Sending up Shoots - Part VII

The gun butt felt smooth and warm cradled in John's hand. It was hidden in his trousers pocket, but his sweaty palm held it nervously as he waited at the usual train Central Park North station.

It had been three months since she'd left. Once she realized that money was disappearing from their account, no amount of pleading could dissuade her from leaving. John didn't blame her in the least. In her position, he may have left, too. He couldn't tell her the truth. That would only have pushed her out the door more quickly. But two weeks of his cryptic explanations didn't help either. She was gone and he'd received the papers in the mail just yesterday.

It commenced the morning after his epiphany concerning Tony. It was a Saturday, early, and she'd just gotten up to make some fresh orange juice and toast. It was their favorite and they shared it almost every weekend.

John was still lying in the bed when he heard her say his name softly.

"John?"

"Yes, sweetie?" he replied, turning the pillow over beneath his head, unaware of the bomb that was soon to hit his world.

"I think someone's getting into our bank account."

His heart beat wildly and his hand shook as he turned over in bed and tried to feign unconcern.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice shaking only slightly.

There was a short pause, silence, while she looked harder at the computer screen. John began to breathe more heavily. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

He heard her walking into the bedroom, her pink, fluffy slippers slapping lightly on the hardwood floor. His mind raced out of control. He turned his back to her so he could pretend to be asleep. But the question came anyway.

"John, what have you been buying? All of these withdrawals have your name on them."

There it was. Waterloo. The demon he'd been waiting for all these years. Finally his horrible secret had sent up the diabolic shoots that would utterly destroy his marriage. He'd been required to pay an inexorable price for his deception.

Today, Tony would reimburse him.

John rubbed his chin with his other hand as the 4:01 train whistled by on its way to West 96th Street. The subway stations always smelled like the inside of someone's toilet. "How fitting to be meeting Tony in such a cesspool," he thought.

As the breeze from the train subsided, the familiar guttural voice echoed in John's ears.

"Nithe to thee you on time, Johnny-cakth," it said.

Turning only slightly so as to hide the fact that he was packing, John looked at the source of the voice over his shoulder and shivered. Tony was dressed in his usual dirty black jeans and flannel shirt, but this time a beat-up, old overcoat hid most of his imposing frame. The slime-green eyes shown wickedly in the florescent light.

"You got the money?" he asked, smiling broadly, showing cavity-ridden teeth he obviously never brushed.

John closed his eyes. Squeezing the gun butt even more firmly, he started to pull it from his pocket. He extended his finger and placed it gently on the trigger.

Opening his eyes he looked around the station. There was no one in sight. They were alone. It could be done now and no one would know.

"Don't make me athk again, Johnny," Tony said. "You got the money?"

John could feel his hand shake as the adrenaline coursed freely through is veins.

"Kill him!"

The sound echoed in his brain and seared his conscience like a branding iron.

"Kill him!!"

It shouted even louder.

"KILL HIM!!!"

John looked at Tony and knew he'd never be free of him. He would continue to demand money every month until one of them was dead.

But John also knew that he was not a killer. Releasing his grip on the pistol he reached in his coat pocket and retrieved the wad of bills.

Looking at it forlornly in his still shaking palm, John handed it over to Tony.

"That'th a good boy, Johnny" said the villain. "I heard she left you. Mutht be tough being alone, eh Johnny-boy?"

The sound of those words plucked John's last nerve and almost forced his hand back into his pocket.

"Don't bring her into this!" he demanded, gripping the handle and pulling it halfway out. "Don't you ever bring her into this!"

Tony smiled and shoved the money deep inside his overcoat. "Nice day officer!" he said.

John reflexively jammed the pistol back into his pocket, as deep as it would go. He turned his head toward the tracks and waved at one of New York's finest who was walking his beat. "Afternoon, officer," he said, waving nervously with his free hand.

"You're lucky this time, Tony!" he said softly, only to find that Tony was already ten feet away.

"You thay thomething, Johnny?" Tony asked, turning to face the visibly shaken John.

John shook his head. "No," he said limply, looking at the disgusting floor.

"I didn't think tho," Tony replied, as he turned and went up the stairs.

Coming soon - Part VIII