“No sitting here. Get in the back!” The tipsy couple stepped into my battered, gray sedan. The smell of old tomatoes and ketchup couldn’t escape. Wrappers read “Burger World” and “Grilltopia.” I had to sample food from competitors. “Willy’s Saucy Street Bites” would never open if I didn’t get enough money for that food truck.
“Where to?” I asked.
“The apartment down the road,” the man slurred. They had come from a brunch buffet. I’d been hoping for good fare; this wasn’t.
After dropping them, I parked at the Concord train station.
An urgent tapping on the passenger side window forced my eyes open. Standing by my taxi was a tall man with slicked back, a well groomed beard, and he wore a dark gray linen suit, a white ironed shirt, and a maroon tie hung at the center.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Empire Elegance Inn.” His voice was low and stressed.
Why would a nicely dressed man with no luggage go there? The taxi swerved around a curb, causing all the junk in the back to slide onto one side.
Then, reading my taxi license from the dashboard, he added, “William, can you be my driver for today?”
“How much?” I scoffed. The man pulled out a stack of bills and let them fall onto the front passenger’s seat. I’d never seen that much money!
“What do you do?”
“Hitman,” he casually explained.
“Haha! That’s a good one.”
He pulled out a gun. “Keep driving.”
Instead of old burgers, the air was thick with danger. I weaved through the traffic, praying I’d stay away from the police.
“Why do you do this?” I bravely asked.
“That’s the hand I was dealt.”
“How?” I asked.
“I lived in Mexico and managed a nightclub. But, I wasn’t satisfied. So, I moved to the United States. Landed a job as a dishwasher at a shabby restaurant.”
“Night club owner demoted to dishwasher?” I asked.
“I was here illegally,” he said. “That’s all I could get.”
“Go on,” I said.
“Walked two miles to work. The kitchen had mold everywhere. Rust covered appliances, and trash on the floor. All that kept me going was opening another club. Then, one day, my shift ended, so I stepped outside the kitchen. A beautiful woman sat at a corner table eating chicken and rice. Beside her in the stroller was a peaceful, slumbering infant.”
“Was that the lady of your dreams?” I asked.
“That’s right. We talked for hours. Her boyfriend walked out on her and their daughter, Amy. I felt determined to support them. We got married, and I became a legal citizen.”
“My dream’s to run a food truck, I said.”
“No chef would keep their car like this,” he scoffed.
“Listen,” I shot back, “when I graduated high school, I got a scholarship to a culinary institute in upstate New York!”
“What happened?”
“I quit.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Cooking sherry and wine.”
“I figured substance abuse,” he said.
“If you have money, why don’t you open that nightclub?”
“I’m in too deep.”
“What does your wife think?” I asked.
“She left me.”
“Hah! Took the kid and walked out?” The Hitman ignored me.
“One night, everything changed. I got a job as a waiter at a nicer restaurant. Customers asked for me! I lured food critics. Tables left huge tips. I thought, ‘I could open my own restaurant.’” The Hitman paused. “Then, my manager promoted me to Assistant! I came home to tell my wife. The door was unlocked. I swung it open, and our daughter let out a blood-curdling scream from upstairs. Then, there was a gunshot and then another. I darted up the stairs, but all I caught was a glimpse of one man’s feet and the gun barrel at his side running out the fire escape. But, I saw the face of his accomplice, who scurried after him.”
“Did the police catch them?” I asked.
“Nothing! Everyday, I wandered the streets for clues. Eventually, I got one!”
“How?” I asked.
“I heard a Woman pitching a deal in an alleyway. I turned. Skinny lady in a hoodie gave a guy some cheap watches. That guy was the accomplice.”
“Did you get him?” I asked.
“The Woman left, and I pinned him against the wall. He admitted his partner shot my family.”
“Did you kill him?” I asked.
“No. He didn’t pull the trigger. He gave me the crime boss’s address.”
The Hitman kept on going.
“The crime boss lived in a red brick house. I slid open the flimsy screen door, which was unlocked. From the cellar, were repetitive, clunking sounds. At the bottom, there was a man doing sit ups, holding onto the twenty pound kettlebell behind his head. He was a bulky, middle aged guy with muscles showing through his casual black t-shirt. I charged towards him and hit him with punches. The impact drove him to the floor. My face was numb, but I just kept on hitting.”
“Was he dead?” I asked.
“Three hours later, I woke up,” he said. “The man’s dead body was lying in front of me. A week later, the store owners showed up at my house. The shoe store guy, Nick, pulled out a large cardboard shoe box filled to the rim with bills. Ten thousand dollars for killing the Crime Boss.
“What about your family’s killer?!” I asked.
“That’s where you’re taking me.”
“How do you know he’s here?” I asked.
“I don’t. I need to check every hotel.”
I parked across the street from the Empire. I could get into trouble for helping him. I could get killed. Should I drive away right now? On the other hand, helping him would help accomplish my dream. I still had the ability to turn my life around, unlike the Hitman.
He exited, scanning the sidewalks, and darted into the hotel. Fighting the temptation to close my eyes, I spotted a trash can, swung open the back door, and reached for the wrappers.