The air was damp as my blood-soaked shirt. The tie I was wearing was wrapped around this asshole’s neck, his eyes popping out. His friend lay next to him limp. He was the first. He was the closest.
They surrounded me. I was led at gunpoint to this car service station, left abandoned during the recession. These guys have been known to use it as a location for enemy disposal, with chains for hanging and a large tub for dismemberment.
They knocked me around. All seven of them took their turns, but one guy did most. Small guy. Angry that I told him he looked like a garden gnome with his potbelly and rosy cheeks. He took most offense to the latter. The man in charge laughed. He kept calling the gnome “Puke” and condescendingly speaking to him. It fueled his strikes.
When they were done, they sat me in a rickety chair and tied my wrists.
“Do you know who I am?” asked a suited man.
“Yes,” I spit blood, “Remy.”
“Yes…you are Terrance Kane.”
Our eyes met.
“Yes…Terrance. I’ve checked you out. A musician. Puke saw you play at the lounge. He used to play, before his injury. He wasn’t talented, but it gave him joy.”
“The piano is a hard instrument,” I smiled at the gnome.
“Do you know why you’re here, Terrance?”
“No, I do not.”
“You’ve been asking questions. Some, you shouldn’t be asking. Some, dangerous to be asking,” said Remy. He stood, “How do you know about my casino job?”
“I heard someone robbed The Bulge, I wanted to meet.”
“Well, now you have. What do you want?”
I whispered something.
“I can’t hear him. Make him speak up.”
The gnome walked over and hit me, “Speak up!”
My razor blade slid from my watch to my palm, “I have to be quiet.”
“What? Why?” Asked Remy.
“In case they hear.”
Puke struck me again. Remy quelled him by raising a palm. “Get him up.”
Puke came over to me.
“Do you mind if I call you Terrance?” Asked Remy.
“Some call me that,” I spit more blood.
“What else are you called?”
He didn’t know my moniker. He didn’t know I was there on purpose.
“Oh, shi-” started the gnome. I slit his wrist open and snapped his neck. His gun was tucked into his back. I took it, shot three more of the others. The other three pulled their guns, I was already moving. I punched the man on the left in the throat and kicked him to the one in the middle. As they tumbled, I shot the third’s eye. One of them tackled me. The other ran to help. We all struggled and fought. I killed them both.
Remy stayed seated, smoking his cigar. “What else are you called?” He asked.
“I am Tek.”
“Ah. You’re not what I thought you’d look like.”
“So I hear,” I put my gun to his head. “Chance says hello.”
I pulled the trigger.
