posted on Mar, 20 2014 @ 03:07 PM
There were six bullets in my gun. I wondered if I should just let Marco die, leave him to his unhappy fate and inform his wife she’s a widow.
Instinctually, I knew the whole job had gone rotten, that the money wasn’t worth the risk any more. But something in me told me I couldn’t abandon
a man to such an awful death. I unholstered my revolver, and burst out of the armoire. I leveled it at the man’s back.
“I’ve got a .357 pointed right about where your spine ought to be, pal, and I like making cripples. Means I don’t have to kill you. Let’s
talk.” I spoke, and the enforcer tensed up at the unexpected company. He dropped his box-cutter, and began to turn. “Keep your back to me, friend.
I’m not going to risk you making any sudden moves. You got a name?”
“I am Mr. Smith. This man owes a debt to Richard Smiler. You will come to regret becoming involved his business.” His voice was almost robotic.
Behind him, Marco moaned. He was cut up in a dozen places, his hands deep purple, and useless. His one remaining eye stared at me.
“You know, I used to be a cop once. I used to put away people like you. I used to collect evidence on Smiler. We could never get enough for a
warrant though. You know what I learned after they discharged me from the force? Warrants, trial by jury, Miranda rights, they don’t mean a damned
thing. All that matters is that the wolves are cut down so the sheep may live.” A man with a gun digging into his back tends to listen to what
“This isn’t right. You can’t just shoot me in the back. That’s not honorable.” The enforcer spoke, and cold cynical laughter rang out. This
time, it was mine.
“You’re really going to go for that argument? It isn’t honorable? You torture people for money.” I wondered if it was right to kill this man.
I certainly wanted to. I cocked the revolver. With one trigger pull, it would be wheelchairs and colostomy bags for the rest of his life if I wanted
to make it so.
“Who are you? This guy, he’s a deadbeat. You leave now, I forget your face, and this all goes away.” I never saw a hit-man plead for his life.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at the unique nature of the situation.
“One thing at a time… First off, my name’s Granby. I’m a private detective. Second, I knew Marco was a professional loser. His wife, nice
lady by the name of Neria hired me to keep an eye on him. And as to you forgetting my face, believe me, you will. Have you caught on to why I’m
telling you all of this? When this pistol goes off, it’ll punch through your skull. After that, it pretty much just turns everything inside your
head into scrambled eggs. You won’t remember my face, you won’t remember anything at..-” I informed the enforcer of what was to come, until he
“A private eye? Just a private eye? Are you some sort of idiot? Let’s say you kill me. Smiler sends two men after Marco, and his pretty wife.
I’m sure at some point, one of them will squeal, and mention your name. You’re a dead man.” The enforcer was right. Killing him would be a death
sentence. But I was tired of the grind. Of the endless stakeouts in parked cars, watching husbands violate their wedding vows in low rent motels. I
felt the bloodlust inside, and for a moment, I wondered if I had lost the plot. But the feelings of self-doubt passed, and I steeled myself.
“It’s as good a cause as any to die over. We’re both dead men. But the difference is what we’re giving our lives for. You’re going to die
here, for the cause of cruelty and greed. Myself, well, I know how Smiler runs his operation. The emaciated bastard rules everything from here to the
coast. I knew a girl, escaped from one of his so called massage parlors. I still feel sick every time I think about what they did to her. After she
left protective custody, we found her a week later in a shallow grave.” I told him my rational. Yet, he laughed when I spoke of the girl. The
trigger pull weight of my revolver popped into my head. It was three and a half pounds.
“I knew that girl. It is indeed a small world, Granby. Smiler was very specific about how the job was to be done. She lasted three days before she
died, you know.”
“You’re not going to last three hours.”