Shred of Evidence

The punk kid slouched against the broken street light on 102nd Street obviously thought I was in the wrong neighborhood. Six years I’ve been in the City, but people still pick me out for a sucker. I guess it’s true what they say, you can take the girl off the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the girl. Or something like that. It generally works out to my advantage, except in dark alleys.

The kid sticks a hand in the front pocket of his hooded Black Death sweatshirt and pries himself off the pole. “Fancy lady like you,” he leers, “maybe you need some help crossing the street?”

“Look,” I say, “you sure as hell don’t look like a boy scout and I’m really not in the mood.”

As I should have expected, his smirk turns into a frown and he pulls a cheap Wal-Mart special knife out of his pocket. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I’ve never been able to do it.

“Gimme the purse.”

I set my feet as best I can in the ridiculous spike heels I’m wearing and shake my head no. Firmly. He’s not expecting that and starts waving the knife all over the place like an insane chef at one of those Japanese places.

“You crazy, lady? I got a knife here and I ain’t afraid to use it. Just gimme the damn purse.”

Any other night I might have avoided the situation and just given him the stupid thing, except tonight it happened to be my favorite purse. Not to mention I was also itching for a fight. Tonight’s job hadn’t gone easy. I’d already gotten blood on my Italian leather heels (which I knew would be a total bitch to get out) and this kid was just the last straw.

“You don’t want what’s in it,” I say. “Trust me.”

His eyes light up like he knows he’s got something good and he starts moving in with all the finesse of a semi-trailer. Probably thinks I’m carrying a bunch of cash or jewelry, though I don’t know what kind of suicidal idiot would do that kind of thing in this kind of neighborhood.

I’m watching him come at me, trying to bounce on the balls of my feet, the stupid shoes hurting like hell, and all the fight just goes right out of me. I just don’t feel like messing with him. The snot-nosed street rat isn’t worth the trouble. I could have been home by now, with my shoes off and my feet propped up and a nice glass of wine in my hand.

So I pull open my purse and shove it towards his face so he can get a good look at what’s inside. He takes one look at the hairy, bloody hand of “Big” Jimmy Maller and turns about three shades of green. Two seconds later, he’s running down the street as fast as his skinny legs can take him. I’d told him he didn’t want what was in it, but some people just don’t have any trust anymore.

I look at the hand before shutting the purse again. Jimmy’s gold ring is still on it. It was a very distinctive piece that his boss, Lou Franz, had made for him after Jimmy’s 10th kill. Jimmy had been a contract killer, just like me.

I say had because he’d lost his life tonight just before he’d lost his hand. After ten minutes of trying to pry the ring off his fat finger, I’d given up and just taken the whole damn thing. Hence the blood on my favorite shoes. Jimmy’d gotten a little chubby—and a lot lazy—over the years.

Not that I had anything personal against Jimmy. He’d been an all right guy, considering. But my guy and Lou have been trading potshots for the last six months over a drug deal gone bad and this was just the latest salvo.

My guy is Jackson Lilly. We’re a little closer than most contract killers and their bosses; we’ve been dating for the last four years. If you want to call it dating.

Not that anyone knows I do Jackson’s killing for him. They think it’s some guy named Harry Hill, a little joke since I’m from Gary, Indiana. As far as anybody knows, I’m just the boss’s girl. That’s how I started out. When I moved here, I was just a fresh-faced young thing straight from an Indiana farm with big hair, big boobs, and no clue. I had no plans to date a drug lord or to kill people, for that matter. But, like my mom always liked to warn me, “Hildie, you got a body built for sin. You better watch out or you’ll come to no good.”

I like to think of myself as an old-fashioned kind of girl, so maybe it was some kind of frontier instinct that took me over the night one of Lou’s boys had tried to sneak into Jackson’s bedroom a few years back. I can never sleep after sex, so I was lying there wide-awake next to Jackson, who was snoring like a lumberjack. Then this guy comes in through the open window, gun first.

