“Eddie’s a week late,” Vin said. “He’ll tell you business is slow. It’s not. He’s just hoping we’ll forget.”
I nodded. “You want me to take the lead?”
Vin’s smile was thin as a razor. “I want you to show me you understand how this works.”
We went in together. The place was a cave of yellow light, stacked floor to ceiling with old flat screens, tangled phone chargers, cheap Bluetooth speakers, and knock-off headphones. The counter was a plastic coffin, and behind it sat “Buddy”—a soft, nervous man with eyes like a rabbit caught in headlights.
Vin spoke first. “Morning, Eddie.”
Buddy straightened his tie, but his hands trembled. “Mr. Vin. I was just—uh—”
“No stories,” Vin said. “You got it, or you don’t?”
Eddie swallowed. “I—I’m a little short. The—uh—shipment from China got stuck at customs. I called Shiv, I left a message—”
Vin looked at me. “Did you get a message, Axel?”
I shook my head. “Phones been out all week.”
Eddie laughed, weak and wet. “Ha! Well, it’s a bad week. Maybe if I could have a few more days—”
“Axel,” Vin said, “what happens if a man can’t pay what he owes?”
I set the duffel on the counter. “Depends on if he’s lying.”
Eddie flinched. “I’m not lying, I swear.”
I leaned across the counter, slow and easy, and grabbed his right hand. He tried to pull back, but I already had his wrist locked, thumb on the pressure point below his palm. I spread his fingers against the counter.
“Please,” he whispered.
I put my other hand on top, lined up his ring and pinky fingers, and with one clean motion, snapped them sideways. The sound was wet wood breaking. He screamed, high and sharp. Blood spattered the display of burner phones.
Vin never looked away. “That’s one for every week you’re late, Buddy. Next time, it’s your thumb.”
Eddie was sobbing, hugging his ruined hand to his chest.
Vin opened the register, took out a wad of cash, then went behind the counter to the safe, which Eddie was too shocked to protest. He turned, wiped the cash on Eddie’s polo, and shoved it in the duffel.
As we walked out, I heard Eddie moaning, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” over and over, a human ringtone.
Vin tossed the keys in the air, caught them. “You got a steady hand, Axel.”
I flexed mine, still slick with the other man’s blood. “It’s all in the wrist.”
Vin laughed, a single bark. “You’re gonna fit in just fine.”
We mounted up, and Vin handed me the duffel without a word. I put it in my saddlebag, and we rode back to the club, two black dots in the flood of morning traffic.
At a red light, Vin looked over, visor up. “Ever regret it?” he asked.
I thought for a second. “Never. It’s just work.”
He nodded. “Good. Never let it be personal.”
We pulled up to the bar, bikes crackling as they cooled. Vin grabbed the duffel, clapped me on the shoulder. “Clean up, then see Red for your next task.”
Inside, the air was warm and smelled like bleach. I went straight to the sink, ran my hands under the hot water, and watched the blood swirl away.
