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I wanted to hear them both until I grew tired enough to silence them all at once.
A pool of their blood mixed below them as they sat bound in tight ropes. The kind that would bruise and mark their wrists from their struggles. The same way the body of the dead women bore.
“We didn’t know she was yours. Please! I beg you!”
I shot his knee cap.
“Ahhhrr!” He sobbed and thrashed in pain, causing the feeble chair to wobble.
“I don’t think you are understanding.” I lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and put it out on his body before I placed the bloody butt in my pocket. “Don’t beg.”
The smell of burning flesh filled the tiny square kitchen. Its foul smell matched the filth they lived in. Empty cups of instant noodle soup were scattered throughout the floor. Trash overflowed over the can, and not one single dish had been washed. The rodents had grown accustomed to our presence, to the screams, and now waited patiently for the food we were preparing.
Blood decorated the aged lace curtains in red polka dots over the sink. Grimy vinyl floors bathed in warm blood, and as I looked around the space painted in my favorite color with a smile, I liked the new updates to the home. It had become one of the messiest jobs in a while. They would be left here, nothing would be cleaned, and I still wouldn’t be tied to it. There was always a risk, which was why we didn’t work this way anymore. Why we left with no trace, but this was meant for a message.
The passed-out body had grown pale, relaxed, and immobile. Perhaps he finally bled out. With a quick stare at Arlo and a nod to the ash-colored body, Arlo inched closer and pressed his gloved fingers to his neck.
One second, two seconds, three seconds…
His name was Connor. Born and raised by a mother who cared more for a needle than the endless children she birthed. Like many of his siblings, he’d run straight for the life on the streets. Quick cash, endless highs, sexual diseases, and crime.
Four seconds, five seconds, six seconds…
Life wasn’t meant to be easy. Yet, no one taught you that.
Seven seconds, eight seconds…
That was how his curly, strawberry-blonde hair ended up hanging down his face without a bounce. His sunless skin ashy of color, and his silver-dipped chains doused with his own blood.
Nine seconds…
Arlo shook his head.
Ten seconds.
That’s how long it took to reassure his life had left his body, but that was never enough, not for me. Unlike New York, Imadesuretheir souls were banished.
Arlo stepped aside, and I raised my gun, enjoying the weight of the six bullets I had left in the clip, and pulled the trigger.
“Ahh! No, Con!”
Huh, I guess they were friends.
Taking a step closer to whose heart was still beating, I placed my gun in its holster and looked down on him. Agwe, a boy of Jamaican descent whose family worked hard and had tried time after time to keep him off the streets. Instead, America made it simple, cool to fall into the gutters. To steal even from his blood. A life he took joy in.
“I’m feeling merciful.” I stretched my cracked knuckles, and Arlo smirked behind him.
“Please, anything. I would doanything!” Slobber, tears, and snot ran uncontrollably. Pathetic.
“I have a question.”
His head shook vigorously, and his cry intensified.
“Man, I don’t know anything!”
Yeah, I’d gathered that much, but his sin would still be punished.
“Answer me, and I’ll make your death quick.”
