General nodded toward the table.A pistol lay there.Unloaded now.A knife rested beside it.
I heard General speak in a low, measured voice.“We can do this for you.You sit.We stand.You take whatever final words you need into the dark and we finish.Or you handle the last act yourself.You tell me who walks over there, loads the gun, places the weapon in your hand while you can still hold onto something.Maybe you prefer the blade instead, so we leave and give you ten minutes alone.”
Roth’s eyes widened as he processed the options.
“You’d leave me here?”he whispered, disbelief coloring every word.
“We’ll cut you loose,” General said.“We’ll lock the door behind us.Nobody else comes down.However you decide to end this, it’s between you and whatever you believe in.”
Roth let out a shaky breath.“You’re insane.”
“Probably,” General said.“You’re not getting out of this alive.That part’s not up for debate.Have some say in how it goes.”
Roth looked at the table.At the pistol.At the knife.“Cut me loose,” he said.
Spade stood without a word and moved behind the chair.He popped the cuffs on Roth’s wrists, then stepped back fast.
Roth flexed his fingers, wincing.
General put the pistol on the table in front of him.Then the knife.He stepped away.
Roth stared between them.His fingers trembled as he reached out and closed around the knife handle.
“The gun feels too… clean,” he said.“Too easy.”
Spade muttered, “Nobody here disagrees.”
Roth exhaled slowly.“I’m ready.“
Atilla gave a single nod.“May God forgive you.”
“No one else will,” Roth answered.
We filed out together.The heavy door closed with a dull thud.
Spade turned the lock and pressed his palm against the cold concrete wall, as though sensing the man beyond.
“Ten minutes,” Atilla announced.“After which someone needs to verify completion.”
“I’ll go,” I said.
Atilla studied my face.“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I said.“I need to see it closed.For her.”
He nodded.“Ten minutes,” he repeated.
We climbed the stairs.
Outside, the morning had brightened.Birds called from the trees.Somewhere near the fence, a kid laughed, the sound faint on the air.Life, right on top of death.
I checked my watch.Nine minutes.Ten.
I went back.The air in the cellar felt heavier.The chair sat empty.Roth lay on the floor beside it.The knife lay near his hand.Blood pooled around his body, dark and sticky, seeping into the concrete.He’d gone for the throat.Quick and clean, far as these things ever went.
Roth’s eyes stared at the ceiling, wide with surprise, making my stomach twist.I moved closer and swallowed against the metallic tang filling my nostrils.I reached over to close his eyelids.Nobody deserved what Diaz would have done to him.
The bastard hadn’t earned mercy.Yet I gave him a version anyway.
