Ray

Ray was that kind of guy. People knew him, and he knew people. He could have been the mayor. Maybe even the president. But he wasn't. He was just Ray. He sat in the corner of the pub, where the light didn't penetrate. He didn't like the owner of the pub, Knuckles. Knuckles didn't like trouble, and trouble is what Ray lived on.

Ray was a fairly short man, about 5'4". He had a golden tangle of hair on top of his thin, high cheek boned face. He had features to make a married woman blush, and a smile to knock her out. And he knew this. Ray had always gotten things. Just like his father, his father's father, so on and so forth. The O' Riley's walked with a certain spring in their step that said it all. "We are better, we know it, and we exploit it."

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