The Small Diner

A dialogue between the operator of an underground business and his new employee...

 

The Small Diner

            “I’m not going to repeat myself,” Irene said as he drank from his coffee mug.

            “So you want me to go and kill this guy?”

            “Yes,” Irene nodded and took another bit of pancake. “He’s been a bother to me for years and I’d like to see him dead. Is that going to be a problem?”

            “Well, no, but doesn’t he have, y’know, superpowers?”

Irene laughed and said, “Mere illusions, but yes, they’ve been described as superpowers. But you have guns, correct? Big ones?”

            “Yeah, but guns can’t take down a superman can they?”

            “You’ve been reading too many graphic novels. But to answer your question: yes, guns can in fact take down a superman. A bullet to the head can stop anything, superpowers or not.”

            “Right, now about my payment-”

            “Your payment?” Irene interrupted. “What do you mean ‘your payment’?”

            “Well, gees Louise, I’m going to be going toe-to-toe with a superman. That’s life threatening stuff. You can’t expect me to do that for nothing.”

            Irene took a sip of coffee and said, “I can and do expect you to do that for nothing. Actually I do have some payment for you.”

            “Yeah? Let’s hear it.”

            “Your life.”

            “Eh?”

            “That’s right, your life is your payment. You’ve come to me with a very thick criminal record, haven’t you?”

            “Yeah,”

            “Don’t look so smug. You’ve got nothing to smile about. Five murders one of which was an infant-”

            “Hey, that was an accident!”

            “Accidents don’t happen if you know what you’re doing,” Irene took a couple bites of his pancakes and a long drink of coffee before continuing. “Murder is a horrible thing. Whenever I read about it in the paper my stomach somersaults.”

            “Says the man who runs the biggest underground hitting ring in the city.”

            “Keep your tongue civil or else your payment won’t be given.”

            “Hey, yeah, you were talking about that.”

            “Correct,” Irene said in mock-baby-voice. “Good for you. Yes, I’ll get back to that soon enough. I was in the middle of saying that murder is horrible, but justice is not. That ‘hitting ring’ you talk about, have you researched it?”

            “Well, nah, I haven’t.”

            “Get the facts before you open your moth next time,” Irene said. “My company rights the wrongs that the pathetic group known as this city’s police seem to not be able to right themselves. Do you know why they don’t right these wrongs?”

            “Nah, why’s that?”

            “Because scum like you seem to share the native tongue of money with the police of this city. You don’t worry about a thing because you know a bit of dough will get them off your back for a while. That’s why you can look so smug. You know no one’s going to do a thing about anything you do so long as you managed to pass some coin between pockets.”

            “What’re you getting at?”

Irene drained his coffee cup and sighed, “What I’m getting at is that you’re a despicable person. You’ll never amount to anything. You live in an abandoned shack because all of your money goes to the local P.D. you’ll die someday and nobody will care. NO one knows you or cares about you. That’s why I can use you.”

            “Say, that brings up another thing! Why’re you wanting this guy dead, anyhow? What’s he done that’s so horrible?”

            Irene drank from a fresh coffee and said, “He’s done bad stuff. Stuff that will knock your criminal sheet in the dust. What’s worse is that he convinces this city that he’s only trying to help. If reading about a murder makes my stomach somersault, this guy turns it into an Olympic gymnast.”

            “So why not take care of him yourself?”

            “As much as I hate this man, I cannot have his death and blood on my hands literally. Call me what you will, but that’s how I am.”

            “Why not get someone from inside your little business to do the job? Why come to me if  you think I’m despicable?”

            “I’m fighting fire with fire,” Irene shrugged. “Fighting scum with scum. My business is full of my family and friends who I love and care about. Their deaths would be tragic and awful, while yours would be nothing. You’ve got no one, no one cares.”

            “Alright, you can stop with that whole bit. I get it. Now, what about this ‘my life as payment’ thing? I don’t get it.”

            “It’s quite simple,” Irene said, finishing the last of his pancakes and coffee. “Either you do the job or I kill you.”

            “You can’t do that!”

            “I can’t do that? Why not?”

            “the cops, they’ll send you to jail. You can’t do nothing from behind there.”

            “Hmm,” Irene scratched his chin. “I suppose that’s true, so I might just have to convince them with a little bit of cash.”

            “They won’t accept your money.”

            “Why not?” Irene asked. “Is it any different than yours? Doesn’t it buy all the same things as yours does? Your silence is a reassuring thing. So you see, yes?”

            “Yeah, I guess.”

            “Good,” Irene smiled. “So, any questions that I didn’t discuss here today are all answered in the documents you were given. Anything else?”

            “Deadline?”

Irene chuckled lightly and said, “Ah, that’s a good pun. No, just make sure it happens within a couple months. I don’t want anything bad to happen to any more innocent people. That’s what this job is all about.”

            “Yeah, I getcha.”

            “Good,” Irene said, putting his coat on and standing up. “You’ll get the check, won’t you?” without waiting for an answer he walked out of the small diner…