It's
been a week since my meeting with Blue, and I hate Florida so much that I
rather face the spikes instead of deal with this bullshit summer weather. I
wake up every morning drench in sweat like I'm waking up in a bog. The humidity
drains you will to live, but it's not the worst part. Almost like magically
fucking clockwork, it pours every damn afternoon. If the airports ran as
reliable as Florida thunderstorms, their bars would close down from the lack of
day drinking from stressed out passengers. So, from the time you wake up to the
time you go to bed, your body is constantly dripping. I honestly surprised that
there isn't moss covering my balls when I get home every night because they
spend all day swimming in a pool of sweat.
I stop
thinking about the weather as the 4pm thunderstorm finally stops when a black
sedan pulls up as the text said it would. I walk over to the car as the passenger
cracks the window enough so I can hear them.
"You
cracking the corn?" asks the passenger.
"Yeah,
but I don't care," I reply as I smirk because I find it funny they
sometimes use nursery rhymes for code words. The passenger unlocks the back
door, and I climb in. As I buckle my seatbelt, the passenger turns around with
a pistol in his hand. The look in his ice blue eyes tells me if I don't answer
their next question exactly, I'm a dead man.
"Why
don't you care?" he asks.
"Because
my dish ran away with the spoon," I reply.
He puts
the pistol down on the center console and explains, "Good. I just cleaned
this interior, and would hate to have to clean it again."
"Give
the new guy a break, Donnie," says the driver. "Besides, if you kept
pointing your gun at time, you might have to clean the seats."
"Shut
up, Gus," says Donnie as he runs his hand through his gray hair.
"So,
new guy. Got a name?" Gus asks. Gus is a short, stout son of bitch with a
bald head and brown eyes. He might look fat, but I feel if you tick him off, he
still will kick the living shit out of you.
"James,"
I reply as I try not to smile. It's nice for once to deal with actual faces and
names.
"So,
here's the deal, Jimmy," explains Donnie. "We get a deadbeat at the
north end of the islands that thinks we're a fucking charity. Today, you're
going to prove your worth."
I nod
understanding what they mean. The person we're visiting is very likely taking
his last breath of air as we drive towards the north islands. As city gives
away to mossy oaks and pine trees, I know that today I'll be taking a life to
show Madam that I'll keep my fucking promise. If I don't, I wonder what torture
will I endure before she finally puts me out of my fucking misery. This is also
a demonstration to show me what happens if I ever try to betray her. Either
way, I have a hunch that once I'm no longer useful, there will be a bullet
waiting for me.
We pull
up to a brick house hidden amongst a thicket of pine trees. The bricks are
covered in a thick layer of algae, and all the windows are covered in foil. The
cleared area amongst the trees is covered in rusting metal parts and household
trash. The worst part is the A/C unit outside is torn apart, the copper parts
are clearly gone. I almost feel sorry for the man I'm about to take care of
because his house is depressing enough that I want to commit suicide from
looking at it. I only been in Florida for a week, and there's no way I could
live without A/C.
"Ready
to do this?" Gus asks.
"Yeah,"
as I open my door.
We get
out and heads towards the house. As I walk up, I slid my hand into the small of
my back to rest my hand on my pistol. I'm sure this is a hit, but until that
door opens, I could be walking into a hornet's nest. Donnie opens the front
door and strolls right in. I look through the open door, and see it's very
clean on the inside that even the black tile is shining in the sunlight, a
complete contrast to the yard. Gus nudges me, and we both enter as I close the
door behind us.
Once
inside, I notice there's no furniture anywhere in the main area, not even a
chair. I look into the kitchen, and see all the appliances been removed, to the
point there's not even a microwave in there.
Donnie
motions me to head down the hall while explaining, "Go through the door at
the end of the hall, and take off your shoes before going in. Once inside, lock
the door and wait for a phone call before doing anything."
I head
down the hallway, slips off my boots, and open the door into a dark room. I'm
starting not liking this fucking bullshit as I lock the door, making the room
complete black. I feel my way around the door, and find the light switch. I
flip it and see the walls in front of me are lined with mattress. I turn
around, and see a young blond haired man in a police uniform chained to a metal
chair, blood flowing from wounds on his cheeks, and above his left eye. It
looks like he had the shit kicked out of him before ending up in this room. His
brown eyes widen when he sees me and tries to scream, but he's gagged with a
rag and duct tape. I stop when I see that underneath his chair is a fucking
homemade claymore bomb made out of C-4 while covered with ball bearings,
screws, anything that will rip through flesh with ease. The bomb has a
cellphone detonator attached to it, so whoever put it here can dentate even
with me in this room.
