I snorted, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms.

“Make it snappy! We don’t got all day for questioning!” I barked, before pulling him beside, and whispering, “You tried. You get a precipitation trophy like them millennials get. You were….” I sighed, not used to complementing nobody, “a good actor. Let’s just not do this again. Ever.”

Roughly shoving the blob towards the Breaker, I stood by the boys. Greasy fidgeted with his tie, Stupid and Psycho were bickering. About what, that’s anybody’s guess and to be honest I didn’t give a damn. Wheezy lit up his….one hundred and third? Yeah…his 103rd cigarette of the day.

I looked on, bemused as the Repairman had to stoop down, as well as someone his shape can stoop, to question the Breaker about who was paying him.
-Smartass

The Repairman listened patiently to the weasel.

"What do you mean, ‘actor…’?” he muttered.

Aloud he said, “Agreed. Let’s not do this again.”

When he finally got to ask, the Breaker stammered and looked from side to side.

“Who paid me? Oh, um…er…”

He sighed.

“Yeah, no one,” he admitted. “I just thought my job’d be easier with you out of the picture.”

The small part of the Repairman that was still weasel wanted to return the compliment, but he thought better of it. He just shook his head and turned to the actual weasels.

“…Can I go now…?”