"Jon, I donʻt wanna be here, itʻs a Sunday and Iʻm at home watching the game and the contractor calls and tells me that you owe him $4,000 and you keep saying youʻre going to meet him but you never show. Jon, just tell me that you have $4,000 on you right now, otherwise, I have to do something and thatʻs really gonna fuck up my Sunday."
Never fails, this life never fails. Every time I have even the slightest moment to myself, something always comes up. Never fucking fails. Jon Hauser was a small-time nobody who owned a chop shop and made small-time money. He was into my client for four large over a gambling debt and didn't realize how in over his head he really was. He was good at hiding and misdirecting and that's how I got the contract. My client had a hard time finding Jon and so he called in his marker on the only Sunday which I had to myself.
Fuck.
I'm a person who deals in the unexpected, not the inevitable, not the habitual, but the unexpected. Where would anyone in their right mind be the first thing on a Sunday morning? Either sleeping in late, at church, the beach, or at home. Where would Jon feel the most at home? Well, at his chop shop of course. That's where I found him, lounging in his cushy swivel chair, playing the market online. His eyes were ablaze with excitement and his mouth agape with wonder. When I walked up on him he literally jumped up out of the chair and farted at the same time. Fucking tuna sandwich, who knew that was gassy? I had to rap him upside his temple in order to get his attention, that's when he calmed down and took a seat. He was sobered and clear-minded now that we could talk rationally. Well, I know I could.
"Please tell me you have the money Jon," I wasn't begging him so much as I was really hoping he did have the cash.
"I do," Jon said quietly. "Can I reach over here in my desk drawer and get it? I won't try anything."
"It'll just be bad for you if you do Jon, you know me, you know how I am," I reminded him.
He removed a thick standard envelope very slowly from the top drawer of his desk and slowly moved his swivel chair toward me. It was money. I took one step toward him and put the nozzle of my gun right up against his eye as he handed me the envelope. I stuffed it in my coat pocket and took one step back. Jon regarded me closely before he said anything. "You know I'm fucked right?"
"You're fucked but you get to live," I assured him.
"No, my wife finds out that $4,000 is missing from her non-profit account, she's going to flip her shit," Unbelievable, this dick brain broke down and cried.
"I don't care Jon, and I'm not gonna listen to excuses and sob stories. Better that she flips her shit than to have your brains spread out all over her nice wallpaper," I left the chop shop and tried to walk out to my car but first I had to navigate through a bunch late model Toyotas in different states of being. The idiot comes chasing after me with a shotgun. I remove a little Ti-leaf bundle from my coat pocket and I throw it at him and it lands square on his chest. A puff of black smoke goes up and Jon drops to his hands and knees. He's choking and gagging as thick sheets of black mucus start to ooze out of his mouth and nose.
"This is just to slow you down Jon, but please; if I ever have to see you again it will be much worse than what you're going through now, believe me. You're out four large but you've got a long life ahead of you if you just stay under the radar and mind your own business." He could barely breathe but he nodded his head. That's a good sign, that means that the mini-black mucus curse will soon be over. I kneel down next to him and remove my switchblade from my other coat pocket. "Now this I have to do because you made it personal, you tried to shoot me. You're the one at fault but you come after me and you try to shoot me? A real man would accept responsibility for his wrongdoings, but not you, you try to kill me and all because of what? You're afraid of your wife? I hope you learn a valuable lesson from this."
I grabbed the top of his ear and pulled it toward me with my left hand, with my right I sliced it off in one complete motion. Sure he screamed, sure he cried and rolled around on the ground in pain. Sure there was blood everywhere. Cutting off a finger or a two is no good because he has to work to provide for his family, but cutting the ear off?
That's mercy.
.........................
Anyway, my client got his money back and I got a personal souvenir to add to my collection. Alright, let's see if I can finish out this Sunday with some semblance of quiet and relaxation by turning off all devices. Shower first, food second, and I step out to the rattan chairs on the lanai. It's a good view of the courtyard below, but the overall view of Waikiki beach is rare because I can actually see the water. The chair next to me is occupied, as usual, considering my job and how very secure I am to the point of paranoia, he always manages to find a way in.
"I know it's your off day, but I thought we could talk," Boy offered.
"Well," I replied as I took a seat next to him. "At least its a talk and not a job."
"Not right away," Boy smiled.
"But soon?" I more confirmed than asked.
"Soon," he nodded his head. "Soon."
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