06-18-2014, 05:28 PM
Not a preacher anymore, was it? Well, made sense. The guy had that air about him. Preachy. Thought the world could be a better place. Well, it wasn't happening in any of their life times, that was for damn sure. Hood, for instance, wouldn't lay down his guns either he was the last man standing, or dead.
It also helped explain how the man flinched so bloody much. For a fella that was willing to dive head first into a damn mafia pit without a gun, he didn't seem to have the balls for the work. Or perhaps the confidence; he was willing to do some risky things, but visibly paled when he needed to face the consequences.
Maybe that was what Hood disliked so much about the man. He'd throw himself in the deep end, but hadn't the confidence that it would work out in his favor. Bravery without fear was insanity, and Hood had no shortage of that brand of insanity, but too much fear was no better.
Hood finished his beer and set the bottle aside, and settled back in his seat to watch Jensen as Connor took his leave. The man spoke, offered, guessed and poked, and Hood just stared at him for a long moment. A subtly angry gaze. Weighing, judging. And then he laughed. A sharp bark of laughter and leaned forward, one hand slapping the solid table hard enough that his beer bottle bounced and fell on it's side. He righted it before it could roll onto the floor.
"You don't make enough for me to answer that question, old preacher. I have hourly rates, and work for who I do, because I am the best at what I do. The world I live in, you have no place. You are motivated to help people. Make the world a better place. The blinders you wear must be fucking huge."
He leaned back again, relaxed, "I live in the real world. The world fucking sucks. I ain't going to fault you doing your thing. But don't get my charity act today as habit forming. You want to save good people. I enjoy killing bad people. Very different sides of the same coin. I'd be willing to help you, occasionally. Probably even for free. But there's not a god damn thing you can do for me, if you aren't willing to kill to do it."
It also helped explain how the man flinched so bloody much. For a fella that was willing to dive head first into a damn mafia pit without a gun, he didn't seem to have the balls for the work. Or perhaps the confidence; he was willing to do some risky things, but visibly paled when he needed to face the consequences.
Maybe that was what Hood disliked so much about the man. He'd throw himself in the deep end, but hadn't the confidence that it would work out in his favor. Bravery without fear was insanity, and Hood had no shortage of that brand of insanity, but too much fear was no better.
Hood finished his beer and set the bottle aside, and settled back in his seat to watch Jensen as Connor took his leave. The man spoke, offered, guessed and poked, and Hood just stared at him for a long moment. A subtly angry gaze. Weighing, judging. And then he laughed. A sharp bark of laughter and leaned forward, one hand slapping the solid table hard enough that his beer bottle bounced and fell on it's side. He righted it before it could roll onto the floor.
"You don't make enough for me to answer that question, old preacher. I have hourly rates, and work for who I do, because I am the best at what I do. The world I live in, you have no place. You are motivated to help people. Make the world a better place. The blinders you wear must be fucking huge."
He leaned back again, relaxed, "I live in the real world. The world fucking sucks. I ain't going to fault you doing your thing. But don't get my charity act today as habit forming. You want to save good people. I enjoy killing bad people. Very different sides of the same coin. I'd be willing to help you, occasionally. Probably even for free. But there's not a god damn thing you can do for me, if you aren't willing to kill to do it."