Twenty-some Minutes Later

“I think this might be worse than upstairs,” Jacks says to me. He hands me a fresh bottle. I take the cigarette from my lips and down half the liquid inside. Even though Jacks has his hand out expecting the bottle back, I take my handkerchief from my back pocket and replace it with the booze. Jacks eyeballs me for a second before he realizes that my day’s been harder than his.

“At least he talked.” I attempt to wipe the gore from my chest with the hanky. There’s a lot more than I imagined, so I only succeed in moving it around. Who would’ve thunk that there was so much liquid in the human body? I guess Jacks’s guys would have. That’s what they’re there for.

“What’s the scoop?” Jacks asks. I take the bottle from my back pocket and take another long pull. I fill Jacks in on the letter I received. I tell him about my morning, waking up to find a night of passion lost to the darkness of my drunken state, and about the confrontation with the goons. I motion toward what’s left of the upper half of Jeff, still taped to the chair.

“That guy,” I say, polishing off the bottle and tossing it aside, “claims he was sent here by a guy named Bruiser.”

“Does that name ring any bells?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Did you get a last name?”

I shake my head. “Jeff said that he was part of an outside party. He said that the ringleader of his little gang was real chummy with Bruiser.”

Jacks opens his mouth but before he can ask, I interrupt him.

“He couldn’t give me a God-given name,” I tell him. Jacks shuts his mouth. “Jeff said that they just call this guy Bruiser. Supposedly, he works at a gym across the tracks.”

“He must be a great guy,” Jacks chimes in.

“I’m certain he’s terribly charming.” I continue, “Regardless, for one reason or another, Bruiser wanted me dead. Jeff said that he didn’t know why. I doubt that he did. I believe him.”

Jacks narrows his eyes at me. I know that look. I’ve been on the receiving end of that look more times than I can count.

“I believe him because it’s hard to lie when you have a pair of vice grips holding your testicles.”

“No further explanation needed,” Jacks tells me. There’s a pause as he lights up a cigarette. “So, what’s the next step?”

I walk to the shelf and place my gear in the toolbox. I close the lid and pick it up.

“My next step is to go upstairs and clean this shit off of me.” I walk toward the basement door. “Then I’m going to go pay Bruiser a visit.”

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Jacks says. “I still owe you for taking care of Maise.”

How could I forget? The last job I did for Jacks, protecting a hooker from a drug dealer, left me eating through a screen for a month.

“Thanks, but the way I see it, this is between me and these guys. I’ll keep you posted.” When I get to the doorway I pause, a realization coming over me. “This is the first time in a while that I’ve been on this side of a contract.”

Jacks laughs. “How does it feel?”

I mull it over. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. I’m still thinking it over.”