text: The man smiles and shoves the burner cell back into the pocket of a smart rented suit. He does a double step, a little dance, then high fives a passing stranger. Carries on, a spring in his step, down the busy main road. Knavish city is a great place, a great place to get away with murder. Two bribes, and a small handling fee to a cleaner, and he was a free man. Priceless. Now time to get that other body out. It will be stinking by now. Nevermind the cats and rats. A cat, chasing a rat, holding a gnawed ear, in-between tiny teeth, had led to him renting this smart suit. Both a curse and a gift. He looked good. Mother would be proud of how he looked. Not what he did. Does Pant leg vibrates. The burner. "Good day you have gotten through to John, Peter, Charles or James. How can we assist?" "Timothy gave me this number," stutters a soft female voice. "And?" "Yes- sorry, 58008" "Hold please" the man looks at his text messages. A message from Tim: *code 58008, widowed mother, request assistance with father in law, payment R10000x2* The man turns the burner around, smiles, then holds the phone to his ear and speaks. "Any particular request for your inlaws passing?" "No... Just I need money. And him gone... He’s not bad... Just. I can't anymore." a stuttering voice explains. "Quick and painless, got it" The man sighs. He loves his job, it is his passion, but even a passion can be mundane at times. "I'll text you a location and time, leave photos, address, his basic daily schedule and first payment in cash, in a purple A5 envelope. Got it? "Yes, how do.." The man hangs up. He has no idea how she was going to fit in photos and 10k cash in an A5 envelope, but that was her problem. He smiles, high fives a stranger and continues his freedom strut down Knavish's main road. *** For Paul, the regret and shame went away after the first whiskey. Last night's hangover would need at least two. So he ordered another from the barman. The Rusty Tap was one of Knavish City's dingiest dive bars. No small feat in a city where such a commodity was in ample supply. The whiskey arrived and Paul immediately raised it to his lips for a sip, the strong odor giving a welcome reprieve from the stink of damp and sour beer. Smells that seem out of place at 10am on a Tuesday morning. "Bad day with the Pops today Paulie?" The barman asked over his shoulder as he rummaged through the fridge. "Same old Merv... Same old" Paul raised his glass and took another deep sip. It was the same old. Beginning the 21st week of deep cover in Knavish. He hated this city, but felt that he somehow belonged here. His cover seemed so thin that it was closer to him than his own skin. Besides, a washed up alcoholic banker was better than a washed up alcoholic cop. Cops had to drink at home in the mornings, bankers could do it in red neon lit dive bars. He got to frequent the "Rusty", and that was where he was going to get a lead on the Tinker. Paul was close. He could feel it in the remaining shred of humanity he had left. Every other part of him could deteriorate into futility but this singular goal kept him relevant. He would catch this piece of shit. One more hour and 3 more drinks and hopefully he would get his lead. The time was ready to make a move. The pieces had been put into motion and by God, he was going to make it work. *** A man stands with the crowd of onlookers. Blue lights reflect off sunglasses. "Fuck!" the man whispers under his breath. Big innocent eyes look up. "Bad word," say the big eyes. "Bad man." Replies the man, while pulling down glasses and giving a wink. He turns and walks away from the crowd, wondering if it was the smell or another hungry rat. Either way it should be alright. The dead don't say much anyway. An hour later a boy on a bike rides up to a man standing by a tree, wearing sunglasses. The boy pulls up his shirt, puts his hands down his pants and pulls out a small fat purple envelope. Looking around before he hands it to the man. "Good, exactly the same." Said the man, smelling the envelope. The man smiles.."You made it stinky, Did anyone see you make the swap?" "No sir," said the boy, rubbing is head, with a guilty look on his face "Jimmy helped me, Jimmy pretended to crash into the bench I ran to help him, then-" "I don't care." The man interrupts. He waves a crisp note in front of him. The boy snatches the note and rides off. The man makes his way out of the park, then takes a seat at a bus station bench. Opens the envelope again and takes out the four photos. Shifting through them, he looks for the small details. Lazy right eye, green eyes, short brown hair, balding, mid forties and a bent nose. Must have played sports in high school. Theory supported by the muscular shoulders. Rugby. Likely tight five. Height suggests prop or hooker. Death would need to be non-direct. A Planned accident maybe? He places photos back in the envelope and pulls out a handwritten note. The man scans down through the neatly written woman's writing. "KCB - Assistant Manager", no, "8 palm Ridge", no, "brother Carl", no, "regular