Moved On

Moved On Part Seven

Sean thumped on the door of the grotty motel room, standing just left of the spy hole. He'd got an address for Danny from a dealer in Fremont Street...that, and other things.

The door opened slowly, cautiously. Sean was inside the room before the wasted girl opening door knew what he was about.  “Where's ya old fella?” He asked calmly, politely.

Sensing the unintentional menace radiating from Sean, the woman backed away, hands raised as if to ward him off. “He's on the bed.”

All Sean saw was a lump of grimy linen, twitching, as if the person hiding beneath it couldn't stay still long enough to be convincing. He looked the girl over; skinny, dirty matted hair and glassy eyes in a face hard before her time. He reached into his pocket and took out tightly wrapped rock. “Why don't you disappear?”

Seeing the drugs the girl licked her lips, choosing between loyalty and a fix.

The fix always won.

Snatching it from his hand the addict left without another word.

Marching forward Sean whipped the duvet of Danny to reveal an unkempt, stinking man with greasy hair and red, raw eyes.

“Sean mate, what are you doing here?” Danny asked, a tremble in his rough, abused voice.

Sean leant down, wrenched the man off the bed, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor. “Get the fuck dressed, you have a job to do.”

Ninety minutes later Sean closed the back door to his now empty, abandoned mansion, locking it with a hefty chain and padlock. Turning to a pale, silent Danny, Sean put his hands in his pockets, drawling smoothly. "See, that's how you clear a house of squatters."

Danny swallowed hard, his face a sheen of nervous sweat. "So this is over now, job complete?"

Before Danny could see it coming, Sean cracked him one. He fell like a sack of shit.

Sean didn't know whether he'd knocked Danny out or not, but had already sank his boot into ribs twice before he found he had. He slipped the knuckle duster back into his pocket. "Not quite." Grabbing Danny's ankle, Sean dragged him to his car, bundling him into the large boot.

Danny was awake long before Sean had finished his two hour drive into the desert. He pulled the gun from his waistband and released the trunk.

Beaten, scared, Danny was begging when Sean pulled him out, forcing him to kneel at gun point under the glare of tail lights. "I want the contract." Sean told him.

"What contract?" Danny cried, gasping for breath as panic took him.

Annie was right, he really was a pussy; he'd hidden behind Sean when dealing with the feckless druggies.

"Annie's contract." Sean clarified.

This is about her?” But I've done nothing to her, nothing!" Danny appealed. When Sean stayed silent he went on. "Honestly, nothing, she's the violent one, came at me with a crow bar she did, and I’d done nothing!" Still, Sean said not a word.

Danny sobbed, hand lifting to reach into his inside pocket. Sean cocked the gun, pressing it to the kneeling man’s temple.

Danny's breathing seized, dropped his hand. If Sean wasn't mistaken the nobhead also piddled his kecks.

Sean removed a dog-eared scrap of paper from Danny’s inside pocket, glancing over it in the residual light from the car. He eased the hammer down, secured the safety, then, fist clenched around the Glock slammed it into Danny's jaw. He slumped onto the ground, out for the count a second time.

Once in his car, Sean accelerated away, graciously throwing a single, small bottle of water out of his car window, towards the inert body. Flexing his bruised hand on the steering wheel, Sean murmured to himself. "Now the job’s done."