“Do you want the choice?” I finally ask him, feeling against my back the two weapons I always have when I’m ready for a job.
In the sheath is the knife, and in my back pocket is the syringe filled with poison that will end him in seconds. I touch both, hoping he chooses the easy and clean way. I don’t want to make a mess with my friend. We’ve been through too much together. He’s the man who taught me the restraint I use daily, the one who I learned most of my skills from.
As I wait for him to answer, I can see the times we worked side by side, taking lives like no one’s business. He was ruthless at one point in his life, and I owe pretty much all of my successes to him.
“I can’t go out like a pussy.” He says on a deep sigh, his head dropping down, his gaze at the blacktop below. “The family wants a lesson made of me. So do what I taught you to do.”
“Gustapo.” I say, staring him down, furrowing my brows at him for making me do this. “Think of Christine, of Becky, of the grandbabies.”
“Damien. You know how we lived. I need to die the same way. For my legacy.”
“Fuck your legacy, man.”
“Do it. Make a mess. Show no mercy.”
“No. I’m making the choice for you.” I all but squeak as I wrap my fingers around the syringe and squeeze it.
“If you don’t make a goddamned fucking disaster of me, and let me go out like a damned king, I’ll haunt you forever.” He says, lighting another smoke, leaning against Luna, staring me down with the conviction of a man that has made up his mind for the final time.
Fuck.
Chapter Seven
“I’m sorry.”
It’s the last two words I quietly speak to my old friend as I plunge the knife up into his mouth and throat from under his chin. It’s so sharp it slides right in, severing the back of his tongue, going through his spinal cord and the base of his skull. It’s an instant death, and his final raspy breath comes before his eyes fall closed and he slumps forward onto the blade more.
He deserved instant in my opinion. His wife needs to hear that he didn’t feel anything. But the family, they will see and hear something different. They’ll listen to my story of how valiant he fought, and how gruesome it was to take his life.
Desecration of a corpse isn’t anything new to me, sometimes you need to chop and slice to discard of the evidence. This time though, I need to do it to create the illusion that it was a painful and slow death, just as he wanted it to be.
I brought us here to this dark and quiet lot on purpose. I wanted a spot where I could take my time and do what I need to without the fear of prying eyes and onlookers seeing me do what I feared I would have to.
His body leans against mine, the blade still in his neck, the blood pouring from the wound down my hand and arm, dripping off my jacketed elbow with quiet little splatters as it hits the ground. I hold him tightly, as if we were in a loving embrace while I slowly withdraw the knife, making a wet squelching sound.
“Oh Gustapo. My friend.” I say as I slide the still dripping blade back into its sheath and toss his corpse over my shoulder. “Let’s finish this, so you won’t haunt me.”
He’s gotten a little heavier in his old age, and I need to take an extra step to keep from tipping over as he lands on me and folds over to my back, with his head and arms dangling like a ragdoll.
Looking around the lot, I find what I need in the back, barely in view of the one security lamp. A line of cement barricades, like what they use to make cattle chutes on the highway, line the fence.
“That’ll work.” I grunt, carrying him while I push Luna over into the dark corner by the short wall of concrete.
I could cut him into pieces or filet his skin off, but anyone with half a brain would know that was post mortem. I need something that looks violent and personal before death.
“Death to my friend by the one love of my life.” I say, dropping him onto his ass and propping him up against the barricade on the far left. “Forgive me Luna. I promise you’ll get a bath on the way home.
The motorcycle screams loudly as I fire her up, and back her up to right in front of my friend. Kicking his legs apart, I push Luna back even further until her rear wheel rests against the crotch of his pants.
Getting on her, I squeeze the brake with my right hand and hold the clutch with my left, using my foot to put her in first gear. The throttle twists back towards me and I gently let out the clutch until the rear wheel begins to spin.
It’s instant how the rubber of the tire catches the fabric of his khakis and rips them from his body, tossing shreds of the tan fabric into the air like confetti. I rev Luna harder and release more pressure from the clutch making her spin faster and louder.
Her engine screams and a burst of blue flames eject from her exhaust as the tire grinds against his body, making it jump and flail even though there’s no life left in it. Blood splatters all over my back and the bike, shooting up into the air and raining back down like a crimson storm. I can hear it splattering on my helmet, and the wet, disgusting sounds of his flesh becoming nothing more than liquefied goo from the friction.
It’s foul, messy, disgusting, but it’s doing the trick as the tire cuts him apart, spreading the destruction up his body as I push back slowly and steadily. When the tire catches the bottom of his jaw, I can hear the bones in his face shatter and feel them pelt my jacket.
“Jesus Christ.” I mutter to myself as I rev faster, and release the clutch the rest of the way, annihilating him and the evidence of a single clean stab.
