Just Another Day on the Job

You know what they say, "Another day another dollar!" and the truth in that statement continued to sicken me as I thought of my tasks for the day.

Luckily, I had prepared all my tools the day before, loaded them up in the trunk, and all that was left to do was carry out the job for the boss. The boss didn't like it when I was late to a job, so I threw on my clothes without taking a shower and made my way out to the car.

I always have to check things numerous times to be sure; had already woken up once in the evening, worried I forgot something and rushed to the trunk in the dead of night just to double-check. The triple-check before leaving for the job site turned up a missing tarp and going back into my garage I realized I hadn't picked one up; I was pissed.

The job required it, and though I am absolutely loathe to head into town for any reason, I knew Bair's was open this early in the morning.

I pulled up to the parking lot across from Bair's at about 6:49 AM, the overcast was still in the air and everything was grey and damp. I could see old man Bair tending to his tool display in the window as I walked up. The bell to the shop rang as I entered, and I went directly to the paint section to grab a tarp.

Old man Bair, the blind and deaf bastard he is, didn't even know I was in the store until I slammed the tarp down on the check stand.

"Jesus Christ," he yelped out as he spun around gripping his chest, "you trying to give me a damn heart attack?! I didn't even hear you come in!"

I didn't acknowledge him, was too busy digging in my pocket for my wallet.

"You're up early!" he said with a grin, ringing up the tarp and taking notice of my attire. "Dressed in all black, and quiet, too! What a ray of sunshine you are!"

I dropped a twenty on the counter intoning, "Keep the change, old man," and made my way out of the store before old man Bair could try my patience any further.

After loading the tarp into the trunk and doing one last quadruple-check of my tools, I was on my way. It was going to be a long drive out to the coast, so I threw on my travel mix. Just a bit of classical pieces to keep my mind focused, but at ease.

It was now 8:52 AM, and I had arrived at the job site; some refurbished, mint green cottage thing that reminded me of mint chocolate chip ice cream. I hate mint chocolate chip ice cream, which was going to make this job all the sweeter. Such a tacky color scheme.

The boss had asked that I do this up close and personal, so I parked my car across the street in the woods a good 270 yards away. The access road running through seemed lightly traveled, and the bush was thick enough to obscure sight of the car. Not like this place was busy anyways, but always better to be safe than sorry. I pulled my tools out of the trunk, did a little functionality and preparedness check, and I was ready to finish the job.

I made my way to the front door of this ice cream house and gave it a good knock, a beautiful, young Russian woman answered.

"Hello!" she said with cheerful energy in her voice, "May I help you with something?"

Her cheerfulness was like nails to a chalkboard on my ears, I matched it to the best of my ability, "Why yes, is Mr. Petrovich home? I'm a client!"

My focus was now shifted over her shoulder at a man walking down the stairs, all I could see was a silhouetted figure.

"Of course," she said and turned around as if about to yell, but said surprised, "Oh, honey this man says he is here to see you. He's a client."

Before Mr. Petrovich could respond I planted a bullet in the back of this lovely young woman's head and her body went limp faster than I expected. The cracks of my next three shots drowned out the sound of her teeth clacking across the floor after what was left of her face smashed into the ground.

Mr Petrovich's lifeless body littered his classy mahogany stairs with blood as it slid down to the entryway. I threw my backpack down on the floor with them, and closed the front door so I could wrap up the bodies. Before doing so, however, I put one more round in the head of each; I told you, I check things multiple times just to be safe.

When I was finished I went and brought the car around back, loaded them up, and I was once again on my way.

Now I bet you want to know where I went, and what I did with the bodies, but that isn't important; you'll probably hear about it on the news when the time is right anyways. All you need to know is that the job was finished and I was on my way to report it to the boss.

Picked up my casual car after dropping off the job vehicle, and stopped by the old warehouse to see the boss. That stupid sign outside always confused me, "Retail space available," it says, but no phone number to contact anyone. Who was I to question the boss's methods anyways? I was just a flunky.

Walking into the warehouse office, full of cigar smoke and old Italian classics playing on the stereo, I said confidently, "Job's done, boss. Close and personal as you asked," and all that asshole did was raise his hand as if to brush me off rather than acknowledge my effort. Luckily, he only had Vinny on that day; I took both of their lives into my own hands, and grabbed all I could from the boss's valuables when I was finished.

The cigar in the boss's hand set his ugly, red silk rug on fire and the warehouse went up in flames as I walked out to the front. On the old Roman numeral clock it was showing 10:58 AM, and my work for the day was completed with a rumble in my tummy.

"Just in time for lunch," I said with a sigh, heading toward my car. "Maybe I'll get some cannoli for the kid on my way back."