Nighthawks dreamers

I

It was a dark night in Greenwich Village, a Manhattan's neighborhood, when the end began. Everything was in order. Phillie's café was empty, as always around twelve at night on Tuesdays. Maybe it was destiny or just coincidence but after Joan had entered, a man and a woman came into the bar too. He decided to wait. We had to kill to survive: we were gangsters but, in contrast to the other members of our band, we liked being discreet.

Joan was inside seated in the left corner of the bar table, I could only see his back so with the sign of a hand behind him I could understand him saying me to wait. The window was nearly two meters high and it went all along the room, it allowed anyone outside to see what was going on inside. It also allowed the strong yellow light to spread outside and along the street. I was inside a car, I had crawled until where the shadows started, the artificial light could not hit me, and from there I could see the color of the building in front of the bar reveal by Phillie's light.

In the other side of the table bar, there was the couple quiet. The woman was looking uncomfortable; her eyes seemed lost upon the glistening on the cherry wood table bar caused by the bulbs, which also intensified the yellow wall. The couple's shadow was reflected in two containers behind them, which were some of the few objects there were. Phillie's was a simple space usually crowed but that night was filled with a tense hush.

Finally, they ordered and the barman started talking like if he already knew him and she joined the conversation too.

Waiting was horrible. I hated this. I did not want to kill the son of that barman. They were good people. During that month, we had been visiting their bar alternating nights with Joan to know which day was better. One of those days, I entered to spend no more than two hours. It was Sunday night and it was full yet the barman did not stop talking to me. He was happy because his son got a role in a film taking place in Hollywood.

'Oh God, you not know how happy I'm – Have you sent eh Jazz Singer? I loved it! But I was worried because he told me this film caused many had quit this career. But my boy, he has a good memory! And he doesn't sign badly! I didn't know that! Oh God, I am so happy! Today they've offered him a role in the next film! It's a film noir, about gangsters and crimes and – I don't know, they might have seen something in him about it but my son he would never mix with this world, I teach him well.' He also said he had wished he kept studying and become a medicine or a business man. 'You know what he said to me? That I didn't accept him to be an actor he would go to fight in Europe! I know he didn't mean it!' He said he knew his son said it because he knew his father would never accept him going to the war to die. He said he preferred him alive and poor than dead.

'You're an amazing father. I wish my parents were this proud of me.'

I kept waiting for them to leave, but they never did. Finally, it was Joan who went off. I knew for his face when he entered the car that something had changed on him. He did not accomplish what we were ordered to, but I didn't too. I could have went off the car

and frighten the barman to let me access to his house by the door which was behind the bar table, ask were his son was and maybe even kill him too to teach his son a lesson to hide for all this month from us. But as Joan, I couldn't, especially after having known him and mostly because Joan prayed me not to.

'What stopped you?' He was always the most decided. Lately, we had been talking about scape, about leaving all the dreams we brought with us to America behind and go back to Spain, because we escape to avoid killing in the war, but we ended killing anyway, and without no reason, we never got to know why we had to do something. We were just machines who had to commit an order. At least, in Spain we could help fighting against those who made us leave. However, he was always the most impulsive, which sometimes was good, but other times not so much. As now. We had already planned a scape when they offered us the murder by which they would pay us the highest amount of money we had ever been payed for. So, he convinced me to accept:

'Come on, one more time and maybe with this money we can go to another place, not to Spain, not to war... Maybe we can escape to some island... I don't know, but with this we can start over!'

'And what if this is the last?'

'Don't be so pessimistic, come on! We are good at that, just one more! Think about what you will be able to do with all this!'

Joan rested quiet. I was just angry and at the same time frightened.

'Joan, you should have at least frighten him. I don't know, what has come into you? God! Now what?'

He did not talk during all the way back home until we arrived, then he finally said: 'I... I am sorry – It is weird – ' Joan did not know how to put his thoughts together, he staggered.

'God, are you drunk?'

'No! Well, I had to drink to seem discreet – And they were never leaving, fuck!'

'Well, what were you going to say?'

'The guy was a friend of the barman. In fact, the barman's son is his friend... And the woman – She is his sister. She has just arrived from Paris. She is has escape from war – She is incredibly smart, her English is perfect... And she is so beautiful – I didn't want to do anything of this in front of her – Those eyes, damn, I couldn't do that.' At that moment he knew he could never forget her.