(lxxxvii.)

The little girl looked up, inquisitively.

"Hey Mister! Are you going to a costume party?" She asked the strange man in the black robe.

Mister Aisquith stared at her. "No," he responded, sharply.

"Well, why are you wearing a big black robe and a hood if you're not going to a party?" She demanded.

Mister Aisquith chuckled.

"Little girl, do you know what 'taxes' are?"
"N-no. Not really."
"It's money that your mommy and daddy have to pay to the government."
"Why?"
"Because if they don't, people like me will come to your house and kill them in their sleep," he insisted.

The little girl turned away, briefly. Mister Aisquith began to walk away.

"There's a word for that!" The little girl cried. "My mommy says there's a word for that!"
"That's nice."
"She says it's called 'blackmail'."

Mister Aisquith nodded. "Perhaps. But if they don't pay their taxes, I'll still get to kill them."

The little girl stared at him, horrified.

"Are you on your way to kill someone now?"

He nodded, solemnly.