Page 2 of Himbo Hitman
“If you could give me something—anything—and maybe ignore the little details of licensing until after my first job, then I can go and get anything you need.”
“I’m not in a hurry to get shut down, Perry.”
“With everything else you’re running from here”—I send a pointed look around the bar—“I find that hard to believe.”
Luther gets this hard look on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“All I’m saying is that you’d really be helping me out by letting me help you out.”
“Yeah, but it’s not about me ignoring the licensing; it’s about the fire marshal. Do you even know how to make a dirty martini?”
Again, it takes me a second to try and figure out what that could be in bad-guy speech. A dirty … robbery? What would make it dirty though? Going Rambo and covering myself in mud first? “I’m a fast learner.”
“I don’t have time to teach right now.”
“Then throw me into the deep end.”
“I’m not risking my loyal customers going somewhere else.”
I huff and plant my elbows on the bar, which gets me an unimpressed look from Luther. “I really need this. I’ll do whatever”—I stress the word—“I have to in order to make them happy.”
“I’m not a pimp.”
“Really?” I throw a look toward a guy I’d—apparently wrongly—assumed was trading sex for money last week.
Luther scowls. “Really. Now, unless you know how to make a killer Bloody Mary, I’m busy.”
At least the Bloody Mary reference is an easy one to translate. Kill someone. He wants to know if I can kill someone. And I’m not proud of myself for my desperation or the next words that leave my mouth.
“Oh yeah. Bloody Marys. Do thoseallthe time.”
Luther stares at me. “What are the ingredients?”
Seems bold talking about it here, but if that’s what he wants. “Well, a gun, obviously. Bullets. Umm … should probably take a protein bar or something in case it takes a while?—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“A Bloody Mary!” I throw in a wink he can’t miss to make sure that he knows that I know we’re on the same page.
“I’m going to need you to stop talking.”
A spike of excitement hits me. “I have the job?”
“No.”
That chink in my positivity takes another hit. “Please. I fucking need this.”
“Take your Coke and stop bothering me.”
I snatch up my drink and take a sip, all that cold sugar helping flood the shitty feelings from me. It doesn’t last long though. I’d left this as a backup, thinking for sure that it would be an easy win. Do Iwantto rob or kill people for money? Not specifically, but I wouldn’t be the first person to do it, and I don’t have the luxury of morals while needing to make rent. Besides, I’m sure there are worse ways to earn a living, even if I can’t quite think of any right now.
My friends are sitting around a bar table across the room, so Itake my drink and make my dejected way over there. I wonder if I just show up and start cleaning the bar, whether Luther will kick me out or feel enough pity to pay me for the work.
I’m not above pity jobs.
I’ll take literally anything.
Arlie catches sight of me first. She’s my shadow queen, the future love of my life, and the woman I would do anything for. Mostly because I’m too terrified to say no, but, you know, incentive.
