Let's talk about what I paid attention to while bleeding to death. The flickering of the "t" in the red neon "Motel" sign outside my window. The cigarette smoke moving about the ceiling like a ghost. Someone was having sex two rooms away. I refused, however, to acknowledge the eyes of my assasin. I also refused to look at my shoulder. Or my gut. Or the puddle that had surely spread from underneath me to... who knows. The window? The bed? I couldn't tell you because I wouldn't look.
"We can wait as long as you need; I understand it is a difficult decision to make. However it should be noted that you just might bleed to death." It had been about twenty minutes since I walked in to my room and was shot. Intentionally wounded, but not mortally.
"You were intentionally wounded, but not mortally," he had said to me. "You took something from someone and now said party wants you dead." I took three quarters of a million dollars from my dealer. "Said party has specifically asked me to remove your hands before I kill you." To be more specific, I took three quarters of a million dollars from my supplier. I was the dealer, he supplied the product. "You have this coming." I had it coming.
"I have a propostion for you, friend." He sat down in the dark side of the room, where the lights from outside the window did not reach. He lit a cigarette and took his time. "I will not only let you live, but I will personally drop you off at the emergency room."
"Fuck you." I didn't have anything, except the money, which he wasn't getting, so it seemed like a reasonable response.
"Hear me out. Cigarrette? No? Look, I can duct tape your mouth shut, remove your hands and leave you for dead. OR. You can sign this contract." He held a peice of paper in my direction. Of course, I could not see it or even reach for it. "This contract releases you from your transgressions in exchange for your soul."
I am ashamed to admit that I began to cry. I know that it sounds ridiculous, but I beleived him.
***
"Stop." Leonard crossed the room, finished his scotch and poured another.
"It's crazy, but I'm not kidding, it happened, just like that." Bob shifted in his chair, tapping his own empty glass against the lion's head fashioned at the end of the arm. "It happened just like that, and I signed my soul to the devil."
Leonard sat down on the edge of his seat and said, "I don't care if it is true. You loose money on the horses, who pays your bookie? Some whore OD's in some fucking rotting hotel in the BFE, who comes and cleans up the mess? Your mother worries about your direction and who gives you a job? Your uncle Leonard. But do you appreciate it? No. Of course not. So fuck you, you clean up your own mess this time. I'm through."
It was a harsh thing coming from Uncle Leonard's mouth and Bob felt the tears welling. It was hard for him to speak and his throat hurt. "But you don't understand, Uncle Leonard. I bled in that hotel room for twenty minutes, but when I signed that thing, he let me go and it was as if nothing had happened. There was no blood, Uncle Leonard!"
"Bobby, you were always a good boy, what happened to you?"
"I'm so afraid, Uncle Leonard..."
"You should be. I don't know what happened to you last night, but I do know you've been missing for two weeks with a lot of fucking money. Bobby, is this about the horses again? Is there a girl? Help me understand this. No lies. Just tell me. No lies."
It was not about the horses and it wasn't really about the girl either. "I just wanted to start over. That's all. I had all this money and I was driving it over and I stopped at a light and all of a sudden I just decided to keep it, so I did. I drove all the way to Florida but I felt bad for leaving Connie so I came back for her."
***
The assasin was quiet for a long time and I started getting very sleepy. "Time's almost up, Robert. I am a patient man, but God himself is calling for you. It's hard to compete with that."
"You... can't... be serious about this," I coughed. I was cold.
"I am. Just sign the dotted line and it'll be as if this never happened. You'll be free to leave and spend your hard earned money. I'm making sure you earn it. I'm making sure you don't get it for nothing." He walked over and knelt beside me, removing a pen from his pocket. He stuck his lit cigarrette in the corner of my mouth and asked, "What do you think, wildcat?"
"I think I'll die even if I sign your contract."
"You would think that, wouldn't you? I promise you that if you sign your soul away... The actual retreival of it can wait. It's knowing it's mine that's important." He smiled and handed me the pin. "Sign right there." I did. "And initial here. Just kidding." He stood up and left.
***
Uncle Leonard sat back in his chair and sipped his drink. "I'll be honest with you, son." There was a long pause. "I've heard of the assasin your telling me about."
"So you beleive me?"
"It doesn't matter. I told you that I'm through with you. You've made your bed, now you can lie in it. Get out of my house and thank... Just be glad your still alive."
***
Carleen was waiting for him at her apartement, her clothes packed, her furniture gone. Sold. Given away. She looked harried, little make up, at a loss for sleep. The apartment smelled of smoke. "You look beautiful," he said to her.
"Where the hell have you been, I was worried sick?" She moved to embrace him but was shocked by the blood-stained shirt under his jacket. "Oh, my God, is that your blood?"
"No," was all he said and he picked up a suitcase. "You can bring one of these. Which one is the most important to you?"
"Jesus, baby, they're all important! Who's blood is that?"
"Which one can you absolutely not live without? Which bag contains the most crucial objects to your existence? Which one will you just die without?"
"I fucking need them all, Bobby!" It became obvious to him that she had been crying. Beyond the bags under her eyes were thin verticle lines of mascara, carried by tears and then dried. She did not look attractive really. "I've been really, really, scared, Bobby, I thought they found you! Whose blood is that? Where have you been?"
"See, I only brought one bag and it had my favourite jeans and my lucky boxers and my favorite books... Shit like that, understand? Now which one of these bags contains comperable items?"
She began to cry again. Boo fucking hoo. "Stop it, Bobby, please."
"I'm sorry, am I upsetting you? Am I being an asshole? Because, I'm just saying that you have to much baggage is all." Too many suitcases. Ugly shade of mascara under her eyes. Her father had touched her when she was nine.
"Fuck you, Bobby! Fuck you! I was worried sick!"
So he shot her. He removed the little blue gun from the back of his pants and shot her. No
remorse. Just like Uncle Leonard. No hard feelings. No extra luggage on the plane. Maybe an upgrade to first class? Maybe a whore or two after he landed in Vegas and lost a few thosand dollars at Blackjack.
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