My GPS started up, telling me to head out of the garage and hang a left.
"The property site code is heading to your phone now. Room twelve. Do you want me to dispatch a team?"
My phone buzzed with the incoming information.
If I needed a team to take down Johnny, I might as well hang up my suit and guns now. "No. I'll handle it. Thanks for your help." I disconnected and rubbed a hand down my face. My stomach felt sick, and I was pissed at Johnny again.
"You don't have to take care of this. I can--"
"Can you wipe my ass for me, Bones? This is my shitstorm and I'll clean it up."
We rode in silence as I followed my GPS into the parking lot of a gaudy concrete building, painted to resemble gold. A smoke shop and a sex toys retailer were connected to the dump.
"Classy place," Bones observed, sliding out of the Hummer.
He opened the back of the vehicle and returned with a handheld machine that could recreate hotel room cards as long as I had the site code, which Tech had sent me. I powered it up and keyed in the site code as Bones released the safety on his gun and slid it back into his pocket. We both slid on gloves before hurrying to room twelve. I inserted a card attached to the machine and waited for it to cycle through possible codes. Seconds later, the lock clicked open. Bones drew his gun as he entered the small dark room.
The television was on. I peeked around the corner in time to see Bones's shoulders stiffen.
"Don't move a goddamn muscle," he said, his gun pointed straight out.
That was my cue. Drawing my own piece, I stepped around him and entered the room. Johnny was sitting in bed, leaning back against the headboard. His gaze cut to me and his eyes rounded.
"Angel, you're here for the money? Good. Good. I've got most of it. Just not quite all of it. It's right here in this--"
"I said don't fuckin move!" Bones said, closing the distance between him and Johnny.
Johnny froze.
No amount of money could help Johnny now. My father had given him a second chance, and he'd blown it. There'd be no third. I grabbed the hotel provided notepad and pen from the top of the dresser and threw it to Johnny. They landed in his lap, and he stared at them like a goddamn fool.
"Pick up the pen and start writing," I said.
"But--"
"Pick up the fucking pen!" Bones shouted.
Swallowing, Johnny did as he was told.
"You're gonna write a suicide note." I started looking for his gun.
"Angel--"
"First, apologize to your mom for being such a disappointing fuckin' leech. Make her believe that in the end you were at least remorseful for the shit you've pulled."
He stared at me.
"Start writing," Bones snapped.
Lowering his head, Johnny's hands shook as he scrawled across the notepad. By the time I found his piece in the nightstand, tears were running down his face. The son-of-a-bitch couldn't even die like a man. Disgusted, I gripped the gun and waited.
Johnny looked up at me. "Okay."
I read over what he'd written and nodded. "End with I'm sorry, but I can't live with the shit I've done anymore."
Hand shaking even worse now, he finished up the note. I read over it again. Satisfied, I had him set it and the pen on the night stand. Then, I positioned his hand on the trigger of his gun and held it up to the side of his head. The bastard tried to resist, but his scrawny little arms couldn't do shit about it.
Looking him in the eyes, I said, "Pull the fuckin' trigger."
