I didn't initially think he was talking to me. He never spoke to me, let alone looked at me, before. That was until I caught him making piercing eye contact with me while I emptied the trash in his office. I cleared my throat, "Excuse me?"

Chief Wicked didn't usually care to repeat himself but this time, he didn't seem phased in the slightest. He calmly said for the second time, "I haven't had a successful plans in years. All the stuff I come up fails miserably. Things just keep working out in my favor. I say 'all according to plan' just to look like I know what I'm doing."

"I'm sure that's not true at all, Chief Wicked! You've had so many successful plans, you're a criminal mastermind!"

"Oh yeah? Whats your favorite?" Hed asked, in the same skeptical tone as a man asking a teenage girl in a Metallica shirt to name five of their songs.

I tried to rack my brain. The truth was I was just a janitor at Chief Wicked's secret headquarters. The most evil thing I did was sometimes skip recycling. "Well, uh, I heard someone in the cafeteria say you orchestrated a bank robbery last week! With loads of civilian casualties. Thats pretty cool."

Chief Wicked slammed his fist on the desk, noticeably denting the wood. He raised his voice, "That's exactly what I'm talking about! That bomb wasn't supposed to go off at all! it was a total fluke; I actually wanted the money! And now everyone is like 'wow, this guy is so chaotic, he robbed a bank just to blow up all the money.' People are calling it a radical communist statement! And I had to embrace that shit to avoid the embarrassment. Shit fucking sucks, man." By the end of his rant, he was actually crying.

Here was the supposed most evil man alive, whining to me like a toddler. My daughter was going to get suck a kick out of this. She always called him "Chief Stupid" and the juvenile joke never got old with us. But still, he was my boss, and he offered a relatively generous benefits package, "Im sorry to hear that, sir." I pushed my yellow janitorial cart toward the door of his office, "I better be going now."

"No, no, don't go". I heard the sound of a drawer being opened. When I turned around, he had a gun in his hand and was using the back of that same hand to wipe his teary eyes. "It really feels good to let this shit out sometimes. My wife always tells me, 'Jerry, you gotta be more vulnerable' and goddamnit when she's right, she's right."

"Please- you don't have to- I promise I'll never tell anyone the truth" I was shaking, my hand gripping the broom handle for dear life.

"Sorry, pal, not worth the risk."