Page 36 of Encounter

Sighing and rollingmy eyes, I bend down to look under the piano’s lid. The only music I was hearing was the fucker’s groaning. “I’m only gonna ask you one more time,” I growled, pressing the lid into his neck. “Where is the cash?”

“You-you’re going to kill me even if I tell you,” he whimpered.

Running out of patience, I pulled him out and threw him back at the piano’s keys up front. Trembling, he barely used them to prop himself on those shaky legs. It was almost admirable, considering the blood streaming down his face, the broken nose, ribs, and probably a concussion I gave him.

Too bad he still wasn’t telling me what I wanted to hear.

“My client doesn’t give a fuck about you. He wants the money. Where is it?” I was talking slowly, emphasizing every word like he was a damn idiot. He was going to be a dead idiot soon.

Probably figuring out his shitty odds, his squinting, swollen eyes finally met with mine, grimacing like I was supposed to help him or feel bad for him. “Ifyoudon’t kill me, m-my boss w-will.” As he shakily moved his hands behind him on the piano keys, he created a jumbled, awful melody that almost perfectly described his situation.

Clicking my tongue, I tilted my head with a concerned frown. “My, that don’t sound like a very good outcome for you, does it? Why such a grim outlook on life, my friend?”

This was supposed to be the ‘running out for a pack of cigs’ breezy type of gig. Instead, this fucker fought back, tried to shoot me when I came in, nearly managed to lock himself in this stupid panic room, and now he took way too long to give me one simple answer.

I’ve had a long week. Time to clock-out and get this shit over with.

Puffing out a long, dissatisfied exhale through my nose, I grabbed him by the neck again. Before he knew what’s what, I punched his stomach, making it easy to turn him around and smack his face into the keys. Another loud cry later, I propped my knee against his back to stop him from escaping and bent down, using my free hand to grab his wrist.

“You stubborn fucker...” I didn’t particularly enjoy torture, but he was giving me no choice.

I pulled his hand toward the lid and smacked it over his fingers with all force. The enclosed, windowless room filled with his screams.

“I really don’t want that fucking much, do I?!” I shouted, hovering my lips above his ear while he cried out and whined. “It’s just a few million pieces of paper, Hank. You don’t wanna feel all this pain for some fuckin' paper. Tell me where the cash is and I’ll tell my contractor you cooperated. Hell—maybe they’ll be so grateful they let ya live. You could leave this damn city. Now—you can do thatwithbroken fingers,without'em, or in a fucking urn. The choice’s yours,” I said plainly, squeezing his shoulder.

One could almost hear the little wheels in his head spinning. Contemplating like there was anything else he could do—like he could blame anyone but himself for getting involved in all of this in the first place—he trembled under my grip.

“O-o-okay, okay!” He screamed the moment I released his arm and was about to drop the lid again. “P-Please, for the love of god please, I ha-have a w-wife! A child on the way. Please, let me live,” he mumbled, hyperventilating.

He tried to turn around to see me, to evoke sympathy with his sad little stories.Not happening.As I closed my eyes briefly, I saw Galen playing on the piano in his room as I watched the blood seep between the keys under me.

Shit. What am I thinkin’? Why am I hesitating now?This idiot got himself into this situation. I’m only the consequences of his actions. His wife and kid lost him already.

“Tell me the address,” I ordered, easing the grip on his nape.

His painful trembles quickly turned into frantic nods. “T-The money— The money is in a h-house on the corner of Saney Lane and Bradleygrove. In a house with b-brick red plaster... They’re in the attic of an apartment—number eight. S-Some of our people are watching it. It’s masquerading as a transp—”

“I don’t care ‘bout the details.” The client only wanted to know the location. Actually getting the money was some other fool’s job. I did mine.

Painfully twisting his neck to try and meet my eyes, he lifted his trembling hands up. “Are... Are you gonna let m-me go now?” Stupid, hopeful spark came out through his voice.

Sighing, I reached for my combat knife and pressed his face back down.What a fool.“I didn’t promise you anythin’.” The entire length of the knife slid into the back of his throat, severing the spinal cord in moments. It didn’t give him more than a few seconds to react—a few more sounds came out before his hands dropped.

Narrowing my eyes with a frown, I stepped away and let his body slide off the knife and the piano. It fell on the ground, into a pool of his own blood—nothing more than a sack of meat.

Something was off. I stared at the knife painted red, rotating it in my hand thoughtfully, and when I looked back up, I got this horrible, tight feeling in my chest.

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