day drinker at the rusty tap" yes. He places the letter back in the envelope and the envelope in his jacket pocket. He stands up and starts walking down town, wondering to himself if Mervin was working tonight. *** "Another one Paulie? " Merv stood with both hands on the bar facing Paul, cloth hung over his shoulder. Paul twisted the empty whiskey glass in his hands then looked up. "Maybe just a pale ale Merv" The barman gave him a knowing smile then went off to get his ale. Paul resisted the urge to look at his phone. That wasn't his routine. He sat here for 3 hours every day and concentrated on drinking. Consistency was key. He was sure he hadn't felt any vibration. He would have gotten a message if someone took the drop. The curiosity was killing him inside but he maintained his outer deflated mask. He would just have to check his phone in the toilets after this next drink. Four stools down to his left, Hepp was starting to doze off. Hepp was a sort of friend that Paul never spoke to but spent hours every day with. "Hepp, get your bill and go get some sleep!" Merv slammed the slip on the counter then walked over and handed Paul his pint. Hepp dropped a few notes on the counter, cursed something under his breath then stumbled out toward the door. Paul took a deep sip from his glass. It was probably time to pack it in soon. He could check up on that envelope tonight. Who wants a fucking purple envelope? "Watch where you're fucking going you fucking snowflake!" Hepp shouted as he pushed past someone entering the door. Paul didn't look up. Alcoholic bankers come to drink alone and prefer to concentrate on their solitude. He watched the scene unfold in distorted reflections on the draft tap in front of him. A young man in a smart suit jumped back, raising his hands in apology. "I'm sorry sir. A momentary lapse of judgment." the man said, with a small bow and an exaggerated waving of his hands. Hepp grunted as he disappeared out into the light. The newcomer perked up then seemed to skip over to the bar. "Mervin you old scallywag! It's been too long" he dumped himself down and swung on the stool to face the barman. "Fluffy..." Merv paused for a long moment and Paul couldn't decide what the bar man's absent expression meant about this new guy. "Has been a while. How are things?" "You know. Work hard, play hard, hope the world gives you a break. That sort of thing. Your finest cocktail good sir! Something with an umbrella if possible. I'm celebrating a new deal!" Paul already didn't like this guy. Too over the top. Too happy. People like that were always hiding something. Or maybe he just didn't know what normal happy people looked like anymore. "And another drink for my big friend over there! I'm celebrating" he gestured over to Paul who took the opportunity to look up from his drink. The newcomer, "Fluffy" was youngish looking. Maybe early 30s. A face slightly pocked but otherwise rather handsome. He wore a genuine looking smile and sported a scruffy blonde mop for hair. His dark brown eyes seemed to twinkle under the deep red bar lights. "Paulie likes to drink alone, Fluff. Leave him be" "Oh. I'm sorry big guy. I won't bother you anymore but please Merv, let me pick up his next one. When does this place start getting fun?" Merv laughed, "6 hours maybe?" *** No wonder that woman wants him dead. The man shifts on his bar stool. Mervin places a drink in front of him, wide eyes with raised eyebrows. Mervin wants something. What he wants is a mystery. Like the woman's G spot, it was there, but honestly no man really cared. This man didn't care. This man has a job to do. He needs to talk to the big man. Find out more. "Thanks" says Paul, lifting the free beer to his lips. "It's a pleasure buddy, do you-". "-Better on toast" interrupts Paul, beer still raised. "What? Better?" the young man stumbles out a reply. Paul shifts on his stool and turns to face the man, "You see Fluffy, certain things are just better on toast, like marmite or jam. You may say jam is better on bread. You would be wrong. What you are really craving is a jam donut. Jam bread is a weak substitute. I'm right on this, don't press it, and besides donuts are toasted." "I enjoy donuts, have not had one in-" "don't interrupt me-” As he was cut off again, he felt anger slap the pit of his stomach and boil towards clenched fists. But Paul continued. “-I have a point, certain things go better with certain situations. People are like this, some people are better at a party, a party being their toast. My toast would be by myself, I'm awesome alone, greatest ever, take my word for it. Now please piss off" Paul turns again in the seat and slumps over the bar. A fight at this point would ruin a good pay day, he needs to hold it together. The man needs to take a different approach. Music. The man stands up and looks across at Paul. Downs the last of his beer, slams the empty bottle down. Ignored. He walks across the bar towards the exit. Ignored. Stops by the entrance, turns and approaches the 60s style jukebox. Digs in his pocket. Pulls out three