I’ve been on the same job for 15 years now. I get money from people that owe the FBI. Most people would probably think that that isn’t a real job. Sorry to break it to you, but it is, and boy is it nice! All I have to do is break into some buildings, find some people, and get them to give me money. It’s probably what most would say, “living the life.” Now, I may have had to break some fingers and maybe dislocate a few arms here and there, but I always get what I want in the end. I guess that’s why they hired me. Believe it or not, I used to be a criminal. I stole crazy amounts of money. I usually worked alone, but the one time I worked with someone else, they ended up handing me straight to the FBI. The moment I saw the men busting into the room, I wanted to bash his face so bad, but after realizing what he did was one of the better things that have happened to me. When they took me into their interrogation room, I wasn’t expecting them to say what they did. “Johnny, what would you say to work for us?” I mean, who else could land this deal.
Anyways, working this job for the past 15 years has been quite interesting. Today, I’m going on another run. I have to to find a man named Thomas A. Jones. He’s known for growing up in a very rich and spoiled family. It was under suspicion that when his parents died, Thomas killed them. Before they passed, there were many family fights and outbursts from them. Majority of the articles stated that Thomas was having “fits.” What 25 year old man still has fits? The whole thing was really strange to everyone. The really weird thing was that Thomas didn’t really talk about it with anyone. You would think that would be normal, but a few days after his parents death, Thomas was buying all of these things, boats, houses, cars, just everything. But the real thing was that he made a deal with the FBI to cover up the death of his parents. Thomas is the one who killed them. Of course how could they pass up a deal that had $100,00 reward. They covered up everything, but when it came down to the business part, there was no payment. That’s where I come in. I’m actually on my way as we talk.
I pulled up to this giant mansion. At the front there was a water fountain with a sculpture of Thomas dressed like a king. What a narcissist. He was supposed to be expecting someone delivering drugs for him. It was all the good stuff, so we negotiated for there to be no one else there except him and me. I pulled up to the front door entrance and parked. I took a deep breath. Great. I got out and rang the doorbell. For someone who was buying drugs, he sure did take a while. The door finally opened. The man who answered was wear a nicely made white suit. There aren’t many people who can pull off something like that. But seeing him in that made the whole situation even more strange.
“Hello!” Thomas said very cheerfully. Almost too cheerful. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was on drugs of right now.
“Come on in.” I walked in and the mansion looked as glorious inside as it did outside. There was a huge chandelier and one very big, white marble staircase. “This way.” I followed him up the staircase and into a slightly smaller room. It was very plain, and… white. This man must really love the color white. I stayed in place when I came in and Thomas walked over to a mini bar, and poured a drink into two glasses.”It’s scotch.”
“Ah, no thank you. I don’t drink on the job.” It looked like his head almost flinched when I said that.
He smiled and said, “Oh, that’s a shame, it’s quite lovely.” He took a sip from the drink, set it down, and then lit a cigar.
“I assume those are only the best.” I said, trying to get him a little loose.
“And I assume you came here to give me something.” he said hastily. “It doesn’t look like you have anything.” I hated people like this, trying to act so tough and cool. Ugh, Pretty boy.
“I can assure you I do, it’s right in here,” I said pulling out a small, dark brown bag from a pocket inside my jacket. I waved it in the air for him to come and get, knowing that the only thing in was baby powder and sugar. They had given me some other look alike stuff, but I thought these two fit him much better. He quickly walked over to me and tried to snatch it from my hands. “Oh, no, buddy. I need to see the cash first.”
“Yeah? How do I know that isn’t the real stuff?”
“Do you really think of how you got a hold of me, that this wouldn’t be the real stuff?. Huh, I would have expected higher of you.”
“Oh, well, you know… It’s just hard to trust someone, anyone when you’re at this level. I’m sure of anyone, you would know best,” he said sweetly. He pulled out cash from his pants pocket and handed it to me. “Here you go, buddy.” I grabbed the money and gave him the bag. I walked back to the mini bar, opening up the bag, like a little boy on Christmas morning. I put the cash in my pocket and slowly started to walk towards him. He stopped. “What did you say your name was again?”
“John, John Smith.”
He chuckled, “What a classic name for a classic guy.” He turned around quickly, like he was going to run away. I quickly punched him in his pretty little face, which made him almost knock out. Being in a business like this, you have to always be stronger and better than your clients. He was being squirmy, so I slammed his head against the tabletop of the mini bar. I dragged him over to a chair, while he dangled his head.
“Where’s the money?”
He struggled a little to keep his head up. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The money you owe to the FBI. The money you promise to give them after they covered up your parent’s death.”
He started to laugh like I was the one being played with. “You guys just never give people breaks, do you?”
“Sorry to break it to you kid, but I’m not one of them. I just do the dirty work. And lucky for you, I haven’t done anything too damaging to your face. So where’s the money?”
“Like I’d tell you. I could have you put somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine.” I took him out of the chair and knocked him right in the nose. From the cracking sounds, I’m guessing I broke his nose, which gave me a little satisfaction. Then I slammed him against the wooden floor. He moaned very loud from all of the pain.
“Aw, does somebody need a happy meal?”
“Oh, fuck off!”
“Only if you ask me nicely,” I said mockingly. I lifted him up by his shirt, ready to hit him again.
“Wait! I’ll give you the money! Just don’t hit me again.”
“Do it now.” He slowly got up and walked up to the fireplace. He then grabbed a medium sized, jewelry box and handed it to me. He then sat on one of the mini bar stools. I opened the box. I wasn’t going to stand there and count it, but judging by the size, it looked like the right amount. “Well, I hope you have a good rest of your day, Thomas. Hope to do business with you again.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said, very irritated.
“Oh, and you may want to get your nose checked out.” I smiled at him and left like I was just in a candy shop. Ah, another successful day. How better can it get?