Melinda gazed down the Beretta M9’s black slide at the mark’s mangled face. She had picked him up in The Sapphire Lounge two hours ago oozing bravado, but she had bled that out of him. Tears squeezed out of his swollen eyes and mingled with the blood on his face. Her knuckles were bloody and raw from the beating she had given him and now it was time to put a period on the end of his sentence.
“You angered the wrong people in Bay City,” she said, “connected people, people with enough power to whisper a few words and make shit stains like you disappear. You were running illegal poker rooms in Paddy Gilmore’s territory and refused to pass along a cut. Paddy Gilmore doesn’t abide disrespect.”
“What’s Gilmore paying you?” he sputtered through fat, split lips. “I’ll double it. Triple it!"
Melinda pitied the mark. He thought that line would work on a professional? She lowered the Beretta and closed the distance between them. Paddy Gilmore was a thrifty Irishman through and through and the money was low, but this job wasn’t about the money.
Melinda smiled into the mark’s bloody face and said, “You don’t get it. I’d kill you for free.”
She pulled a photograph out of her back pocket and held it up to the mark’s face.
“Open your eyes. Look at the man in this picture,” she said.
“I-I don’t know…”
“That’s my baby brother. He was making tuition money at one of your games, but you caught him cheating so you decided to make an example of him.”
Melinda put the picture away, raised the Beretta’s snout, and squeezed the trigger. The pistol bucked in her hand and Melinda waited to feel better.
~~~~~~~
This is my second piece of microfiction. Better? Worse? Let me know what you think in the comments.
If you like this and want to support this work and my longer fiction, consider making a small donation.
Thanks!
Kev
© 2023 Kevin M. Coleman
Photo: Unknown.