the straight case of hard ass renegotiation

Look,

in many cases, some
son of a bitch winds up dead. 
Perhaps all cases. Or, 
with a pointed look 
his woman does. 
Pause. 
But I want you to know, 
sure. That's not why I'm here. 
Not how I operate. In fact, 
my druthers tells me both 
you two can just stay alive the whole time 
for all 
I care 'til I'm gone. 

Then we're on our own? She put it. 

Naturally I'm no guardian angel 
on your shoulder forever. But, 

He took his long gun out of his pants 
and blew on it. 

Who the hell is 'he' she said alarmed. 

Me. Don't you change the subject. 
Don't change pronouns she thought. 

But, 
as I said or would have, 
while I'm here at least I'm a better bet
in a scrap than that bewinged berobed
behaloed protector you rent your right
shoulder to, when you're in a good mood. 

Or so I suspect 
and reckon. 

She took face value out of that. Well, 
she bit, narrowed her eyes:
Potentially okay. She nodded 

once,

curt, as if to decide it
but with a slight shaking her head

on the way out. She continued But

I don't know 
what he's gonna say. 

I knew who she meant I thought.  

You let me handle that, I plied. It's 
my job now

not letting it show,
but hoping I was right

Then I noticed my gun. Still
in my hand. Still as a statue's
marble phallus. I had to do
something with it, so I did.

I put it where it goes. Right where
the guy who gave it to me said
I could stick it. Thanks for permission
I wried. Then and since
and for once,

I kept it in my pants. 

I usually do. And when someone asks, 
yes. I am probably also

happy to see you.