“This isn’t about your money,” I said, pulling a gun out of my pocket and setting it on the coffee table. “This is about someone wanting to even the score. Unfortunately for you, they’ve selected me to be in charge of the game.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’ve got two options,” I said. “Option number one: You can sit on that couch, think about all the horrible things you’ve done, and then pick up the gun and help balance the universe in the right direction.”
“What’s option two?”
“Same as option one, except I’ll pick up the gun and balance things for you.” I shrugged. “I’m always willing to help out a good cause.”
“No…” He shook his head. “I can’t…I have a wife and a family.”
“Your daughter is in some of the photos,” I said. “So is your niece. You won’t have a family once this gets out, either way look you look at it. You have millions of images…”
“No, no, no.” He shook his head and began to cry. “I’ve done good things with my life, and I don’t deserve to die. I can beat this habit, you know? I’ve donated to charity, given to the church, I’ve given thousands to the less fortunate.”
I tuned him out and looked at my watch. It never ceased to amaze me how fucked up people tried to talk themselves out of the inevitable. As if their few good deeds made up for their millions of shitty and harmful ones.
Horrible people were capable of doing good things from time to time. They didn’t need to be rewarded on those rare occasions.
“You’ve got forty seconds, Mr. Donovan.” I cut off his rambling. “Even if I were weak enough to let you go, you should know that I’ve already forwarded most of your collection to the police. That’s why they’re on their way here, and we both know what will happen if the public ever finds out the real reason why they came to your condo today.”
I walked to the door and looked over my shoulder. “If I don’t hear the sound I need to hear within the next twenty seconds, I’ll come back and handle it myself. This is your chance to not be a bitch for the first time in your life.”
I stepped into the hall and stared at the seconds as they ticked by.
Eight, nine, ten…
I shook my head and gripped the doorknob, prepared to push it open, but the familiar, loud sound of a gunshot roared through the hallway.
I opened the door, saw the blood spatter all over the walls, then walked away before his neighbors could come up to his floor. Taking off my gloves, I slipped them into my pocket and made a mental note to call in an anonymous tip about his other ‘business partners’ later this evening.
I managed to make it to my car just as the sirens sounded from around the corner.
As always, I sent a text to the person who helped me do this. The man who thrived on crafting and ending nightmares since neither of us could ever escape our own.
My brother, Trevor.
“Yeah?” he answered on the first ring.
“The Donovan job is done.”
“What?” He sucked in a breath. “You weren’t supposed to do anything with that until three days from now.”
“I saw some of the pictures,” I said. “I couldn’t let him live to see another day.”
“Jesus Christ. This is the fourth one in a row, Michael.”
“Finishing jobs early is a problem?”
“No, but acting like you have some type of moral compass all of a sudden is. You’re not thinking about his wife, his family, or how this impacts all the other businesses that we run in this city. We have a schedule for a reason and I’m tired of—”
“He was getting ready to take and sell pictures of his own fucking daughter.” I cut him off, wishing I’d never had to see him discussing it. “Any person with a hint of morals wouldn’t say I did the wrong thing by getting him off early.”
“Coming from a person with no morals, I find that quite ironic.”
“It’s better to hurt certain people before they can hurt someone else,” I said. “I’m sure you wish I’d been able to hurt all of the people who hurt us years ago, don’t you?”
Silence.
“I fucking thought so,” I said. “Send me the next one when you’re done being emotional, so I can get the studying done.”
“Fine.” He let out a breath. “I’m over it. Is the scene clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Any prints or hairs you could’ve left behind?”
“None at all.”
“I’ll send you the next one this evening, then. It’s an easy one, super simple.”
“Wait,” I said, before he could end the call. “Walk me through the Thatchwood job.”
“Again? Seriously? Do I need to write it down for you?”
“That actually might help.”
“For the umpteenth time this week…” He let out a loud sigh. “Get rid of her and dispose of the body within the next few weeks. Since you seem to be struggling with some ideas, here are a few you’ve done successfully before: Blunt force trauma to the head and weigh her body down with sandbags, so that if she ever were to wash ashore the Hudson someday, the autopsy will confirm she died before she was drowned.”