Jackson keeps a little .22 on the nightstand. It was his first gun and he always keeps it well oiled for old time’s sake. I picked it up and popped the guy without even thinking about it. Growing up on a farm, I could shoot a gun from the time I was six. I’d never shot a person before, but it didn’t bother me, not really. Maybe I’m not so old-fashioned after all. Let’s call it practical.

By the time I get back to Jackson’s place, my feet feel like they’re about to fall off and the buzz is already all over town about Jimmy’s murder. Bad news always travels fast. I dump the shoes in the trash before settling down on the living room couch next to Jackson. He gives me a kiss and a wink. He’s got company, so that’s it for now. A few guys are hanging around, probably worried about a retaliatory strike from Lou.

“Jackson, the word is out you had it done,” says Billy, one of the few free agents left out there. He does small jobs for Jackson and Lou both, and fills in the time between by hiring out to the small players in town. I don’t really trust him. There’s something shifty about him that I don’t like, or maybe it’s just that he’ll never quite look you in the eye. In my opinion, you wanna be a professional killer, you’ve gotta have the guts to look the guy in the eye before you blow his brains out.

“I won’t deny it.” Jackson takes a sip of his cognac and grins at Billy. “You know Lou’s got it coming to him.”

“I also hear Lou’s put out a contract on Harry. Big bucks.”

Jackson laughs his deep rumbling laugh and squeezes my thigh, inching it up ever so slightly. “They’ll never find Harry,” he says. “Harry’s too good.”

I laugh along with him, but suddenly I’m thinking back about that kid. What was I thinking, showing him Jimmy’s hand with Jimmy’s ring still on it?

“Ain’t nobody that good,” says Billy. “Not when they got that kinda price on their head.”

“How much?” I ask, as casually as I can.

Billy laughs. “What, you gonna take him down, Hildie?”

“No, just curious.” I smile sweetly at Billy, but my trigger finger is itching to take him down. Jackson grabs my hand and starts stroking the back of it. He knows me too well.

“I heard he was willing to go up half a mil.”

Jackson whistles and the other goons in the room start paying attention. “That’s a hell of a lot of money,” says Jackson.

I’m thinking the same thing. That kid looked awfully damn stupid, but I’ve seen people wise up for less money than that.

“Hey Jackson, I got some things to do.” I say and start to get up. He pulls me down for a kiss.

“C’mon Hildie, stay a while. I was just about to send the guys packing.” Billy and the rest get up, as if on cue, and start heading for the door.

I look Jackson in the eye. “No, I gotta go. I’ll be back in a few. You know, got some business with Harry.” Jackson nods and lets me go without saying another word. I gotta give it to him, he lets me take care of business however I want, no questions asked.

I head on out the door, stopping just long enough to put on some comfortable shoes and grab my purse. Might as well ditch the digits before things heat up any further. It was a stupid trophy idea anyway and not like I needed the gaudy ring. I’d just thought Jackson would like it.

I’ve got no real idea on where to find the kid, other than the neighborhood. The only clue I’ve got to go on is that sweatshirt he was wearing. Black Death is one of those after-hours clubs for stoned out punks and those freaks that think acting like a real-life vampire will make you cool. Ha. Spill some real blood and you’ll catch them running as fast as their combat boots will take them.

By the time I get there, it’s close to 3 AM and the place is just starting to really wake up. I slip in and take over a dark spot near the corner of the bar behind a cardboard cut-out of some busty Elvira wanna-be and peruse the joint.

For once, my ship has come in. The kid is halfway down the bar, beer in hand, white-faced and babbling to some other punk. No doubt telling the story of his run-in with a hot chick and a severed hand. Dammit!

While I’m sitting there considering my options—none of which I particularly like—the door opens and in waltzes Billy. There’s no way this is the type of place he frequents, so he must have been following me. But why?

Once his eyes adjust, he heads right over to me, like there’s nothing unusual about him following me around like a little lost puppy.

“Hey, Hildie,” he says, a smirking grin on this face that I’d just love to rub out.

I get right to the point. “What’re you following me around for, Billy?”

His grin gets even bigger and more shit-eating than before. He taps the side of his head with an index finger. “See, I figured it all out,” he says. “You’re Jackson’s right-hand girl, right?”

