Page 15 of Last Breath

Out the corner of my eye, I could see the vagrants trying to back away, moving to their comfortable homes. Calling over my shoulder, I didn’t take my eyes off of Salem. “Don’t move, Mark. You too, Mary.”

“We don’t need to be here,” Mark piped up, full of bravado. Of the two brothers, he was the defiant and willful one.

“You do. Everyone here deserves to know who will kill them in their sleep for a box of trinkets or a couple bucks. Don’t you think that’s fair?”

Taking my full attention away from Salem, I didn’t notice as his hand crept lower toward the knife. Pulling it free, he surprised me. Grappling with the idea that things were about to turn sour, I hoped that my final plea would sway him.

“Leave it, please. Let’s go.”

Lifting the blade between us, bringing the tang covered edge up, I could smell the remnants as they slowly travelled the length of the blade. “I know who’s this is. You do too.” Sneering, Salem scowled. “Don’t deny they deserve this.”

I couldn’t deny it, but we were only two kids. What harm could we do to the likes of him?

“Salem, we can’t. It’s—”

“With or without you, Malachi.”

Resigning myself to the fact that he would, I contemplated the outcome. We’d both end up beside Bishop on the floor, bleeding out too.

Might as well go down fighting. That’s what we’d done so far.

Stepping back, giving me a touch of space, Salem stepped with a precision and determination of his course. Moving past Mark, Mary, Marg and Henry, Salem patted Trixie on the head. “Redemption is only in death.”

As I stood facing off with those left behind, working through the questions from Mark and Henry, walking with intent, Salem began up the stairs to the old office at the end of the hallway. Only one man lived up there, and even Bishop had given him a wide berth. Noire.

He’d been a hitman for the mafia at one time, and now the crusty old crap ass man hid out there after a bad deal cost him his freedom. He was still devious, dark, mysterious, and could end a life with the simplest of tools. And that knife? He was never without it. Resting on a loop at his hip, Noire could always be seen with it. We both knew immediately it was his.

Rushing up the stairs behind Salem, I hoped to halt his advance, but I was too late.

“What do you think you’re doing here, boy!”

“Shit!” Cursing as I doubled up the steps, hitting the last two as fast as I could, I cussed profusely in my head. When we arrived there, Bishop told us to never venture to the second floor, and under no circumstances were we to talk to Noire. “You don’t need to know why, just know that’s one bag of crazy you avoid.” Those were Bishop’s words. For two years, we’d done what he’d said. We’d seen young kids—runners—up and down those stairs with packages and bags, and of course we’d seen Noire. There were shady things about Noire and we’d done our best to avoid him.

Until today. Now we were running into the den of the lion head-on.

“If it weren’t for that fuck, Bishop, you two would’ve made bag loads of money, and ya could’ve been runnin’ for me.” I could hear Noire talking to Salem as I rounded the corner to the doorway at the end. His heavy Spanish accent made him sound more menacing, booming off the walls of his place, taunting and testing Salem. “You still can now,” he finished as I slid into the entryway.

Leaning on the door, I was afraid to enter. Noire was six feet tall at least, a good two hundred plus pounds, and all of it towered over our teenage frames. With thick, hairy black arms covered in colorful tattoos, Noire was a daunting example of a fear-inducing man.

Never being up there, I had no idea what the room looked like. It was bright, and the ceiling was covered in skylights. The rich, dark wood paneling on the sides with a built-in bar and richly appointed floor rugs showed you what the wealth of the company at one time was. Now, of course, the rugs were tattered on the ends, and the paneling was in dire need of an oiling, but overall, the room still held its pomp and circumstance that it once did. On the far end of the room, a large wooden desk had been shoved to the side, and a bed occupied the space. The carpet told the tale. Stacked halfway up the walls were boxes and cartons opened up laden with cigars, wines, electronics, and bags full of wrapped cash. The rest of the building had lived in squalor while Noire was living the high life.

“Nice to see you’ve graced our little soirée, Malachi. That’s your name, right?” He knew my name, but he was trying to grab my attention away from his coffers.

“Why? Why kill Bishop?” Salem spat out, full of venom, reminding me why we were even standing there. If I could, I would have been quite content to never step foot near him. He gave me the creeps in the same sort of way that Tress did. He took what he wanted, it belonged to him…the runners were his to do with as he pleased. I swore I’d never let anyone do that to Salem again, and so far I’d kept my word. But being there would stretch that vow.

I saw the knife still gripped tightly in Salem’s grasp and the matching knives to it, resting on the desk within range of Noire. Each were neatly laid out in a rolled leather case, waiting to be plucked and used.

Shrugging his shoulders, acting as if the meeting was inevitable and planned, Noire was relaxed and at ease. “Bishop was a pain in my ass. He held you two back from me.” Picking up one of the knives, thumbing its edge and playing with it, Noire walked the length of the carpet. “I’ve watched you two. Pretty attached you are.”

“What’s it to you?”

Waving a hand as if it was unimportant to note, Noire flipped the knife deftly from tip to handle and back within his hand. “Nothin’, son. I don’t care if you fuck him out of love or force him.” He pointed to me. “I just want you to work for me is all.”

Disgusted by the mention of son, Salem’s face read as such. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think either of us ever wanted to work for you?”

Turning to the man who thought Bishop was the fault for our avoidance, I chimed in, “Bishop didn’t keep us away, we kept us away. When he told us about you, we didn’t want any trouble. We’ve avoided your ass.”

Still flipping the blade around, I watched Noire, and out of the corner of my eye, Salem. “Did ya now? Well, here’s how it stands, boys. Come work for me or move out of the building. Simple logistics, really. Job means security. No job, fuck off.”

---