The Killing Hour

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Money makes the world go round. It makes it, yeah, it makes it, yes it does, but revenge is why he’s out here, not money-he knows because he checked the note in his pocket. Somehow he thought it was about the money, and in thinking that it has become that, because now he can use Feldman and his wife to earn some quick cash. And he loves cash. He loves it about the same as he loves revenge.

His head hurts, the world spins quicker than he can, and his stomach throbs. The duct tape pulls at the skin and he wonders if he’s infected, yeah, infected, and he needs to take the medication, but the medication is. . The medication is somewhere, but it only helps to numb the pain. It doesn’t heal the wound, it doesn’t cure him or make last Monday go away. He wants revenge, revenge and money, and it’s hard to know which he wants more.

“Start driving,” he says, and pushes the gun toward Charlie.

His head seems to be clearing. Not much, but enough to know this isn’t all about killing people. He knows he’s capable of speech, capable of command, knows that with the shotgun he has the power to get exactly what he wants.

“I said start driving, asshole.”

He hid in the back of the car like a bug, out of sight, with the shotgun, and boy, what a good plan, a great plan, and he’s so pleased with himself he’s smiling and starting to laugh, but he must hold back the laughter, must cling to the excitement, but not let it take him over.

Charlie starts to nod and he wonders what sort of mess he would make inside the car if he were to start shooting people. People? There’s only Charlie. Anyway, the shotgun won’t shoot anything in its current condition. It’s empty.

Something digs into the side of his hip. He adjusts his position and digs his fingers into his pocket. Bracelets? Metal ones. With a chain running between them. And blood all over them. A key is sitting in one of the locks. A key that was in his satchel that he’d left on the passenger seat.

He thinks about the money. He wonders what a suitcase full of money would look like if he were to shoot a hole in the middle of it. Would it turn into confetti? Would it turn into loose change? A suitcase of money. Just think. . just think how it would feel to run his fingers through all those loose bills. .

And then he remembers! Money. He has a suitcase full of money at home! No, no he doesn’t, but he does have a suitcase full of money owing to him. Or maybe a briefcase. All of this was for money. Money is the reason he got stabbed, it’s the reason he wants revenge. In his mind he can picture part of the note he wrote to himself and he remembers that killing Feldman is about revenge, but picking up the money he’s owed is for the job he did the other night. Things may have gotten fucked up along the way, but he still got that woman killed, so really he doesn’t need Charlie at all.

Charlie is reversing now and he finds a spot where he can turn the car around.

“Don’t try anything,” Cyris says, and Charlie shakes his head. Does that mean he doesn’t understand? Or that he disagrees? Or that he won’t try anything?

When they reach the highway he tells Charlie to put his foot to the pedal.

“What’s the hurry?”

“You’ll learn soon enough,” he says, glancing into the mirror and seeing that the bitch is close behind them. “We’ll all learn soon enough.”