The Fall(3)

“Don’t care.” The smile I had no hope of suppressing spread across my lips. “I’m not here to set up a payment plan. So, either you give me the full amount or your wife gets you in a body bag. It’s that simple.”

Maybe I’d hand deliver it too just because I’d seen the hot piece of ass who happened to share his last name. She was real model material, big tits with a coke habit that would put Whitney Houston to shame. Which was exactly my type. Maybe I’d visit her either way. I doubt this piece of shit had the ability to still get it up, so she could probably use a decent f*ck.

“Okay, Okay.” The *’s head shook as sweat rolled down his face, more tears forming on the outer rim of his bloodshot eyes. “There’s a warehouse on the Southside. I have it there. I’ll take you. Please, let me go and I’ll pay the money.” The sucking in of air split his sentence into more parts than it needed to be.

I guess the piece of shit also missed the newsflash that I wasn’t interested in a scenic tour or playing chauffeur. He wasn’t taking me anywhere. And unless he suddenly developed a case of shut-the-f*ck-up, he was going to end up in a body bag anyway. My patience was dangerously close to the end of my rope, and I didn’t subscribe to channeling my inner peace.

“Give me the address,” I spat out, already bored with the dickless wonder in front of me.

Lou nodded as he slowly stuttered out an address in Armour Square. “The money is in the safe. The combination is thirty-two, seven, eighty-five. Turn the dial at least four times to the left and then stop at the first number. Then—”

“You think I haven’t worked a combination before?” I cut him off before he completed his idiot’s guide on a spin lock. “Please, you’re already skating on thin ice, don’t insult me even more.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He lost whatever battle he’d been fighting with his balls as his head fell forward and he continued to cry like a baby.

“And there better not be any surprises,” I warned, wondering if I wasn’t going to be walking into a situation I’d rather not.

I assumed there would be some kind of security system—nothing a few cuts in the wires couldn’t fix—but a bunch of *s packing assault rifles was not my idea of a good time. He didn’t seem like the type of low life who could afford armed guards, but I hadn’t survived my thirty years by leaving shit to chance. So if the place was occupied, I’d rather know about it sooner than later, give me a chance to smoke them out without wasting rounds. Not because I was scared, in all honesty the smell of carbon got me hard. But because this job was already taking longer than it should, and I wasn’t getting paid enough to expend the bullets.

“No. No surprises.” The sweating piece of shit shook his head, his eyes front and center in an effort to convince me.

“Well.” I unsheathed the machete from its holster under my shirt and pushed the blade deep into his forearm. The cut was deep enough for the blood to trickle out at a steady pace. “Just in case.” I smiled pushing it a little deeper into his skin before yanking it out.

The deep red stream crawled along the length of his arm while I dragged the blade against his pants to wipe off the blood. No point getting my threads dirty.

His screams fruitless as I shoved the same dirty rag back into his mouth that I’d used when I’d dragged him in. If I had to listen to his voice anymore, I was probably going to stab him again.

“Looks like you’ve got a nasty cut there.” My head tilted to the gash on his arm. “Now, I’m not a doctor but I’d assume that if you don’t get that taken care of in the next few hours, you’ll probably bleed out. It would be a shame if your own stupidity ended up getting you killed, wouldn’t it?”

His mouth strained against the rag. Screams—or cries, I didn’t care enough to decipher which—kept muted by the cloth I’d shoved in his mouth. He was still making too much noise for my liking.

“Shut your hole.” My fist slammed into his gut, sending his body ricocheting against the back of the chair. Thankfully that helped turn the volume down on account that he was more concerned with filling his windbags with air rather than screaming.

“Good, so now that I have your attention.” The blade of my machete angled at the fleshy part of his thigh—the part that had an artery or two that would cause more of a mess than the scratch I’d just given him.

“Blink twice if the warehouse is clear.” I waited as his lids gave me the open and shut times two before I moved my hand away.

“Well done, *.” My machete slid back into the leather sheath against my skin. “Now for your sake, you better hope I don’t hit traffic on my way.” I straightened out to my full height, my feet settling onto the hard concrete floor.

“And assuming you aren’t full of shit and there is the money in the safe, I’ll call 9-1-1.” My eyes locked onto his. “And you’ll be thankful. So thankful that you are alive that you can’t remember me or what happened here, right?”

My eyes tracked the slow defeated nod before I continued. “Because if you suddenly feel the need to talk, and I have some unwanted heat following me. This conversation will happen again. Only this time, it will be with some extra participants. That wife of yours will be first, followed by your sister. And we’ll just keep going until you get so desperate you beg me to drive the knife in your heart, we clear?”