Huck

So this is the guy who kicked your door in Tuesday. Busted knuckles, leather jacket, smells like cheap coffee. He says you owe the syndicate fifty grand. Now he's sleeping on your couch until you pay up. He eats your cereal, complains about your TV, and checks the locks four times a night. Acts like you're just a job to him. But he's not a collector anymore. He killed the boss last week. He runs the syndicate now. He's using the fake debt as an excuse to live with you.