Jakob Schultz, up to pee at 3:30 AM, heard pounding on the front door. Struggling into his bathrobe, he headed down the hallway.
“Who is it?” The feel of the Walther PPK under the foyer’s console table reassured him.
“It’s Dixon. Open up, Schultzie! Don’t bother with that gun.”
Both men worked for Harrison O’Neill and his twins, Calum and Shauna. As their main muscle, Dixon was closest to them; Schultz handled finances, maintaining their veneer of legitimacy. The two did the bad things, allowing the O’Neills to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with the rich and powerful.
Schultz checked the peep-hole before unlocking the door. Dixon shouldered his way in, backing the accountant into the console. Some tchotchke tipped over, smashed on the tile floor.
“Yes, I’m here with him now,” Dixon said into his phone, a black bundle tucked under his arm. “You’re sure? No, no I understand.” He swallowed. “Okay, call you when it’s done.” Hanging up, he raised empty hands to Schultz in a stay-calm gesture.
“Jeezus, if you’re here to end me—”
“Some credit here, Shultzie. You’d already be dead.”
The accountant blew out a breath. “What’s this shit about?”
“Calum’s on the warpath. He wants you dead. Sent me to fetch you.”
The accountant scoffed. “Shit, boy’s blowing smoke. He’s pissed we know he’s been skimming. Harrison always sorts him out.” Shultz waved a hand.
“Not this time. Calum ranted at me a half hour ago, saying he was in charge now. He said he was done with Shauna and her father ‘obstructing his rightful ascension’, so he fuckin’ shot ‘em. He’s completely untethered now, Schultzie.”
“Fuck me. So what now?”
Dixon thrust the bundled jacket at Schultz. “Plans change. Now we dance for the new boss. Get dressed, put this on. Tell you more on the way.”
“What the hell’s this?” Schultz held up the Kevlar.
“Insurance.”
They climbed into the Olds 442 parked outside, and raced downtown. Dixon shoved Schultz up the stairs to the rooftop. By the ledge, he let the accountant sit to catch his breath on an upturned plastic milk crate.
“You okay, old man?” Dixon tapped a cigarette out.
Schultz, glancing up, reached for the cancer stick. He looked tired, stunned. Dixon didn’t smoke, knew that Schultz had quit, but they both lit up anyway. Shit was going sideways. What could a smoke hurt now? Grey-white plumes swirled between them, floated away. Wind stirred the dark clouds, revealing a glimmer of morning’s light, a new day promising itself to the city.
Schultz squirmed in his jacket, his breath hitching. “Shit, Dixon, I don’t like this.”
“I know. Do up your coat. Remember, things’ll happen fast, but don’t twitch. Fuck, don’t run.”
Calum burst through the rooftop door. “Dixon!” he exclaimed, arms wide, a gummy smile avoiding the wild in his eyes. “See? You can follow orders.”
Harrison O’Neill was a lot of things, but he had charisma, could enter a room with the fluid grace of a tiger on the prowl. His son inherited neither his grace nor wisdom. In a bright blue suit, Calum swaggered like he was on the set of Miami Vice. A wannabe capo flying beyond his wings’ abilities.
“Mister Schultz, still screwing with my money?” Calum stood, arms akimbo, disgust painted across his face. “Gimme the damn notebook!”
“No tricks now,” Dixon pointed his gun at Schultz, the accountant withdrawing the ledger detailing Calum’s embezzlements from his overcoat.
Calum rifled through it, sniggering. He thumped his chest. “Now I’m in charge. You’re being cancelled, Schultz.” He clicked his tongue, turned to Dixon and said, “Do it!”
The trigger snicked, Schultzie gasped, but nothing happened. “Fuck! Misfire,” Dixon said. “Borrow your gun? Let me get this over with.”
Calum swore, rolled his eyes, and unholstered his Glock. Neither Schultz or Dixon moved, but Calum slapped the weapon into Dixon’s hand, saying, “Don’t be useless, asshole.”
Dixon chambered a round, then aimed at Calum’s head. “Tables turn, hey?” He winked, waggling the gun. As he shoved a dumbstruck Calum onto the ledge, morning sun broke through the clouds. Dixon leaned in, “Oh, Shauna, the new boss, sends her regards. Bon voyage, Icarus.” Then he let him fly.
