Turning back on him as he tries to scurry back toward the wall I say, “Nowhere to go, buddy.” I laugh out with a sick grin on my face as his back hits the wall. Yuck what a fucking mess this place is. Dirty junkie, fuck.
Stepping inside I tower over his shaking body, my fist pulled back at the ready to break his face. Before I can even get my knuckles bloodied, he points toward the bathroom. My eyes follow his finger and snap back to him.
“In there, in the toilet there is 6k. It’s all I got.”
My fist reaches for his dirty stained shirt pulling him up to meet my eyes.
“It’s 12k, asshole.” My eyes burn with annoyance.
“I-I-I-know I just don’t have it all.” His lips tremble showing his yellow stained teeth and breath that is fucking putrid.
“Two-day extension equaling in just 6k my fist’s breaking your face. So after this beating and in theory that should give you another two days for the other 6, right?” I question. His body is shaking as his dirty hands reach up to grab at my clothing. My skin crawls.
His eyes grew wide as I pulled him up and into me. My fist meeting his face over and over until blood sprayed my jacket, knuckles, face and the walls in this seedy dump.
Dropping his now unconscious, worthless body to the floor, I step over him and enter the bathroom. Sinking my hands into the canister of the toilet, I retrieve the snap lock bag containing the money.
Scanning the area for the bouquet, spotting it on the floor by the bed I reach down and take the plain, white card with the plain black font.
Is maith liom é seo ach pian an chinniuint nò an é an fath go bhfuil tu mall? Amanna anseo a thagann sé.
Riddle me this. Is pain just an illusion of fate or is it the reason you’re late? Times up here he comes.
I laugh to myself; the old man’s riddles always give me something to think about. I tuck the blood-smeared card into the inside of my jacket pocket.
I walk from that dump until the next time I need to come back. Next time I will leave with his life, not just bleeding knuckles.
***
As per usual, I park across the street from the coffee shop, only tonight I’m a bit later than usual. Things are different. She’s not drinking coffee, eating sweet treats and laughing with the owners. No, she is sitting in the corner her eyes puffy, her cheeks red, polishing cutlery. The two guards are standing outside the shop by a running car. I see the warm air from the engine leaving the exhaust pipe as it hits the cool night air.
The hairs on my spine ripple as I look at the beauty alone in the corner.
Fuck the old man calling me out on that piss bag job. As the hitman for the mob I shouldn’t be beating up the typical suburban father and husbands turned wannabe drug lord slash gamblers.
After the last hit my cousin and his two monkeys went out on escaped, the old man fucking lost his shit.
Another chalk mark on him and another point on me.
From then on out he has wanted his most trusted men where he needed them most, and the old man thought I was the perfect fit to handle all the bastards here.
Every night it’s something new.
A new job.
A new kill.
A new target.
As I glance down at the time on the dash, I look toward the windows, watching her. I notice again just how stunning she looks, a fire-haired goddess but with such sad eyes.
I can’t help but sit here and watch her like I always do and think where did you come from? Such beauty. Such perfection. But why are you here? Why are these men here? And why so sad, little lady, why so sad?
My phone lights up on the dash. Picking it up, I open the message. It’s from Jimmy.
Jimmy - You coming?
Me - Where? I write back.
