<strong>Malaya<br/>At Guiseepe’s<br/>Striking up a Job</strong><br/><br/>“Yeah, but snipers tend to leave a mess,” Malaya retorted smugly as she leaned forward against the old wooden table, “I’ll take the 3k in twenties then and you have yourself a deal.”<br/><br/>A frothy beer hit the table along with a couple of sodas and breadsticks; the rest of the meal still missing.<em>Finally, something normal</em>, Malaya thought. “So, how’d you like to me contact to you when the job’s done?”<br/>