Page 78 of Demise

“Steady there, boss.”

“Don’t you fucking steady me. I was drinking before you grew hair on your balls, you fuck.”

Sweep doesn’t respond. I hand Moretti the gun, the one I bought off the black market. He holds out the heat, trying to aim but not doing a very good job.

He fires the gun, and all the women scream.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Ruel says, walking over quickly. Moretti fires the gun again, just missing the chandelier. He laughs, his belly shaking.

“Stop that at once,” Ruel says.

Moretti points the gun at him. “Or what?” he says.

Ruel holds up his hands, backing away.

“No one needs to get shot tonight,” I say, reaching for the gun. Moretti lets me have it.

“I gotta take a piss anyway. Where’d that bitch go? She can hold my cock for me.” He walks out of the room. I look over at Sweep. If Moretti wouldn’t have been such a slosh, he would have questioned my gloves. This once respectable man is now an embarrassment.

An idea occurs to me. I still have to take care of the man who shot Bryce and caused his wife to go into labor. I can kill two birds with one stone.

“Come on,” I say to Sweep. “Get Trig.”

______________

It didn’t take long to find the man who shot Bryce. All I had to do was ask a few people and toss some money around. When you do something like shoot a man, the worst thing you can do is talk about it, but that’s exactly what this poor fool did. Now he’s tied up in the back of the trunk. You know what they say about loose lips.

I grab my phone and hit call on Bryce’s number.

“Hello,” he answers in a hushed tone.

I’m sure his wife’s close by. She doesn’t like me much.

“There’s a run-down country store about a mile from Grant Ranch’s drive. Do you know the one?” I ask.

“Yes,” he replies.

“Meet me there in twenty minutes.”

I hang up as we pull into the store. Nothing around for miles but land and trees. Grant Ranch sits on over a hundred acres. Bryce’s father, Lee Grant, is a horse rancher. A damn successful one.

He trains Thoroughbreds.

Trig smokes a cigarette in the back seat. Sweep’s quiet as the man in the trunk slashes about. I look ahead, my thoughts on what’s about to go down.

Car lights shine down the road. “All right,” I say. “Time for work.”

Bryce pulls into the parking lot as we three exit the car. He opens his door, climbing out cautiously.

“Glad you made it,” I say. Sweep walks around the car and pops the trunk. I watch Bryce’s reaction. It’s interesting to see how a person who isn’t used to the lifestyle I am acts toward violence. While I’m accustomed to it, I’ve found it makes some people squeamish. Bryce studies us, looking with uncertainty in his eyes. It’s dark out, but from the glow of the moon, I can see him perfectly fine.

“Is this your guy?” I ask.

Bryce walks over, looking in the trunk at the man with his hands tied behind his back. He has tape over his mouth and his eyes are bulging out, looking red and watery.

I wait for Bryce’s response, seeing him mutter under his breath.

The man makes noises at Bryce, begging for help. Why would he help you? You almost killed him and his wife.

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