Hitmen

Qwentin Reyes

"Hey Q!"
I ignored Wayne at first; I did not want to roll out from under the car. Sure, neither the heat nor the sweat rolling down my forehead was anything close to pleasant, but I was almost finished with the job. Besides, what could Wayne possibly have needed at this hour? Well, not like I knew what time it actually was, but regardless.
"Q!"
Seriously, what could he possibly want? He knows better than to disturb my work. Annoyed, I skidded out from under the car.
"Whaddoyou want, Way? Can't you see I'm nearly done with the Caddy?" I yelled to my coworker.
"You've been workin' on that damned car for over 6 hours, Q!" He said as he appeared in the garage door.
Geez, had I really been working for that long? I looked over at the digital clock on the work table, but all I saw was a blur of green light. Squinting didn't help, either. I felt the ground around me, searching for my glasses...where had I left them?
"They're on your head, Q." Wayne said, stifling a laugh.
I gave him a glare and mumbled a partially sarcastic thanks. Able to see again, the blur read 1:28 am.
"Damn, Way, I guess I lost track of time, huh?" I looked back at Wayne, who I could now see was wearing a pink cooking apron that read "KISS THE COOK". "What the hell are you wearing, dude?" I asked him, slightly concerned.
He ignored my question. "Get in here and have a drink with me," he said, before disappearing into the house. I sighed drowsily, finally feeling how tired I was. I wondered if I had just imagined the apron, but I shook it off and got up to wash the oil off of me. I glanced over the mail on the table, seeing nothing but unpaid bills. Great, I thought to myself. How are we ever going to pay those off? Even though we work day and night, Wayne and I can't ever seem to see the end of those bills. Trying not to overthink what will become of us, I walk to the kitchen and collapse on our scratched up bargain sofa. Wayne brings over two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. I pour us both a glass.
"Cheers, brotha," he says as we clink glasses.
"Cheers." I reply more quietly, and chug the liquid down. At that moment, the phone starts ringing. Wayne and I glance over at each other, startled. Who calls a mechanic at half past one am? I reach over and pick up the old Nokia, hitting the green button.
"Hello?"
"Ah, yes, hello," replies the caller in a mysteriously deep voice that startles both Wayne and me. "I'm calling for Qwentin Reyes. Is he there?"
"Er, yes, speaking," I say, trying to control myself. Who was this person? How did they know my name?
"Ah, good...I have an offer for you, Mr. Reyes, should you choose to accept it," says the caller.
"Uh, sure! Does your car have a problem?" I ask politely.
"Oh, no, my car is fine, thank you. I'm calling for hitman services."
I look over at Wayne, whose jaw had dropped and was slowly becoming a smile, his eyes gleaming with hope and excitement. I shared the same joy, but hid it well.
"How can we be of service, sir?" I said as I winked at Wayne.