“After you,” I say ushering my hand toward the door for him to step inside.
“Fuck, you’re a dick,” he laughs out stepping past me and into the dimly lit piss pit that was this guy’s hideaway.
The guy looked pretty normal actually, minus the glazed-over druggy look. Definitely heroin and his face screamed one heck of a beating but that didn’t concern me. Getting what’s owed, either in cash or his head or both would be a win too. Getting back to Layla was all I gave a fuck about.
The room smelled like a fucking frat houses cum rag, it was a mess. He clearly hadn’t cleaned the place in weeks. Jimmy was right, he’s been here a long time. Fuck, I would have killed him a month ago.
Needles were prominently displayed on the dresser and empty beer cans were all over the floor. What caught my eye was the bathroom, the door was cracked, and I could see two shadows inside the shower as their image reflected in the mirror. The guy saw where I was looking. He was shaking, the hiding was fresh alright from whoever was in the bathroom.
Hitting Jimmy in the arm pointing toward the mirror, I drew my gun and pulled my tee up over the sheath holding my blade.
The guy stepped over toward the bed, his arms crossed, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a thin white t-shirt which was covered in blood and snot, the bouquet from the old man was on the bed. Walking over, my finger to my lips to silence him, I pick the card up opening it. “Well, well, what do we have here?” I say looking at the piss bag.
“Riddle me this. Life is a gift given to you by death. Your roses are now all dead.” I read aloud as Jimmy walks around the other side out of view of the Mirror. Crossing the room, he stands along the wall that they are on his gun pulled and ready to fire on them should they move.
“You alone or you got a lady in here?” I ask the dick. He shakes his head at me. “Is that a no to being alone or a no to the lady?” I ask him sarcastically.
He shakes his head again. “Fuck, mate, cat got ya tongue?” I bite out, this shit is old, and I’m bored.
“So, you’re not alone.” He nods this time shaking like its -2 in here not fucking 42.
“Stop,” I said. “Quit with the shaking.” I crack my neck.
“Who are you guys?” he spurts out finding his voice.
“I’m Micha. And this is Jimmy. We’re here to collect your debts. The debts you owe to my mate here and now extra for having to call me on the job.” His eyes went a little wide.
“No,” he said. “No, I can’t. I don’t have any money, man. I told them guys that.” “Well Jimmy has been patient with you, too patient if you ask me and them guys,” I say, “are dead men walking.”
With that Jimmy pulls both guys kicking the door open and shooting each man in the chest.
“It’s time to pay. Or you, my friend, are next.” I walk over and playfully slapping his cheeks.
Jimmy steps closer to the guys slumped in the shower smiling his vicious smile.
“Gallo men, brother, wired up too. Fucking fucks.” Pulling the little microphone up off the dicks chest I look at it. “Bring that here, I wanna leave a little riddle for our mutual friend and you can deal with this.”
I take the microphone as Jimmy pulls his gun out of his waistband with pleasure.
“Riddle me this. The Roses have wilted. The Violets are dead. Enter the sandman for you now are dead,” I say into the microphone as a loud bang echo’s through the room and blood splatters from the guy’s head and his brains follow suit plastering the walls and Jimmy. They land on my feet and face. I pull a handkerchief from my pocket and I’m wiping my face as I drop the little microphone.
Hitting call on my phone.
- “Clean up aisle 566.”
- “Side.”
- “Tight lips,” I say into the receiver.
- “Got it.”
- “Oh, Reaper, their hearts go to 656 on E 134thSt and their heads to The Pink Pussy.”
- “With pleasure.”
Hanging up from him as Jimmy smokes over the brainless dude, I grab his shoulder. “Oi, Reaper’s on his way, and we gotta roll.” Nodding toward the door I step toward it, lean down and pick up the microphone.
“See you soon fucker,” I seethe into the line before I crush it under my boot.
