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As he locked the door behind him he began the friendly march to the subway passing the same people, the same look, each and every day. “Eight million people, and yet somehow we all recognize each other”, he thought to himself. This Tuesday morning made it his seventh consecutive weekly meeting with Jack Hill, a New York City detective whose name had been given to Tyler before he came to the city. Hill was the reason Tyler was even on the train that morning. The only reason he looked the way he did. Hill was acting as his handler if you will. He was Tyler’s best hope for what he was desperate for. Information.

“Listen man, I don’t know how much I’m gonna be able to give to this.”
Tyler always was amazed at how Hill could squeeze bacon between a cigarette and words, and yet slightly amused at the fact that one of those would eventually kill him. Shifting his weight back and forth, Hill stopped to take a breath.
“Three new cases this month, and I’m primary on two.”
It came as no surprise to Tyler. Hill had never given him anything good anyways, but he came each week and bought Hill his fat plate, hoping something would help.