The kid nodded. He wasn’t necessarily frightened by Mike, but he didn’t want to argue, especially since he was in the wrong.
“Okay Mike,” Jimmy said humbly. His quiet tone disarmed Mike and the issue was settled.
Mike looked at him again and then nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the revolver. The steel of it was cold in his hands. He held it by the barrel and handed it to the kid, butt first. Jimmy hefted it and turned it back and forth, inspecting it. What struck Mike was that the kid looked like an adult handling the weapon instead of a kid playing with a toy. Jimmy looked comfortable with the pistol in his hands and that relieved Mike. The kid hit the release lever and flipped the revolver open, inspecting the six bullets. He dumped the bullets out in his hand and flicked the cylinder back into place, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger to make sure it functioned correctly.
“Nice, Mike,” he said, nodding approvingly. “Nice balance. Nice weight.”
Jimmy opened it again and reloaded the pistol. He slipped it into his jacket pocket and looked at Mike for guidance on what to do or say next. Mike led him to a booth and sat down.
“Where you gonna do it?” Mike asked.
Jimmy shrugged. The gesture reminded Mike that he was indeed a kid.
“Depends. You just wanna punch his ticket or do you wanna send a message?” the kid said with an aloof air that didn’t match his words. He was only eighteen, but his mother assured Mike that her son was up to the job.
Despite her efforts to corral Jimmy, he joined an Irish gang in South Boston when he was only thirteen. By the time he turned fifteen, she figured it was too late to get him to straighten out. Mike knew Jimmy through his mother, who he’d gone out with a few times. She joined the experiment to get Jimmy away from the gang—the staying out all night, the fights, the drugs and the drinking. Jimmy was lucky to be alive, but since coming to Blue Creek, he’d been bored. He was used to living in a big city where there was always something to do.
“I don’t care about a message. I just want him gone,” Mike said curtly.
Jimmy nodded and then pulled out a small notebook. He opened it and said “In that case, it’s gonna be best to hit him either at his house or his ho’s apartment.”
Mike looked at him, eyebrows raised.
“His ho?” Jimmy repeated. “His lady. His skank. Nigga shacks up with her all the time,” he said, grinning.
“Okay,” Mike said, relenting, glad that the kid had been doing his homework. “When he stays there does he have any of his security with him?”
Jimmy shook his head. The governor was careful about his security, but he wasn’t smart after hours. To Asher, any threat ended the minute he left City Hall.
“No, man. It’s gonna be easy pickins,” Jimmy said, grinning broadly. “This guy thinks he’s bulletproof or has no idea someone’s green lighting his ass.”
Mike’s eyebrows raised again. Jimmy sighed and rolled his eyes.
“Green light. Have it out? Put out a hit?”
Mike nodded, and put his palms up. “Alright, I got it. I just don’t understand all your slang, kid.”
“That’s aight. Look, if you want me to hit this guy, I’ll hit him. No problem. The thing is, what am I gonna do after? Act like nothing happened and come work for you in one of your dinky little factories?”
Mike thought about that for a minute then asked, “What do you wanna do, kid?” He felt foolish for never having considered that.
“I wanna go home,” Jimmy said simply. “This place sucks. I wanna go home to Boston.”
Mike nodded. That could easily be arranged. The kid was not under the contractual obligations of his mother. He could leave anytime he wanted. It would just take the money to get him on a flight or on a train.
“Okay. Once it’s done you’re going to get out of town. I’ll arrange it all. You let me know the day before you’re going to do the hit and I’ll fill you in on all the arrangements.”
Jimmy nodded then held out his fist. Mike didn’t know what to do. Jimmy made a short jabbing motion with his fist, telling Mike he wanted knuckles. Mike made a fist and bumped the kid’s knuckles.
“Straight!” Jimmy said, laughing.
Mike just rolled his eyes and smiled.
It was Anna who was asleep now. Asher wanted to touch her before leaving but didn’t want to wake her. He stood there for a moment, gazing down at her. She was so beautiful, he thought. She looked like a little girl when she was sleeping. It was just after midnight and he had a long day of meetings ahead of him. He didn’t want to leave sleeping beauty but he never got enough deep sleep when he was in her bed for some reason.
He finished dressing and slinked out of the bedroom, hoping his movement wouldn’t wake her. Rooting around for his coat, he looked outside and saw that it was drizzling. ‘Damn,’ he thought. He hated the rain and this time of year, early April, seemed to bring lots of it. He pulled up his collar, grabbed his keys, and made his way out of Anna’s apartment and to the street where his car was parked.
It had started to rain that cold, drizzly rain around ten, but Jimmy was glad for it. The older guys in his gang told him to use the elements because the sounds of rain and wind cloaks everything and keeps people indoors. Jimmy pulled his hood over his head and found a dark spot across the street from Asher’s car. The plan was to ambush him as he was unlocking his car—something that took time and concentration.
Mike told him to take him down with two shots, but Jimmy thought it would be better to empty all six bullets into Asher’s body. That would ensure a kill and then he could get out of this lame-ass place. He’d miss his Mom, but to a kid who was used to running around one of America’s largest cities with enough money to do pretty much anything he wanted, Blue Creek was a prison.
The tempo of the rain increased, forcing Jimmy to hunker down. He felt like lion in one of those National Geographic movies, just waiting for his prey. He smiled at that thought. He mindlessly fingered the pistol that was in the pouch of his hoodie and hunched down further. It could be a long night.
“You sonofabitch!” she screamed into the phone and then ended the call. She was tempted to roll down the window and throw the phone out. It would be symbolic of her ridding herself of her sonofabitch husband. That would be great, she thought. Too bad the bastard wasn’t with her right now. She heard her baby’s cries from the backseat and groaned. Why couldn’t she catch a break? Why couldn’t she have married a responsible man who would help her raise their child?
The sole purpose of this drive was to get the baby to sleep, but once the baby finally fell asleep, her asshole husband had to call and piss her off and make her yell and now the baby was awake again. The phone was ringing again but she ignored it. The baby was crying louder now. Hungry? Tired? ‘It was always something!’ she thought.
Why couldn’t she go out and get drunk on a Monday night and hang out with her friends? Oh yeah, because she was responsible. She had to work and she had the baby to take care of and daycare and the cleaning and the cooking and the laundry. And, oh yeah, she had no friends because her asshole husband didn’t want to let her out of the house unless it was to do something for his lazy ass.
The phone rang again but she hit the ignore button. She didn’t want to listen to his slurred speech and the rock music in the background. If it weren’t for the money thing she would have been gone a long time ago.