I don’t even bother nodding. Never admit to anything, that’s my motto. But he’s too pleased with his deductive reasoning skills to notice.

“You’re the only one he seems to trust, so stands to reason you’d be the one he’d send to give the payoff to ol’ Harry for a job well-done.”

I’m not sure where he’s going with this, so I just lift my eyebrow and wait for him to go on.

“Now, me, I’ve been wanting to meet this Harry…”

Yeah, I bet he does. About half a million reasons he’d like to meet old Harry, old pal.

“You know, one professional to another.” He takes a look around the bar and his grin slips just a little. If he’s seeing what I’m seeing, there’re not a lot of hit man prospects hanging out in Black Death tonight. He turns that grin on me again. “I thought you might could introduce me. You know, break the ice.”

Billy’s obviously got me pegged for a broad with no brains. Just the way I like it. I put on my sweetest smile and lean over a little so he can get a free peek at the cleavage. He doesn’t hesitate to do so.

“Why, I think that’s a great idea!” I coo to Billy-boy. “You guys could trade secrets and things like that…’cause, you know, Harry’s really pretty new to the game. I mean, he’s good and all, but I just know he could learn from a real professional like you.” I hope I’m not overdoing it, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about these goons, it’s that they’ll only hear half of what you’re saying while your tits are on display anyway.

“Oh yeah?” That tidbit gets his eyes off my chest and back up to my face. “So he’s really here then?”

I give him a good bobblehead impression. “Oh, yes. How about I just go drop off his payment and I’ll point you out to him? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. But then I’ve got to run and get back to Jackson. I’ve got to get my beauty sleep, you know?”

I don’t even bother to wait for him to agree. I take my purse and sashay over to the kid, trying to make it quick. Don’t want him to see me too soon and cut and run.

“Hey, Harry, honey,” I say, loud enough for the whole bar to hear. Then I step in between the kid and Billy so he can’t see the sudden panic on the punk’s face.

I put the purse down in front of him so Billy can see it. I hate to let the bag go, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. I put a hand on the kid’s arm before he can jump and run. The punk he was unloading to does the wise thing and takes off.

I lean over like I’m whispering sweet nothings. “Kid,” I say, “See that guy over at the end of the bar? The one with the big gut and the crappy hairpiece?” The kid nods, his Adam’s apple doing the samba up and down in his neck. “That’s the guy that’s going to kill you in a few minutes. Unless you kill him first.” The kid jerks like he’s already been shot.

“Okay,” I say, “here’s what you need to do. There’s a gun in that purse I just put in front of you.” He glances down and goes a little whiter when he recognizes it. “And you’ve already seen what else is in there. When I walk away, I want you to pick up that purse and go out the back. I’m sure he’ll be following you. Now, you could try running…”

He jumps again, probably thinking that I was reading his mind.

“But I wouldn’t recommend it. That man’s a professional and he’ll find you, all right. Your only chance is to get him first. Element of surprise. Got that?”

He swallows and nods. I bet he’s wishing he’d never tried walking on the wild side now, but there you go. Don’t play if you can’t pay.

I give him a squeeze like we’re long-lost pals and stand up. “See you later, Harry-sweetie!” I chirp and walk back towards Billy. I can see the kid get up and start walking towards the back in the bar mirror. Billy stands up, ready to follow, not sure what’s going on.

“Hey, Billy, he said he’d meet you out back. More private, you know?” I smile sexy at him. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. Talk to you later, now, okay?”

“Sure thing, Hildie.” He grins that shit-eating grin at me again and starts walking towards the back and his date with the kid.

I’m out the door already when I hear three, four gun shots. Two guns. One I recognize as the backup .22 from my purse. The other must be Billy’s. I figure, chances are the kid shot first and then Billy responded. But, who knows. Maybe Billy came out guns blazing. If I’m lucky—and lucky is what I’m feeling about now—they’re both dead.

Even if Billy makes it, what do I care? It’s about time Harry retired anyway. I’m thinking maybe I should hang out my own shingle. Or maybe, just maybe, Harry’ll have a long-lost brother come sweeping into town to avenge his brother’s death… I always liked the name Sam. Brother Sam.