Simple Man

- THIRTYTHREE -

   Dice was far from the apartment complex he was watching that chilly autumn morning but it was still in sight. His car was off, his seat was leaned back ever so slightly but he tried to look as though he belonged in the affluent Providence neighborhood. Everything looked in grayscale that morning despite how yellow the sun was peeking through the buildings. Dice had a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper he wasn't reading in the other. From the alleyway he was in he saw the entrance to Elizabeth Rosenthals' apartment building. Elizabeth was just a chess piece in Little's game, she was no doubt already dead. Knowing Little it was definitely in some unnecessarily gruesome fashion.

Dice felt sorry for the old broad but it wasn't his job to save her. He knew she was was just a means but his job was to figure out to what end. Try as he might to morally separate himself from Little he knew deep down he wasn't much better because Dice was a contractor just like him. Dice was more efficient than artistic but he killed plenty of people himself—if not more than his former associate. He didn't get off on killing but he certainly got off on money. Dice wasn't sure if that was better or worse but if Heaven and Hell existed he knew he would be greeted by the Devil's open arms one day. Being an atheist the thought didn't scare him, he felt fairly certain there was nothing after this miserable life.

   He did, however, like the idea of Hell for people like Little. Some of the things Little had done to people made Dices' hardened stomach turn. He remembered the acid tanks in Prague and shuddered. It was a completely different situation, completely different targets. Those were members of a smaller Czech crime family, the Svoboda, who had double crossed the Slovak out of a drug trafficking deal with the Pruszków. Even seven years later their screams still haunted Dice despite the fact they were criminals, more importantly they were still human. Just as he shoved the memory back in its drawer Dice finally caught a glimpse of some interesting movement just beyond the front entrance. Little with is handy cello case no doubt full of industrial strength cleaners, gloves, suits, googles and drop clothes.

   In Prague the mess was self-contained to vats of acid so strong that nothing was left of the Svoboda family within mere hours but most evidence doesn't take care of itself like that. Dice wasn't that meticulous, but he was a ghost of many forms so he felt he didn't have to be as careful. Dice wasn't his real surname, it was just the identity he used for contracts. Cleaning was part of the game for Little, he allotted time to the art of leaving no trace. Dice didn't have to think hard were Elizabeth might be, an apartment complex on Rhode Island was bound to have a furnace in the basement; her remains would be charred black by now.

   Dice was curious how Little dealt with the security cameras that were no doubt in every hallway and elevator. He was good at making loops that didn't look like loops, cutting himself out of frame entirely. Dice worked with him long enough to know his approach would be to charm Elizabeth at the gala, she would imbibe more than her share of liquid courage thinking her night will go much differently than whatever Little had planned for her. Dice never really wondered about Littles' appetites, if he was homosexual or straight. It didn't seem he had a type sexually or romantically, if it bled and it cried that's where he got off. But it did seem that he took exceptional pleasure from ruining a pretty face.

   Dice knew he drove her in a luxury car back to her place and helped her to her apartment like the gentleman he pretended to be. He would have made sure the cameras saw him leave the building, but then he would have spliced the video in such a way that they wouldn't have seen he return—or seen that he left again. How he did it he wasn't sure, but he had seen him do it before. It wasn't a skill Dice cared to pick up, it seemed like an unnecessary step to keep up with the rest of the twentieth century. If no one could identify Dice it didn't bother him to be caught on camera—he was old school like that.

   This is why Dice was the best. Normal people couldn't find Little, normal people wouldn't know to what look for but thankfully for Dice he wasn't normal people. Little was more theatrical and tech savvy but no matter how Little covered his tracks Dice knew what kind trail his former associate left; he knew how to hunt hunters like himself. Little had always underestimated Dice as mere muscle but that was by design. Dice sought to be underestimated by everyone he met. Little would know better now, he would know Dice was smarter than he looked; though Little's ego would never concede Dice was smarter than him. Little was all but untraceable but Dice found him and Little didn't know it.

   He was hidden in plain sight. Little was completely unaware that Dice was at that gala yesterday evening. He had donned a blonde mustache, matching wig and green contacts. He had changed his gait and stood with a slight stoop, taking on the disguise of a meek, mild waiter. He even went so far as to serve Little and Elizabeth champagne, Elizabeth thanked him warmly with full eye-contact but Little barely acknowledged him.

   It was to Dices' advantage Little was such a snob.

   Dice had seen Little and Elizabeth leave the party around midnight, he was helping her down the many stairs to a black Lincoln. Dice calmly but quickly exited through the kitchen, the man who's uniform he took was probably still in the cooler. He'd be shaken up but fine. Dice burst out of the side door of the museum and hit the key fob to the car the waiter owned. It lit up as he unlocked it, getting in and starting up the engine.

   The car he sat in was stolen and by now reported but Dice wasn't worried. The license plate did not belong to the car but it did in the system attached to one of many aliases. However it was not facing the street and he was well hidden in the alley. Dice got out his binoculars and watched Little load his cello case in the trunk of the black Lincoln. Like Dice it probably wasn't his car and he would no doubt ditch it later. Dice was curious about the parcel Little carried under his arm, that he didn't see last night. Where was it going? And more importantly, who was it for? As Little elegantly slid his long body into the Lincoln Towncar Dice turned over the engine to bring his car back to life. He was going to found out what spider web Little had spun this time and how this all came back to Iyana and the little girl.