My
phone goes off, causing me to jump back a good few feet thinking the bomb went
off. As my heart is pounding like a damn bass drum at a rock concert, I answer,
"Hello?"
"James,
my boy," answers Madam. "You in the room?"
"Yes,
Madam," I reply while thinking that at this point, part of me wishes the
bomb did go off. I rather have the quick and painless death any day of the week
instead of dealing with Madam.
"Good.
I see you see the insurance policy,"
"I
do."
"Now,
in the bathroom vanity, there's some gloves and a pistol. You should know what
to do. Fail me, and the next call will be your last."
The
call goes dead, and I sit there fuming. My first imitation test is a total
shitstorm of fuckery. I didn't sign up to execute a damn cop. However, as I
stare at the bomb, it's either he dies or we both go out in a million pieces.
So, since I don't plan on dying today, I head into the bathroom. I open the
vanity, and find a pair of rubber gloves along with a 1911. I slip on the
gloves then pick up the 1911. I pop out the magazine and see there's three
bullets: one for the head and two for the heart. I pop it back in, and head
back into the room.
The cop
tries to scream when he sees me, but it's muffled by his gag. I walk a few feet
in front of him, and lift up the gun. The metal feels like a lover in my hands,
every curve of the handle feels good as I aim. Without saying a word, I bury
two slugs into his chest, and one between his eyes. A single tear escapes his
eyes as the back of his skull has been splattered across the wall behind him
like a fucking Andy Pollack painting. I lower the gun, and stand there as part
of me waits for the cellphone below him rings.
There's
a knock on the door as I hear Donnie say, "Unlock the door so we can go
home."
I
unlock the door, and he steps inside. He pulls out a plastic bag and orders, "Drop
the gun in here."
I put
the gun into the bag as he wraps it up, and tucks it into the small of his
back.
"We'll
toss the gloves later on so just shove them into your pocket. You did good,
kid."
I stay
silent as I head back down the hall while slipping the gloves into my pocket. I
lean against the kitchen sink as I think about what can happen if someone finds
out what I've done here today. The cops might be bastards, but when you kill
one of their own, your ass is theirs. I'm barely knee deep in the organization,
and now I'm scared shitless to dive in any further. I never executed anyone,
only killed to protect myself. I begin to wonder if my job within Madam's
circle is to be a hitman. If so, I better grow a pair of fucking steel balls to
handle this shit because right now, I'm trying my hardest not to puke in the
sink.
Donnie
walks out a few minutes later, and orders, "We're done here. Let's
go."
We get
into the car, and head back towards town. I sit in the back in total silence
while Gus and Donnie keep cracking jokes. I'm not sure what was worst: killing
in cold blood or the fact they would have blown me apart if I didn't do it.
"Hey,
kid," says Donnie. "Sorry about the bomb. When you first start, it's
either do what's told, or die. My first job, I had a car bomb in the trunk. If
I didn't do the drop right, I could have kissed my asphalt goodbye."
"My
first job I had a gun pressed my temple as I had to outrun the cops," Gus
says. "Don't worry, after awhile, and you show your loyality, they'll
stop."
"Why
a fucking cop though?" I ask.
"He
was skimming money from Madam to fund meth labs in Tallahassee. Madam wasn't
happy about a rat in her cheese."
"Yeah,
but what if I get caught?"
"Nothing
to worry about. All covered," Donnie says. "Unless you say something
to the fucking police, they'll never know."
"In
other words, quit thinking about it. Once your part is done, let it go, and
move on."
"So,
what now?"
"If
you're doing being a fucking paranoid baby, we're going to a safe house and
getting wasted to celebrate."
"Sounds
like a plan."
We
spend the rest of the night drinking. As the liquor poured like waterfall, I
totally forget about the day. Maybe Donnie is right. If I'm going to survive, I
have to grow thick skin and steel balls. If killing one person will bring me
down, I might as pull the trigger myself and end it. Now, as I sit there
hugging the toilet, I begin to wonder what is next in store for me. As my
stomach unleashes one more time, I find myself falling asleep. My last thought
is I hope I can live long enough to make it back to California one day.
