Again John nodded. His eyes were pale and faded. There was no life left in them. He may have been a stone cold killer in his younger days but now he just looked like a tired old man, waiting to die.
“So this is how we’re going to proceed,” Kelton said in conversational tones. “I’m going to back off and give you a little space. But that doesn’t mean you have the freedom to do as you wish. Don’t make any noise that can be heard outside of this room, or make any quick moves unless you want to get shot in the kneecap. You ever been shot in the kneecap?”
“Once.”
“Then you know how it feels,” Kelton said. “And I assume you’re smart enough to want to avoid that particular pain again.”
“You got that right,” John said. His speech and mannerisms said he was fully resigned to his fate. Had been for quite some time as far as Kelton could tell. He almost felt sorry for the old man.
“But as long as you don’t do anything stupid, you won’t have to worry about feeling any pain,” Kelton said. “So don’t do anything stupid.”
“Got it.”
Kelton threw the covers off John, revealing the older man’s hairy body and allowing him to see John’s hands. He was sleeping in boxers and a white T-shirt. His ample gut was hanging out of his shirt.
Kelton pulled the SigPro back and sat down in a chair he’d brought over near the bed before waking John. He kept the gun in his hand but set it on his right knee. It was still pointed in John’s direction but not at any specific body part.
“Sit up against he headboard but do it slowly,” Kelton said. “And keep your hands on your chest.”
John shifted his body so his upper half was sitting up.
“Comfortable?” Kelton said.
“Reasonably so,” John said.
“Good,” Kelton said. “So, now that we have the ground rules set, what do you say we get on with the show.” He took a moment to clear his throat. “You do know why I’m here, right?”
“It’s not too hard to figure out.”
“But what you probably don’t understand is who sent me,” Kelton said. “Am I right? Because if I was with the mob, then I wouldn’t have bothered waking you up and talking to you, I just would have killed you in your sleep. And if I was a cop, I wouldn’t have come alone in the middle of the night. I would have come to the front door nice and early with a couple of my friends.”
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t really care who sent you,” John said.
“You’re not even the least bit curious?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On if the person who sent you told you not to kill me.”
“No, I’m afraid he didn’t.”
“Then no, I’m not the least bit curious,” John said. “I figure someone out there decided that my debt to society wasn’t paid when I cut my deal with the feds.”
“Fair enough,” Kelton said, allowing himself a tiny smile. Despite knowing better, he actually kind of admired John Destrado, almost even liked the old man. Sure he was a stone cold killer, but at least he was a man and not a sniveling baby like everyone else these days. He was old school, just like Kelton himself.
“So are we going to get this over with or what?” Destrado said.
“Is there anything else you want to say first?” Kelton asked. “A little prayer, anything like that?”
“Nah,” John said. “I’m not going to insult the man upstairs by asking for forgiveness. I did what I did, now it’s time to pay the piper. In this life and the one after.”
“I couldn’t have put it any better myself,” Kelton said.
And then he stood up, aimed the gun, and shot John Destrado in the center of the forehead.
5
Kelton was drinking in his customary spot in the Garage the next night when Walter walked in carrying a small blue duffel bag. He sat down across the table from Kelton and set the bag down at Kelton’s feet.
“The rest of your payment is in there,” Walter said.
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” Walter said. “So how did it go?”
“Without a hitch.”
“And I trust my information was good?”
“It was perfect,” Kelton said. “How did you come about it, by the way?”
“Oh, I have a few friends in high places,” Walter said. “Friends who view the world the same way as I do.”
“And how do you view it?”
“Just like you do,” Walter said. “With a heavy dose of skepticism about the way it’s run.”
Kelton nodded absently and took a drink from his beer. “You mind if I ask you something?”
“Be my guest.”
“Why me?”
Walter gave him an innocent look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you could have gotten anyone to do this for you,” Kelton said. “With the information you had, you could have hired any jackass off the street to kill Destrado. I want to know why you picked me.”
“Let’s just say it was a practice run,” Walter said. “A test of your moral willingness.”
“You mean you have something else for me to do? Something more worthy of my capabilities?”
“Not right this moment,” Walter said. “But I’ve got a couple things in the works that I’ll probably need some help with. In a couple months or so, I would say. Will you be up for it?”
“I can’t make any promises,” Kelton said. “But I’ll certainly listen to what you have to say.”
“That’s all a man can ask for,” Walter said. He stood up and offered his hand. Kelton shook it.
“Until next time,” Walter said.
“You know where to find me.”
“I do indeed.”
They broke their grip. Walter turned and walked out of the Garage. A couple minutes later Kelton finished his beer and did the same.
#####
About the author
Brian Springer has been writing for ten years, most of which were spent managing a large brick and mortar chain bookstore in between stints as a financial planner and playing in the Spanish Professional Baseball League. He holds a Masters in Business Administration from the University of San Diego and currently lives in Temecula, California with his wife Kimberley and their two children.
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Table of Contents
Wet Work - A Greg Kelton Short Story
Midpoint
Wet Work - A Greg Kelton Short Story Page 3