Page 73 of Nine

“You could have just shot him,” I say in anger.

“You didn’t hit the right spot. This was done to teach you a lesson. The goal is to kill, not injure, and we don’t leave bodies around, so I’ll need you to move him.”

“What? Hell no,”

“It’s do or die time, Trig. Stop trying to be a hero. We all know people love the villain better. Now shut your face and move the body.”

And that was it. That was my first kill. You never forget your first or your last one, because they both destroy you. I take out the box of cigs from my back pocket and pull one out. I light it and inhale. I can feel the stress leaving me a little at a time. I roll my neck around.

“You know what? I just stepped into my car when I realized I left my wallet inside my room. I’ll have to get it and then I’ll meet you at the movies in about ten minutes,” I hear a man say.

It’s him. The uncle. He’s walking back up the stairs. I continue to puff on my cig and look out over the balcony. I can see him walking my way, but I avoid eye contact. He’s still talking on his phone. He enters his room, but leaves the door open. I pull black gloves out of my pocket and slip my hands into them. I then turn and sneak inside behind him. I quietly close the door. I draw my gun and point it at him. He grabs his wallet off the counter, and then he turns around. His eyes widen and he jumps back. I place one finger up to my lips. He closes the phone.

“Hand me the wallet,” I say.

“Take it. Just don’t kill me.”

I open it up and look at the name on his driver’s license.

“Fred Barnaby from New Mexico.”

The man remains quiet. I toss the wallet to the side. He looks confused.

“Do you have a niece named Storm Wilson?” I ask.

He clears his throat. I pray that he says no.

“Storm? No. Yes. No,” he stammers.

“I don’t like discrepancies. They make me nervous. Is it yes or no?”

“She’s probably dead. I don’t know. No one’s seen her in years.”

I squint my eyes at him.

“She’s not dead, is she?” he asks.

I shake my head. I walk around the room. He keeps his hands up as he watches me.

“Nice laptop. Mind if I take a peek.”

“I have personal information in there.” He starts to walk toward me.

“Back up, fuckface.”

I open it and start browsing through documents. Nothing out of the ordinary. I jump over to downloads and nothing interesting there either. I look over to Uncle Fred who looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

“Tell me about Storm’s parents.”

“Nothing much to tell. Her mom overdosed a few years ago, and my brother, her dad, is in jail for robbery and murder.”

“And Storm? Tell me about her.”

His body tenses up. I can see his throat turning red. He starts to look around the room and then little tiny beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

“Sweet girl, that’s all I can remember,” he says. “She was very young the last time I saw her.”

“I bet she was.” I force myself to remain calm. Inside, I’ve already killed him.

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