
"Well, thank you for considering Bob! Would you like to stay and have a glass of mil.... Water?"
"No thank ya Rev, I need to go get back to work"
And with that, Bob walked out of Kirby's house for the last time.