Good Bye Richie

As much as I enjoyed our little meetings, this would be our last.

I walked into the diner and slithered unseen towards the back corner. Thank goodness for the poor lighting in these shady joints. Burly men in jeans and work boots littered the bar stools directly opposite the entrance. There seemed to be some sports event on the miniscule television in the corner. It served as a good pacifier for the majority of the customers here. I was thankful for it. Joe's Steak Corner had a sleazy reputation for drunken brawls. Unfortunately, I stood out like an elephant in a skating rink. The grey Armani blazer draped across my broad frame made me the subject of many stares. The Rolex on my wrist chose the wrong moment to glint in the coloured flourescent.

I took in my surroundings one more time, scanning for the exits and any other vantage points I might find useful in the event of a skirmish. But, to be honest, I wasn't dressed for such. Smoke hung in heavy clouds near the ceiling and the place reeked badly of booze. It baffled me as to why Richie chose these places. But then again, I guess he would feel more comfortable surrounded by his type. Then something caught my attention. Two tables away. Two latino thickheads. One with no hair and the other with way too many chemical products in his. Heavily tattooed arms and necks. They came in not long after me and hadn't ordered anything yet. I mean, neither had I, so it was either coincidence or we were playing the same game.

Time had taught me not to believe in coincidence.

 Their gazes also lingered a bit too long.

Richie barged through the diner doors before I could change booth. I raised my undecorated arm slightly to indicate my whereabouts to him. I saw his teeth in the dark as he flashed me a big smile. His cocky redneck swagger annoyed me. His smile annoyed me. His unnecessarily noisy boots annoyed me. His presence put me off in general. The only reason I was here was because he was undoubtedly good at what he did. He pulled the chair yards away from the table and threw his bulk haphazardly into it. Even his posture annoyed me; legs crossed at the knee, one arm thrown over the back of the chair and his head down on his chest. Mannerless miscreant.

"You have the money?". He threw the question in my direction.

I took a deep breath.

"Now now Richie, didn't your mummy teach you? You don't speak till you're spoken to. Oh, wait. She was a prostitute, she didn't have time to teach you such."

I smiled to myself as his smirk disappeared. I have a nasty habit of being nasty sometimes.

I put on my business face and plowed on.

"Yes Richie, your money is ready. All 350 grand. There's only one problem"

He seemed to grimace at 'problem'.

"The problem", I continued, "is the fact that I don't want to give you the money anymore. You don't deserve it. Your last job was a failure. And now you're in legal trouble. I'm just gonna pull away like nothing ever happened."

I flashed him his own smile. An evil little thing that screams 'I have things the way I want them'. I hear the anger in his silence. I Could see his clenched knuckles under the table. He couldn't hit me. That would only deepen the legal quicksand he was sinking into.

I stood up slowly and deliberately, watching his face go red.

"Good Bye Richie"

* ... to be continued ... *