coins and feeds the machine, selects the song. The young man holding the jukebox on either side, puts his head down, bopping slowly to the rhythmic harmony of an acoustic guitar and the slow beat of Human touch, by Bruce Springsteen. The song achieves its intention, he is relaxed. The big guy still slumps over in his drink. But something has changed. He has ordered a drink for this unlikely companion. "Thank you" says the young man, sitting down, accepting his drink. "You're a bit young to be a fan of the boss, Fluffy," says Paul, turning a little, almost making eye contact. "Please call me Bruce. You have one bad fashion choice in this place and you will never live it down" says Bruce. He sips a drink to erase the memory. "My pops was a fan, rocked me to sleep singing ‘secret garden’ when i was a baby. Heck I was raised on ‘born in the USA’ blasting on Saturday nights, ‘leap of faith’ softly playing on Sunday mornings" "Your father sounds like my kinda man," says Paul, fully turned, making eye contact. "He died when I was twelve" says Bruce, with another memory erasing sip. "I'm sorry." "Don't be, he is ‘down by the river’, ‘reliving his glory days’" "Never heard death put better" "He told me that, before he went. Cancer." Bruce goes silent, then shakes his head "In fact, he told me anything in life could be expressed through a Springsteen song. Try me, I'm here all night.” "How's one for ungrateful patrons" interrupts Mervin as he places two fresh drinks. "Pay me my money down" Paul and Bruce say in unison. They burst into laughter. "what about a washed up old man tired of life," says Paul, finishing off the old beer "i am sorry, I did warn you I was better off alone" Bruce gives Paul a strong look, a little smile appears. Bruce gets up, walks over to the jukebox again, puts in three coins, selects a song. The up beat music of dancing in the dark starts playing. Bruce turns and starts to dance. *** This Bruce kid wasn't so bad. A bit eccentric, but he made Paul laugh. Maybe it was the booze. It definitely was the booze. Bruce bobbed, swayed and twisted across the room. Paul took another sip and decided to give into the booze a bit. “Get this kid another gay drink Merv. On me” Merve smiled and shook his head. Moments later, another pink drink was waiting on the bar counter. The kid was really letting loose now. Unsurprisingly, he was a great dancer. Bruce waltzed over to the bar and picked up the cocktail, gulping down half in one swig. There was still a beer bottle in his other hand. “Thanks, Big Uncle Paulie '' he shouted over the music while unbuttoning his suit jacket. He blew a kiss to Merv who winced. Then he turned away with his jacket flaring out. The movement made Paul a little dizzy. The black of the jacket, then the white of the shirt. Black, white, black, white to the step of the beat. Black, white, black, white, black, purple white- Paul's smile immediately flatlined. His eyes narrowed and his heart rate spiked. That flash of purple bulging from the inner jacket pocket was the single most sobering site Paul had ever seen. And the kid noticed. He stopped dancing and looked dead on at Paul, starting to say something. In a split second Paul decided. He stood and reached into his jacket for his glock-17. He saw the kids arm blur in a throwing motion just before a beer bottle slammed into his face making everything go black. Purple. There he was on his back with the kid on top hitting him. “Fuck him” Paul said to himself. He could take his punches. Paul ignored the hits and finished pulling out the gun, pointed it into the kid’s chest and fired. Paul locked eyes with Bruce and saw the kid’s gaze go from a look of determined rage to a glazed confusion. Then his attacker slumped over to the side making a faint whining noise. Paul stood, dizzy and nauseous. The vision in his left eye was gone and his right was seeing double. But he had got him. He slowly felt peace and happiness flow over him like a hot shower. Then Paul turned to see Merv pointing a Remmington 870 shotgun at him. He felt the impact just before he heard the thunder of the shot. Again he was on his back, the world slowly fading to blackness. *** Merv stepped over to the carnage. Fluffy was bleeding out in the fetal position against the counter. Paul was on his back. His breathing was slowing with each intake, but he still seemed to have a silly smile on his face. “You got close. I'll give you that. Closer than anyone else, Paul” They made eye contact. “Thanks for getting rid of Fluff. He was too reckless. I guess if you want a contract done right you do it yourself. I'm sure you feel the same... But fuck you Paul. Now I have to move to a new shop. I've been here 20 years” Merv shrugged and lowered the shotgun. “I just want you to know that you didn't get the guy. You failed” The subsequent look on Paul's face made it all worth it. “And that's why i do this” *** A dying man was crying. His life slipping away, like shit in a flushed toilet. Fuck Merv. Fuck him. Fuck. The man sees a pistol on the ground. Near. Fuck Merv. Fuck him.