Page 29 of At The End Of The Day

“Low?”

“Yeah. See, this is a Smith & Wesson Governor, it takes several different kinds of ammo. Right now, it’s loaded with .410s.”

He squinted, having no idea what I was talking about.

“Shotgun shells, bitch. Shotgun shells,” I snickered, patting his shoulder again. “You know how those work, right?” I leaned away a bit, held my hands in front, and then spread the fingers wide while making a booming sound. “They spray out. If you aim too high, you could miss him, altogether. If you aim low, you’re bound to hit something. Even if it’s a foot, you got the upper hand long enough to make another shot.”

Stiffly nodding, he turned his hand one way then the other, his lips taut.

“When I get back, me and Vin will take you out back and teach you how to shoot for real.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Great. You need anything? Has Tiny or the kids said something about needing anything?”

“No. I mean, popcorn. Eddie wants popcorn. Oh, and she’s due for her cycle soon, so she’s gonna need—”

“Whoa, whoa, fucking whoa!” I shouted, waving my palms. “Nope. Not happening.”

“You’d rather her bleed all over the house?”

I retched, my cheeks puffing out.

“Look, you’re married. What did your wife do when her Aunt Flo visited? Just get her the same shit.”

The mention of my wife had my insides turning to stone. So caught up with everything going on with Vincent, I’d not even had time to miss her lately. “Yeah, okay,” I grumbled. “Anything else?”

He was staring at the monitors. “Tonic water.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you can get them in six pack cans. I’ll need about two or three packs.”

“Ew. You drink that shit? Why?”

“Sometimes, the bad leg cramps up real bad and I can’t fucking move. Can’t even fucking breathe right. Tonic water helps stop the cramps.”

My stomach sank, a silence falling between us as the events of that night in Kentucky swam through my thoughts. I had taken so much pleasure when I swung that pipe as hard as I could, cracking his knee.

After a moment, he twisted his neck to sneer up at me. Snorting, he slumped and refocused on the screens. “You got no fucking clue how good you did your job that night, Dash. You not only stole my NBA career, you stole any chance of me ever going one entire day without pain for the rest of my fucking life.”

Cringing with shame, I coughed, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “Every day?”

“Yup. Every. Fucking. Day. Until the day I die.”

“Uh, ahem. No…N-No surgery can fix that?”

“They already did the surgery. This,” he hissed, finally casting a sinister sneer. “Is the improvement. Best it’s ever gonna get.”

I coughed again and looked away, tugging my nape. For the first time since that night, I was regretting my actions. Sure, since being here, there had been a time or two when I’d felt bad, but in this moment, if I could rewind time, I would let Jackyl beat my ass instead of going through with the job.

Clearing my throat, I bent over a second time and scribbled a number on a piece of paper. “That’s my phone.”

“You have a phone?”

“It’s one of those Walmart disposable things. I just got it when we first got here. Anything happens and you need me back asap, gimme a call. There’s a landline over there by the bed.”

He twisted to look that way.