Page 8 of Stabby Little

“They have so much. I didn't think they'd notice.”

“They have security cameras in every inch of this fucking warehouse.”

“I didn't know.”

“You're lying.” Jagger steps forward. “No one in their right mind steals from the Diavolos.”

“I took the drugs to pay for my sister’s cancer treatments.” Bolverkr's body slumps against the concrete wall. “She has Stage Three breast cancer that's spread to her lymph nodes. If I don't pay for chemotherapy, the hospital will kick her out.”

I turn to Jagger. “Text Michael. See if Bolverkr's lying.”

Jagger pulls out his phone. He swipes open his encrypted messaging application.

Jagger:Does Bolverkr have a sister

Michael:No

Jagger:He said he took the drugs to pay for his sister's cancer treatments

Michael:Teach him a lesson for lying

“You're full of shit.” Jagger sets his phone down and picks up his Glock.

Fear dances across Bolverkr's features. “I'm telling the truth. You must believe me.”

I grab his neck. “We're not in the business of fucking around. You took those drugs so the Diavolos' rivals could see what shit they're putting out on the street. They want to compete.”

“You're out of your mind.”

“If you don't tell me the truth, I'll cut off your head.”

“She’s my stepsister.” Bolverkr's body shakes. “Not my biological sister. That’s why Michael doesn't know about her. I never told him.”

“Sure,” Jagger spits out.

“You have to believe me. If you kill me, she won't receive her treatments.”

I turn to Jagger. If I trusted Bolverkr, I'd struggle with this decision. But he's a filthy liar through and through. Michael’s caught him making up shit before, namely when he's high. I don't even buy his story about stashing the drugs on the Upper West Side. I think he injected them, which is why he hasn't shown up for work in five days. He's been sitting on his couch high off his ass.

“You know what Michael commanded.” I motion for Jagger to hand me his gun. “I'll take care of it.”

When my boss gives me an order, I follow it.

That's my job.

I step back, aim the Glock at Bolverkr's chest and pull the trigger.

Bang.

His body jolts against the concrete wall before falling.

A hole appears in his chest that spurts blood.

His knees buckle and drool escapes his lips as he stumbles to his feet.

The cord Jagger and I lashed around his wrists snaps as his head slams into the floor.

“Give it to me.” Jagger motions for his Glock.

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