“So basically, I have five minutes to convince you not to murder me, right?”

The psycho blinks and that’s all. Okay. I can push on. I’m a positive thinker. Growth mindset. “Well, here’s the thing: how well is psychopathy working for you right now?”

“It’ll be working better for me in four-ish minutes.”

“Ah ha! That’s what you think. It’s what we all think about our labour — I’m a barista at Starbucks, you kill people, we’re just cogs in the proverbial working class machine. Our labour is undervalued. Do you think successful killers just got where they’re at without resources? Without support? I’m talking social capital here, boss.“ Their face is less flat than before, but I can’t tell if that’s because I’ve rocked their world view for the better or annoyed them into finalising my imminent demise. “Before I run out of time, as I have a habit of doing, my elevator pitch: it would be a waste of your talents to kill me when I want to be your girl Friday.”

“My what now?”

“I want to be your assistant, you know? You can call me up on a burner phone when you need directions to bury a body — because I’m sure being a clever psychopath, you aren’t carrying a cell phone that the police could use to establish evidence.”

Their discomfort is almost imperceptible, but I am a fiend for discomfort seeing as it’s basically my state of existence. I barrel on. “See! Think what I can take off your plate so you can focus on what you love to do! Imagine the interference I could run on your behalf to keep you from being caught. Listen,” I interject as I notice the psycho’s hand reach for something under their coat, “I get that you probably prefer to work alone, but is that really sustainable? Are you going to let the enemy of the few be the something or other of the many. I can’t remember the exact idiom, but you catch my drift. I have ten years of executive assistant work—

“I thought you said you were a barista.”

I wave my hands about, “It was meant to evoke a mood, Jason, do you mind if I call you Jason?”

“I- that’s not my name.”

“I know but it’s awkward to keep thinking of you as nameless psychopath.”

“So you went with Jason.”

“Touchy. Carrie?”

Carrie folds her arms across her chest. “My assistant should have more imagination.”

“Uh, Princess Twilight? No, fine, er I suppose we might do this the right way?” I extend my hand, “I’m Harmony. I’m applying to be your assistant in lieu of your victim.” A moment passes then Carrie’s hand takes mine, a moderate grip that releases after the socially acceptable amount of time.

“Carrie will do just fine.” She regards me for a moment, and I adjust my posture a fraction and relax my face. I project: open yet determined.

“Okay, Harmony, we’ll give this a shot. Though, I’ll be honest with you, I’ll probably kill you tomorrow.”