deaf?” The man did not answer. He just kept staring the fucking stare that sent a chill through King. He fought against it, but his eyes shifted to the pillow on the unmade bed. The man walked to the head of the bed, rolled back the pillow, and picked up the manila envelope. He opened it, studying its contents.
“Oh, God,” the woman next door yelled. “Harder, baby. Harder. You just about there, sugar.”
“We want more money,” King said. “Fifteen thousand.”
“Bring it, sugar. Harder. Bring it harder.”
The man rummaged through the envelope. “You did not get all the items.”
King laughed. “Are you shitting me, man? The guy came home! Shit, you’re lucky we got that much stuff. Cole was in the goddamn bedroom when the guy walked in. So, fuck yeah, that’s all, and fuck if I care. Fifteen thousand. We need to go somewhere for a while and let this die down.”
The man shoved the envelope inside his jacket, returning his hands to his pockets. “I didn’t ask you to kill anyone,” he said matter-of-factly. “It was not your assignment.”
“Now, honey. Now. Come on. Come on, sugar.”
King was stunned. “You are a piece of fucking work. My assignment? This ain’t the military, shithead, I don’t take orders from nobody no more.” He pointed at the envelope for emphasis. “We got what we could, nearly everything. We did more than our assignment. We did a hell of a lot more. We didn’t sign on for killing nobody.”
“You don’t want to go back to jail, is that it?”
“Fuck no, I don’t want to go back. I go back, I go back forever. I ain’t going back, and not for killing nobody. They’ll kill us for that.”
“No,” the man said. “They won’t.”
King shook his head. “News flash, Einstein. This here is a capital murder state. They’ll kill us. They’ll say we murdered him during the commission of a felony, and we’ll get the juice in the arm, and lights out, Martha.”
The bullet ripped through the leather jacket without making a sound. King fell backward. The woman next door moaned.
“Yes. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes.”
The man removed the gun from his pocket and stood over King’s body. Blood oozed from the dime-size hole in his forehead. He pulled a watch from the envelope and dropped it onto the carpet next to King’s body. Then he opened the green plastic garbage bag and scattered blood-stained clothes about the room. Finished, he checked the door handle to the adjacent room and determined it to be locked. He stepped back and planted the heel of his black boot just above the lock. The cheap wood crashed inward, the force driving the doorknob through the Sheetrock on the other side. Two shots rang out from inside the room, causing the man to duck behind the doorjamb. He waited a beat, then swung the gun around the frame, his gaze sweeping the room.
Cole sat with his feet dangling out the bathroom window. He fired another wild shot over his shoulder, dropped his shoes and clothes out the window, and jumped. The man hurried to the window. Cole rolled off the roof of a car onto the ground, looked up, and fired another shot before limping across the highway and disappearing into the darkness.
The man turned from the window and hurried back across the motel, stepping over King and pulling open the door. The man who had been receiving sexual accolades from the woman in the room next door stood on the landing, barefoot, shirt open, struggling to zip his fly. His unfastened belt buckle dangled below a large, hairless belly.
The gunman aimed head high. The man froze, hands on his zipper, eyes wide. The color rushed from his face, leaving him a jaundiced yellow from the dull glow of the landing lights. The gunman smiled, raised a finger to his lips, and shook his head slowly. Then he turned and walked toward the staircase at the end of the landing.
11
T HE EIGHT CONCRETE stairs shook with each step. The handrail rattled in his grip. The motel was classic construction from
“Oh, God,” the woman next door yelled. “Harder, baby. Harder. You just about there, sugar.”
“We want more money,” King said. “Fifteen thousand.”
“Bring it, sugar. Harder. Bring it harder.”
The man rummaged through the envelope. “You did not get all the items.”
King laughed. “Are you shitting me, man? The guy came home! Shit, you’re lucky we got that much stuff. Cole was in the goddamn bedroom when the guy walked in. So, fuck yeah, that’s all, and fuck if I care. Fifteen thousand. We need to go somewhere for a while and let this die down.”
The man shoved the envelope inside his jacket, returning his hands to his pockets. “I didn’t ask you to kill anyone,” he said matter-of-factly. “It was not your assignment.”
“Now, honey. Now. Come on. Come on, sugar.”
King was stunned. “You are a piece of fucking work. My assignment? This ain’t the military, shithead, I don’t take orders from nobody no more.” He pointed at the envelope for emphasis. “We got what we could, nearly everything. We did more than our assignment. We did a hell of a lot more. We didn’t sign on for killing nobody.”
“You don’t want to go back to jail, is that it?”
“Fuck no, I don’t want to go back. I go back, I go back forever. I ain’t going back, and not for killing nobody. They’ll kill us for that.”
“No,” the man said. “They won’t.”
King shook his head. “News flash, Einstein. This here is a capital murder state. They’ll kill us. They’ll say we murdered him during the commission of a felony, and we’ll get the juice in the arm, and lights out, Martha.”
The bullet ripped through the leather jacket without making a sound. King fell backward. The woman next door moaned.
“Yes. Oh, yes. Yes. Yes.”
The man removed the gun from his pocket and stood over King’s body. Blood oozed from the dime-size hole in his forehead. He pulled a watch from the envelope and dropped it onto the carpet next to King’s body. Then he opened the green plastic garbage bag and scattered blood-stained clothes about the room. Finished, he checked the door handle to the adjacent room and determined it to be locked. He stepped back and planted the heel of his black boot just above the lock. The cheap wood crashed inward, the force driving the doorknob through the Sheetrock on the other side. Two shots rang out from inside the room, causing the man to duck behind the doorjamb. He waited a beat, then swung the gun around the frame, his gaze sweeping the room.
Cole sat with his feet dangling out the bathroom window. He fired another wild shot over his shoulder, dropped his shoes and clothes out the window, and jumped. The man hurried to the window. Cole rolled off the roof of a car onto the ground, looked up, and fired another shot before limping across the highway and disappearing into the darkness.
The man turned from the window and hurried back across the motel, stepping over King and pulling open the door. The man who had been receiving sexual accolades from the woman in the room next door stood on the landing, barefoot, shirt open, struggling to zip his fly. His unfastened belt buckle dangled below a large, hairless belly.
The gunman aimed head high. The man froze, hands on his zipper, eyes wide. The color rushed from his face, leaving him a jaundiced yellow from the dull glow of the landing lights. The gunman smiled, raised a finger to his lips, and shook his head slowly. Then he turned and walked toward the staircase at the end of the landing.
11
T HE EIGHT CONCRETE stairs shook with each step. The handrail rattled in his grip. The motel was classic construction from
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