Page 44 of Harbor

“I’m not here for a haircut,” Renzo said, shrugging. “I came to get Tuck’s money. I’m sure you don’t need me to explain who that is, considering he’s sent at least three guys around here to pass along the message that you’re late in repaying your debt. Three weeks late. Says you’re lucky he even let you go that long, Connie.”

“I-I don’t have—”

“Here’s the thing,” Renzo continued, not able to listen to the guy yammer or beg. As it was, he was already having enough difficulty with this whole fucking thing. He was not going to add to it by letting the man go on and on. He’d sleep with his guilt tonight, and maybe by the morning when he woke up, it wouldn’t be as bad. A useless hope, but one he had nonetheless. “… I’m gonna take whatever money you have in here, and whatever you might think is worth something to sell to get more money, and then I’m going to have to teach you a little lesson.”

The man’s face paled.

Yeah, fuck, get it together, Ren.

“Nothing that’ll hurt your hands, or arms,” Renzo said, keeping a close eye on Connie’s hands just in case, “as you’re still gonna have to work, right? But no worries, it’ll be enough that you’ll understand how this is going to work from here on out, Connie. That’s all Tuck wants—just for you to understand who is in control.”

More so that Ren understood …

Tuck didn’t just want the barber to realize who had control, but Renzo, too.

Fucking prick.

As Renzo expected Connie would do—they always did this same thing in these situations, never failed—he started rambling. It was simply a way to get more time. A way to try and figure something else out. Bargaining, if you will. Not that it was going to work. It never fucking worked.

“I don’t have any money here,” Connie said quickly, his voice cracking a bit. “A couple of hundred, nothing more. The safe in the back is empty. I can go to the bank, and grab some—”

“How about you show me the safe?” Renzo interjected calmly.

The man blinked.

Renzo knew then that he was lying.

Buying time.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

The safe might not have the full five-thousand plus interest that Connie owed, but it certainly had something. Renzo would get around to checking that in due time. He had a crow bar in the trunk of his car to pry it open because he seriously doubted a man who owed five G’s plus had a safe that was worth any kind of good money. Likely something from Walmart that would make due. Probably screwed to the fucking floor, too.

“Y-yeah, okay,” Connie mumbled. “Just … this way.”

The guy turned to set his broom aside, and then moved for the doorway that led into what looked like a back hallway or a small room. Renzo couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t all that interested in the space back there. He was more concerned with the way Connie leaned down as he entered the doorway like he was grabbing something just around the corner.

Tuck was a fucking idiot, Renzo thought. If Tuck honestly believed he could send three people here before sending Renzo without Connie deciding to do something to protect himself, he was a fucking fool.

Because that’s exactly what Connie had done.

Clearly.

The man spun around with a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, pointed right at Renzo. The problem was—this wasn’t the first job like this that Renzo had done. Sadly, it wasn’t going to be the last. His life had taught him not to get too comfortable where he could refuse a paying job, even if he didn’t like the details of said job.

He expected a fight.

He expected Connie to fight.

Renzo already had his gun pulled out from his back, racked the weapon, and his finger pulled tight on the trigger before Connie had properly gotten the threat in his sights. The bullet from Renzo’s gun plugged into the man’s forehead—a perfect shot, really. The body hit the tiled floor with a morbid thump.

He kept staring at the doorway where Connie had just been standing instead of the body on the floor. He didn’t look at the body when he needed to step over it to go in search of money, either.

It was easier this way.

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