The Dinner Guest - Chapter 28: The Assassin's Story

Inhale that sweet stuff, I thought to myself as I took a long drag off my Doral. The flame was getting dangerously close to my filter, but there was plenty left. I snuffed it out on the side of the jewelry shop and slipped it into my pocket for later. I took a likewise final swig of my Natty Light tallboy and hid it behind a trash can. There were a couple drops worth saving and every little bit helps me keep the buzz.

It all helped with the pain. Unofficially, I painted my bosses' slum land tax writeoffs. Even more unofficially, I was a contract killer with a conscience on retainer for a sociopath.

My name is N..., well, if I told you that, I'd have to kill you, too.

You can call me Agent N.

I let out a long cough and walked into the building. It was your standard crappy jewelry shop, specializing in moving family heirlooms from jonesing meth heads. A couple dollars would give them enough for a hit and they'd be happy. Grandma back at home would cry when she found her wedding ring missing, but not everyone wins. It didn't bother my boss, as long as one thing happened.

The Jew got his cut.

I walked past the displays and the tiny men with yamikas standing behind them. My paint stained clothes stood out like a laugh track on Schindler's List, but they knew who I was. I sauntered to the back where a large Israeli was guarding a door.

"Yo, the boss man wants to see me, whitey," I attempted to give him a handshake, but he was unfamiliar with my Negro greetings. He tried to slap my pound and then switched to the pound when I went back to the slap.

"Sorry..." he muttered. It was sad, this large, strapping, imposing figure was tripped up by his heritage.

"It all gravy, dawg. Shit, if we were all black there wouldn't be enough white women to go around." I laughed at my own joke. "Man, you want me to wash your car?"

He declined and threw the door open. I told him I was really good at it, but he was unconvinced. I pulled my rag out from my back pocket, but that didn't sway him.

"The boss is waiting, you better go back there," he told me.

I could take a hint. I told him maybe next time and he said maybe. I left him at the door and went inside. The door shut behind me with a loud bang. There was a hallway in front of me with another door at the far end. Windows lined the hallway my right side and I looked in briefly as I passed.

Rows upon rows of tables stretched out with dozens of little Asian children chained to seats. They shaped Matzah balls in their tiny yellow hands under the watchful eye of a Jewish man pacing among them. I didn't know this one's name, but he was imposing. His long white beard stretched down his chest, a contrast to his black clothing.

As I walked by, he grabbed an Asian by the hair.

"This Matzah ball isn't kosher enough! What do you think we're making here? Eggrolls?"

He pulled out his whip and gave him several sturdy lashes. He made eye contact with me and only smiled. I was more than happy to make it to the door.

I opened it slowly and saw The Jew was at work. He had a guy tied down on a table in the middle of the room. There was one bright light hanging straight down overhead.

"So, I'll ask you again, what did you tell the cops?" he said as he walked around the table. The guy didn't look in good shape. They had been at this a while.

"Boss, I swear, I didn't tell them anything!" he screamed.

The Jew laughed a little.

"If I had no problem killing Jesus, I won't think twice about killing you. Tile his genitals!"

He snapped his fingers and another jew stepped out from the shadows with a large piece of marble tile. The man started screaming.

The Jew noticed me and gestured me to follow him. We left the man screaming and entered an office off the side.

I'd been in there many times before, but you never get used to seeing so many skulls. They're arranged all around the place, a morbid ambiance even by my standards as a professional killer.

He sat down behind his desk and offered me the seat across from him.

"My sun-blackened friend, how are you?" he kicked his feet up on the desk.

"Boss, I'm good, I'm good," I answered.

"Hard at work painting?" he asked.

We both looked at each other and laughed pretty long. Another coughing spell hit me. When I regained myself, I asked him what was going on.

"My diamond operation has caught the attention of the cops, my sources tell me," he said. "This one out here wasn't any use, but I have information."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to take him out," he slid a picture across the desk at me.

It looked like a dog, but also like a robot.

"His name's Abito, he's an intergalatic robot dog cop and he's poking around."

"Boss, I don't know about killing no cop," I said uneasily.

"I'm willing to offer more compensation. You'll never have to worry about bus fare again, and of course the other standard rate."

He pulled out a briefcase and flipped it open. It was full of packs of Doral. I had a bad feeling, but I couldn't resist.

"You have a deal."