Page 7 of His Property

Another quick response:Not Funny.

See you in an hour.

I stuff the phone in my jeans’ pocket and will my muscles to loosen and for the anger to leave. I roll my shoulders, try to clear my head, but nothing helps.

My hands ball into fists as I turn to face the man. He must feel or see my anger because his eyes widen, and he starts begging again.

“Please. Please, let me talk to Mr. Gruco.” His face contorts as he sobs. “I don’t wanna die,” he wails.

I grab the blowtorch off the rack, light it up, then, with my teeth gritted, I place the flame to his throat. He makes a gurgling sound for all of a second before his voice box shreds and he’s silenced forever.

I hold the torch to him for way too long. His dead eyes stay open, and his lips are parted and unmoving, but still, I don’t pull it away.

When my eyes burn so badly I can’t help but blink, I turn off the gas. I rub my smoke-filled eyes with my shoulder then go to work cutting his limbs loose and moving his body to the incinerator. It takes me about fifteen minutes to clean up, and then I head to Lorenzo’s office.

He’s staring down at a piece of paper when I walk in, and he doesn’t look up.

“Almost done, huh?” Lorenzo asks, his voice monotone. I can never tell if he’s annoyed with me, amused, or ambivalent. The man is a statue, but from what I’ve seen of him, he’s just as sick as I am.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I say, clasping my hands in front of me and standing tall. “Clean-up took longer than I thought it would.”

He waves his hand to dismiss it and rises from his desk chair, lifting the paper into his hand. He raises his eyes to me and walks around his desk. “Here,” he says, holding the paper out.

I take it and glance down at the list of names, ten or so, that have various numbers beside them. “What’s this?” I ask, lifting my gaze to Lorenzo.

“It’s a list of people who haven’t paid their debts. I want you to go collect.”

“Yes sir.” I take one last glance at the paper, count nine names, fold it up, and put it into my back pocket.

“They’re all more than three days late, so they don’t get another chance to pay up. Give them thirty minutes, then if they don’t have it, get rid of them.”

“Of course, sir.”

Lorenzo tucks his hands into his slack’s pockets and frowns. “And don’t take so long on each. I want this done today.”

Today? What happens if I have a hard time tracking them down? It’s only nine in the morning, but I’ll be working into the middle of the night with that fucking deadline.

Today is not the goddamn day for this.

“Of course, sir,” I say, internally cursing him. “It’s not a problem.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. “You’d better get to it then.” He turns and walks back behind his desk, prepared to get back to business, I’m sure.

“Sir.”

He looks up at me with his brows raised. “Yes?”

“Can it wait a few hours? It’s Wednesday.”

Physical therapy day.

Recognition blooms on Lorenzo’s face, and he nods. “Right, sorry. Take the time you need with your sister, but don’t screw around so much with the list, all right? I’m sure I’ll have work you can be enthusiastic about tomorrow.”

Kill ‘em quick. Got it.

“Yes sir.”

Lorenzo’s eyes narrow slightly, like he’s getting annoyed. I must be pushing it with the ‘sirs.’ He knows I’m more of the laid-back type, and I’m pretty sure I’m one of his favorite soldiers. I could probably get away with slacking off, but with Lorenzo, it’s better not to take the chance.

---