Dead Man's Grip

100

Tooth sat in the Yaris in the parking lot behind the apartment block. The same cars were still here that had been here when he left to do his reconnaissance an hour ago. It was still the middle of the afternoon and maybe the lot would fill up when people came back from work. But it hadn’t filled up last time, six years ago. The windows of the apartment block didn’t look like they had been cleaned since then either. Maybe it was full of old people. Maybe they were all dead.

He stared at the text that had come in and which had prompted his early return to the car. It said just one word: call.

He removed the SIM card and, as he always did, burned it with his lighter until it was melted. He would throw it away later. Then he took one of the phones he had not yet used from his bag and dialled the number.

Ricky Giordino answered on the first ring. ‘Yeah?’

‘You texted me to call.’

‘What the fuck took you so long, Mr Tooth?’

Tooth did not reply.

‘You still there? Hello, Mr Tooth?’

‘Yes.’

‘Listen to me. We’ve had another tragedy in our family and that woman, Mrs Chase, she’s the cause of it. My sister’s dead. I’m your client now, understand me? You’re doing this for me now. I want that woman’s pain to be so bad. I want pain she’s never going to forget, you with me?’

‘I’m doing what I can,’ Tooth replied.

‘Listen up, I didn’t pay you a million bucks to do what you can do. Understand? I paid you that money to do something more than that. Something different, right? Creative. Give me a big surprise. Blow me away. Show me you got balls!’

‘Balls,’ Tooth commented.

‘Yeah, you heard, balls. You’re going to bring those videos to me, right? Soon as you’re done?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Tooth said.

He ended the call, again burned the SIM card, then lit a cigarette. He did not like this man.

He didn’t do rudeness.