They met in Strega Cafe, twenty minutes before closing. In the corner, a man with tan skin and gray hair propped himself up with a bottle of wine. In a booth, a pair of teenagers slumped low, halfway down each other’s throats.
Metzger sat with his back to the wall, facing the door. He wore a pair of tan Carhart pants and a black button down shirt one size too large.
Roy Palmino arrived after Metzger, wearing a black polo one size too small, so it stretched over his biceps. His black hair was slicked back with pomade, sunglasses hiding bloodshot eyes. He didn’t immediately clock Metzger.
Metzger gave Roy a slight upward nod, and moments later Roy slid into the booth.
“You’re the guy?” asked Roy.
Metzger nodded.
“Thought you’d be bigger,” said Roy.
Metzger shrugged.
“You ex military? Ex Mossad?”
“Retail mostly,” said Metzger, taking a sip of water.
He held Roy’s eye for a beat, and Roy laughed.
“Whatever,” said Roy. “Takes all kinds.”
A very tall blonde waitress approached, leaning deeply so they could hear her, bracing her back with her hands.
“Bar closes in fifteen,” she said.
“Another sparking water,” said Metzger.
“Jack and Coke,” said Roy, turning his face away as he spoke.
The waitress scratched on a pad, then walked away.
“Done this before?” asked Roy.
Metzger nodded.
“This one, he’s high profile. Guy pulls it off, gonna make a name for himself.”
“Uh-huh,” said Metzger. The teens stood up from their table, the boy leaving a crumpled handful of bills on the table before suctioning back to the girl.
Roy waited for Metzger to say more, but nothing came.
“Sal Palmino,” said Roy.
Metzger nodded.
“He’s a made man. Technically, my brother.”
The drinks arrived. Once again, the tall blond bent low, and Roy turned, looking down as if he were interested in his phone.
When she left, Roy picked up his drink.
“You want to know why, don’t you?” asked Roy.
Metzger shook his head. The tan drunk stood, bracing himself on the table. He exited, clutching the bottle of wine to his chest.
“Cain and Abel shit,” said Roy. “Biblical, you know?”
Metzger nodded.
“Here’s the thing,” said Roy. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, knocking one out of the pack and yanking it out with his lips. He searched his pockets, patting them down, one by one. Metzger sighed, pulling out a lighter. Roy leaned forward, touching the flame to the tip of his cigarette.
Metzger took a sip of his sparkling water, just as the waitress shut off the music in the cafe. Without the background noise, Metzger could hear the bubbles popping.
Roy exhaled a plume of smoke.
“When this is done, I’m moving up,” said Roy.
Metzger’s expression didn’t change.
“Thing is, I’m currently light on funds. This would be, like, for exposure.”
Metzger nodded. The waitress, leaning against the bar, glanced at her watch. She disappeared to the back of the cafe.
“You do this, people will remember. I’ll remember,” said Roy, thumping two fingers on his sternum while taking another puff on his cigarette, washing it down with his Jack and Coke.
Metzger stared.
Roy giggled, itching at the back of his neck.
“So like, what? You want details? ‘Cause I’ve got it all worked out.”
Roy slid a photo across the table of a heavyset man with sad eyes and wisps of gray hair in his mustache. In the shot, he had his arm around Roy.
“Got the time, the place. Even a clean piece.”
He looked both ways in the empty cafe, placing a snub-nosed .38 on the bench seat between them.
“What do you think?” asked Roy.
Metzger moved quickly, striking Roy with a flat palm to the throat. Roy’s hands flared up, clawing at his neck, grunting.
“Thing is, I’ve already got a paying client.”
He placed the photo of the heavyset man with sad eyes in his breast pocket, then picked up the snub nose, raising it to chest level.
Metzger fired twice.
“Sal says you brought this on yourself.”
Metzger fired once more, then wiped and dropped the gun, exiting the empty cafe.
~ fin ~
Colin Alexander is an attorney and writer living in San Francisco. He’s previously been published in The Molotov Cocktail, Shotgun Honey, The Arcanist, and Havok, writing crime fiction, science fiction, and horror. While he has written for money in the past, he now primarily writes for revenge.
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