At least that’s what I’ve been told. I needed to believe it’s true, otherwise the boss was about to make me do something real stupid for nothing.
“Don’t kill me.” The handsome fellow on his knees with the pretentious name was Theodor Alistair Crane, but most everyone called him Theo, which was good. Didn’t make it much less pretentious but at least I could say it without feeling the unnatural urge to lift my pinky in the air every time I took a drink. “I have a family. My wife’s pregnant, damn it!”
“I know,” I told him. All that only made it harder to do what I had to, but it didn’t stop me from putting a gun to his head. What does that say about me?
“I have money!” he blurted out, his hazel eyes piercing against the backdrop of his tanned face. “You can have it all, just let me go.”
Next was when he’d tell me he’s a powerful man, that he’s connected. That he could snap his fingers and make shit happen. I knew that, too. It’s why I lured him to the box car cemetery and put a bullet in each of his legs so he couldn’t run away. He would’ve realized all that if he shut his mouth for a second.
“Please.” The word had a sharp edge to it. The shock of what had happened was wearing off. He was almost done begging. Next he’d start to threaten. He’d tell me his associates are bad men who’d find me and make me suffer if I hurt him. There wouldn’t be any place I could hide, they’d hunt me down and gut me, butcher my family and friends, my hair dresser, etcetera ad nauseam. None of that was going to happen, though.
I pulled the trigger and painted the shipping container in shades of red and gray.