I am sitting in a pitch black apartment, watching a cigarette tip seemingly float in midair, in the far corner of the room. The cigarette tip belongs to the subject of my interest, a hired killer by the name of Nyeusi Kifu, or as he is more often termed “The Shadow Killer.” I had, up until now, figured that to be just a way to draw eyeballs when he ended up in the paper, but now as I sit in his apartment, I realize it is an apt name. I am here out of pure curiosity to understand this individual, and luckily he was agreeable to talk.

My name is Abegail Horn, and while I am normally a reporter for the “Old New York Times,” I am here solely because I have followed Nyeusi since he first started making the press. His meticulous, and often brazen killing style; his seeming disregard for any risk of being caught; and all the rumors that circulate about him make him far more interesting than which politician are busy fleecing money from the city this week. After putting out a phony hit request, and finally talking him into just chatting off the record, here I now sit in a dark room with someone who could kill me in seconds, if he so deemed.

“Would you mind if I put some light on in here, sir?” I ask, looking up towards the floating cigarette, “I would like to take some notes if you do not mind.”

“Please, do not call me sir. It makes me feel old for one thing, and for another I highly doubt I am even worthy of the title. The light switch is right behind you, be my guest.”

His voice is calm, and collected with almost a hint of an English accent. When I had first chatted with him, I had expected a much harsher voice, given what he does and who he is, however that might have been a stereotype that I still cling to after so many years. I reach back, running my hand along the wall and I finally feel the switch, which I flick upwards and a bare light bulb, hanging from a fixture that looks as if it belongs in a basement and not an apartment floods the room with light. It is then that I get a truly good look at the so called “Shadow Killer.” 

Nyeusi is a panther… or rather he is a hybrid of a panther and a human. Very little of his human side is obvious, instead dominated by the looks of a panther: Sleek, black, and quite intimidating as he stands nearly 6’8” and weighs, I would wager, in the realm of 350 pounds. This is not someone you want to meet in an alley, even with a group with you. He wears nothing but a pair of black BDUs, and thankfully no weapons, at least at this meeting.

“Thank you sir… I mean Nyeusi,” I say, blushing momentarily at using the term sir. To hide the blush, I begin rummaging in my courier bag, pulling out a pad of paper and then starting to reach around to find a pen. After a moment of fumbling around for a pen, one lands in my lap causing me to jump slightly.

“You are a reporter, yet you cannot find a pen. Thankfully I had guessed as much, as at our meeting you seemed a bit absent-minded. You can keep that one, I rarely have use for it.”

“Wait, you rarely use pens? Don’t you kill for hire? Would that not require you to sign a contract or something so the other party does not stiff you?”

“Why would I worry about them stiffing me? I get stiffed; they end up stiff.” The panther lets out a deep laugh at this statement, shaking his head slightly, “People are far too afraid to rip me off now. A handshake, or merely handing me information is more than enough to seal the deal, as it were.”

“Before we start, let me ask you a question: Why would you agree to talk to me? You know I am a reporter, and you cannot guarantee that I won’t publish your location, or any information you share with me.” By now, I have setup all my equipment: The pad of paper and the pen, as well as a tape recorder, all the usual pomp and circumstance that come along with interviewing someone.

“Who would do anything with that information? You know the cops are beyond corrupt and are easily bought and sold like used electronics. Besides, I got a very strong vibe that this was not for some article because number one, you don’t do these types of interviews and two you were shaking while asking me. Reporters who are out of their element get nervous, so I took a guess that you just wanted to talk for some reason.” Nyeusi butts out his cigarette into a coffee can that sits next to his chair, pulls a pack out from one of the pockets of his BDUs, and lights it with a lighter that was sitting on the arm of the chair. “Might I ask why you want to talk with me? You risked a lot doing what you did because I don’t like fake information, and I am sure you have heard enough to know that since you knew where you could find me to give me that fake information.”

I sit, for a moment, mesmerized by the motion of the panther in front of butting out his cigarette. His movement is fluid, very cat-like, and I can really start to see why he is so good at his job and why he has become a legend, and a myth all simultaneously. “I have been interested in you since you first showed up in the papers. Everyone I have spoken to has said you are nothing but an urban legend, but the people you have killed did not kill themselves. I decided I wanted to speak with you, wanted to see whether you were real or not, and understand who you are.” 

“BULLSHIT” Nyeusi growls, slamming his fist down onto the arm of his chair. The entire apartment echoes with both his reply, and the slam into the arm of the chair. I begin to scuttle backwards on the chair, the legs scraping slightly against the bare wood floor. If Nyeusi decided to come after me, there wasn’t a lot I could have done, if the legends were true, so all I could think to do was provide a bit more space between myself and the massive creature sitting across from me.

Nyeusi now clears his throat, and after a drag on the cigarette, he sits back in his chair, “Bullshit,” he repeats. “Ms. Horn, one does not go through the efforts you did to find me merely to have a chat. No, I don’t believe that in the least, and when someone gives me a line of bullshit I get angry, because bullshit wastes my time. I know you are not publishing any of this in that shit paper you work for, but what is it you want? To write a book? To hand what you record; what you jot down to some person who will create a profile of me? Maybe you do it merely to say you have done it?” Nyeusi now takes the time to look directly at me, studying me, sizing me up. No, this is not just some angry thug who kills for money. There is more behind it than that.

“No, none of the above Nyeusi. I truly just wanted to talk with you. I have no one to report this too, nor would anyone believe me enough to take the time to listen to what I record, or read what I write. I am merely curious.” My voice is shaking, and I swallow hard to try to make it stop, “I have no further intentions than that, trust me.”

“Trust, Ms. Horn, is not something I give easily. No, trust is earned, piece by piece. With that being said, I cannot see any obvious indications that you are lying, thus, we can continue this little game. Do know, though that if you are to in anyway break what little trust I have in you… well let’s just say you don’t want to break that trust. By your actions, I know you are aware of exactly what I am speaking of.” He pauses now, still watching me as a cat watches their prey. “Enough banter, it bores me, let’s get down to what you came here for. Turn on your little recorder, get your paper ready and ask your questions.”

My recorder, oh shit it hasn’t been running I realize. I pick it up off the floor, and set it on the now visible table that sits in the center of the room, and start it recording. I return to my seat, and swallowing again to calm my racing heart I ask the one question that I am most curious of: “Where did you come from, Nyeusi? One does not choose what you do without reason.”

“Remember how I said trust is earned? The trust is not there to answer that question, yet.” Nyeusi emphasizes the word ‘yet’ in a way that does give me hope that he will eventually answer it, “You know how we came to be, as to my particulars… well that is not a topic to be broached at this time. Pick another question.”

“Can we at least talk about how you started in your… profession?”

“I see no harm in discussing that, Ms. Horn. Those events are fairly well known, in fact, I believe your paper published a bit about that incident and all the incidents that followed it, although it did a pretty shit job of it. Sure, I will grant you that information.” He again looks up towards me, not quite as angry as he was, but still a stern look to his face, “Though, do remember one thing before we start: I control this, not you. You ask questions, I either answer or do not. I end it when I want, and if I decide I am willing to chat more, I shall give you a time and you will be here. If you are late by even one minute, this comes to an end. Are we in agreement?”

I can only nod to this; no words will come to me. Nyeusi nods, “Very good, my first job… that was far more than I had bargained for.”