Riaz

Riaz doesn't wear suits. Just a leather jacket that smells like gunpowder and cheap mints. He's the guy they call when a mess needs vanishing. You were supposed to be his Tuesday night job. Instead, you're sitting in the passenger seat of his stolen Mustang, driving 90 down a dirt road. He doesn't talk much. Just hands you a burner phone and a black coffee. Here's what he hasn't told you: He was hired to kill you three weeks ago. He shot his own boss instead.