Love or Money


“Love or money?”

“What?” the lead guy said, keeping his gun pointed in my direction. The second gunman stepped in beside him and aimed at me too.

I lifted the newly dead body up a little more by the piano wire wrapped around his neck, it was difficult, Enrique had packed on a few pounds since hitting the big time, “You here for love or money?”

They seemed confused, I couldn’t decide if Enrique’s body guards being dumb was a good thing. I wished I wasn’t holding him, so I could go for my own gun, or even better, if I had pulled him a foot or so further from his desk when I choked him out he wouldn’t have kicked over the bottle of Scotch.

“You here pointing guns at me because this guy paid you? Or did he mean something to you other than a paycheck?”

The first guy grinned, “I get it, love or money. Why does it matter to you?”

“Well, if you are just in it for the paycheck, maybe we can work something out.”

“Enrique always paid cash.”

“Either way, which is it, Love or money?”

“Me, it’s all about the money. Unfortunately for you, Enrique was this dude’s father.”

The second gun man gave a nod. I spent a long second trying decide whether to drop Enrique, and go for my gun, or use his fat ass as a shield. Neither would work.

“Bye asshole,” the lead guy said. He raised the gun some more and closed one eye, sighting up on my head, probably so he did not hit his boss. Maybe he thought with prompt medical attention they could re-attach Enrique’s head.

Enrique’s kid did not bother closing an eye and aiming. He just turned and fired. Aiming wasn’t necessary since he put the barrel of his pistol right on the other bodyguard’s temple.

I stood there holding Enrique as his son turned the smoking barrel my way. He held up his free hand and made a gesture I took to mean I should hold still. He then reached into his pocket and produced a smart phone. I almost smiled when he took my picture.

“Money,” he told me.

He seemed to be waiting for a response. When I did not reply, he gestured at the body I was holding with his pistol, “He fucked my mother, but from what I understand, he was hardly the only one.”

I said nothing.

“You might as well put him down, the wire is almost all the way through.”

I let him drop.

The kid kept his eyes on me, “Give me a number where I can reach you.”

I gave him a number.

He plugged it into his phone, then asked, “Love or money?”


“Good, I just came into some. I could use a guy like you.”

“You have my number.”

“Yes, I do. Later, I’m going to text you an address. It belongs to this poor bastard’s sister,” he said, casting his eyes to the guy at his feet with a third of his head, “after whoever is paying you for this settles up, send a good chunk of it there.”

“Feeling bad?”

“Hell no, every time he had something going on the side he routed it through his sister. Fucking moron thought no one knew. I don’t need anybody running shit on the side when I’m in charge, so he was going have to go sooner or later, so why not make it sooner?”

He paused to let me comment, but I had nothing to say.

“Make it enough so people will believe it was worth it,” he continued. “Otherwise, I start showing this picture around. Do it right, and I throw enough work your way to make up for the loss.”

“Sounds fair.”

“It is, even if it’s not.”

“I’ll leave the way I came in.”

“Leave however you want.”

I did not turn to look, but I’m sure he kept the pistol on me until I was out of sight.

I spent the hike through Enrique’s sizeable estate thinking my employer may have fucked up.

~ fin ~

Todd Morr is a writer and musician currently living in Colorado. He has a bachelor’s degree in Fine Art but decided if he wasn’t going to make any money he preferred playing guitar and writing stories full of violence and profanity. He has had novels published by 10th Rule Books, Spanking Pulp Press, and Fahrenhieght Thirteen and short stories at places like Horror, Sleaze, Trash, Shotgun Honey, and Out of the Gutter.