Good Job


“Welp, that’s it,” I said after I shot the last one in the head.  This job was getting easier by the day and the beauty of it was that I didn’t even have to clean up anymore. Not since Rory was hired. As a matter of fact, Rory was walking in now wearing a pair of rubber boots and carrying his cleaning supplies. We nodded at each other and shot the shit for a few minutes.

“Look at the cans on that one,” I said, pointing to the mother.

Rory whistled through his broken tooth. “Not bad,” he agreed. “What’s the skinny?”

“Chan found out they were skimming. I get my usual fee times four.”

“Cushy job. I hope to move up and get a position like yours someday.”

“Work hard, stay late and kiss the boss’ ass. You know how it goes,” I said wisely and stared at the dead woman. “And pass the drug tests,” I added.

I got down on my knees and massaged her breasts. Weighed them with my palms.

“Feels like three, four pounds a pop. She probably had back pain.” I gave them one final squeeze and yawned. “I gotta hit the hay. Got a date with a sweet young thing tonight.”

“Sounds good, bro. I’ll see you when I see you,” Rory set a few buckets on the ground and was unloading various sponges and cleaners from a bag. Chan liked to leave no evidence behind as though the thieves had simply vanished into the atmosphere.

I lit a cigarette on my way out. It was a good job, but sometimes it plum wore me out. Night shifts will do that to you.

When I got into my Cadillac de Ville my phone started vibrating. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the screen.

“What’s the word, boss?” I said cheerfully.

My smile faded as I listened. I shook my head and finally said, “Okay.” I held the disconnected phone in my hand for a few more minutes and stared at the worn spot on my slacks. Pulling my gun out of a coat pocket, I opened the car door.

I walked around the house ducking at all the windows until I got to the one I wanted. Moving by tiny increments, I eventually got a good look.

Rory had the younger child on the dining room table and was removing organs and placing them into a bucket that had “9 YR OLD M” scrawled on the side with a marker. I felt bile rise up in my throat. He had three more buckets lined up, each labeled differently. 

Rory had a side business.

Though I didn’t see how it mattered how Rory disposed of the bodies, Chan viewed it as stealing. Chan was the boss so I wasn’t about to argue. I knew which side my bread was buttered on. I moved away from the window and back to the front door.

Carefully, I turned the handle and poked my head inside. All clear. I crept down the hallway toward the dining room.

“Hold it right there, bro.”

Rory’s breath was hot on my neck as he gripped my shoulder and shoved something hard into my back.

“What the hell?” I wrenched my head around and stared into his cold, dead eyes.

“What the hell?” He mocked and poked me with the weapon. “You’re a dumb fuck. That’s what the hell, bro.”

He pushed me face down onto the polished wood floor and held the gun steady on my back.

“Come on, Rory. I won’t say anything,” I begged.

“Damn straight you won’t,” Rory agreed.

“Chan’s niece is in desperate need of a liver and it turns out you’re a perfect match.” He laughed. “You really think Chan hired me as a cleaning lady? I’m a fucking surgeon.”

The pressure of the gun on my back released. It came back down with such force that I never woke up again.

~ fin ~

A mail-order bride by trade, Tabitha Wilson divides her time between collecting wooden teeth and raising leprous felines in her abandoned military storage facility located somewhere beneath an Iowa cornfield. She also owns a snarky greeting card company and creates subversive products for Fred and Friends.