Another Day's Work

The day began as any other day did. The turn of the weather created a mess across the city, though. Driving through New York was hard on a good day and January's wrath had seized the afternoon without announcing itself. A line of cars collected in a canceled parade. With every passing minute, the sky grew whiter as if Jack Frost himself was trying to bury the city.

Tap, tap.

Frank never liked cops but he knew when to play nice. He rolled down the window.

“There's been an accident at the end of Charleston Ave. We're cleaning it up but you’re going to be here a while,” the officer said.

“How long?”

“Hopefully, not too long. Sit tight. Stay warm.”

Frank threw him a nod. He considered smiling but thought it would make him look suspicious. His large Italian physique didn’t say gentle. A dumb smirk under his wide square nose would give him away for sure.

All they had to do was wait.

“Boss isn’t gonna like this, Frank.” Ralphie sputtered from the passenger seat.

“It won’t matter. As long as the job gets done, we get paid. We’re only 10 minutes from his house,” Frank said.

“Look at this shit. This is even worse than ’98. ‘Member that, guy?”

Frank remembered. All of New England froze under a sheet of ice. They called it an ice storm. Frank called it a nice distraction. They drove the long icy ride to Maine to check on their “Uncle,” but when they got there, “Uncle” Simmons had already froze to death. They only wasted 2 days of their lives to find him as an ice cube. The blood around the gash in his head kept its red, showing them the log he landed on when he fell. Ralphie shot him anyways.

“There. A bullet for each bullshit day I’ve had to be in this bullshit cold!” He yelled almost louder than the barrel of his 45mm.

“Yeah, I remember,” Frank said. Frank never said much. Ralphie did most of the talking. His big mouth made up for his small stature. Frank had decided his 24 inch biceps blessed him with a gift for punching things. Together, they had a knack for solving problems. Their line of work attracted people with big problems, the kind you don’t advertise. This meant bending some morals in exchange for hard cash. Life had been good for two degenerates from Brooklyn.

“Sometimes I wonder what Ma would say,” Ralphie said, breaking the silence.

“Why you gotta wonder shit like that?”

“I’m just saying, Frank. I would want her to be proud of us.”

“Yeah? Ma was a good catholic woman. She would slap us, then try and give us lunch money.”

“So, why do we do it, ya know?”

“What are you getting at?” Frank's tone had grown impatient. They hadn’t moved and inch. The longer they sit here, the longer he has to listen to Ralphie turn into a philosopher.

“Nothing, guy. We’re sitting here, not moving, not saying nothing. I was finding something to say. I’m just saying. Why do we do this if it makes us bad people? Ma would want us to go to heaven so we can see her again.”

“I think that ship's sailed,” Frank said.

“Come on. Don’t you miss her. It’s only a been 7 years.”

Her face appeared in his memory and wafted the aroma of her lasagna into his nose. He missed her, in the way a macho hitman misses things; quietly.

“Think about it, Frank. What if God is trying to tell us to stop being bad guys?”

“God woke up and shit two feet of snow to make sure the Cremo brothers don’t kill some hood rat?”

“How do we do know that he’s not important?”

“Levinsky hired us for this. Anyone messing with him is not a good guy.” Frank never knew Ralphie to ask a lot of questions. He talked his way through everything, rarely considered reflection worth the time. Once it was over, it was time for the next job. Ralphie's curiosity made Frank uncomfortable which turned to frustration as time seemed to have frozen with the rest of the city.

“Come on!” He yelled at the dashboard.

“Don’t get all pissy, Frank. I was just talking,” Frank rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“I don’t know,” Frank said. “Maybe it’s not about good or bad. Maybe things just need to get done, you know. If it’s time for you to die, am I the bad guy cuz I pulled the trigger?”

“So, you think this is God's work?” Ralphie asked with a puzzled tongue.

Frank chuckled.

“No, I’m saying it just is. We shoot bad guys for money. How many other people would they have killed? How many would have been innocent? So, I'm saying if it’s not good and its not bad, then it doesn’t matter. If God wanted that to be different, he would have written a different book.”

“Woah, Frank. My heart feels better but my brain hurts.” Ralphie stopped asking questions. They let the air hang between them while they waited. It seemed the quietest two hours of their lives. Frank was enjoying it until a strangeness captured him.

“Finally. Here we go,” Ralphie hollered out when the line of snow piles with wheels started moving.

The storm wasn’t letting up. Once they find the house, they’ll wait it out inside. No family, Levinsky told them. This will be quick and quiet.

Quiet it was but midnight creeped it’s way to the phone call Frank didn’t want to answer. They had been there for hours already but no sign of the target.

“Hey, boss,” Frank answered. “You guy are wonderful. True to your art, you are.”

“Uh, thanks, boss.”

“Payment’s cleared. I’ll call when I need you again. By the way, your handy work is on channel 13.” They turned on the news, in hope to understand what Levinsky was talking about.

“The original vehicle that started the pile-up is this black Charger,” said the reporter. “By the time rescue crews were able to reach him, it was too late. Marshall Kingston, just 43 years old was already gone. Thankfully, he was the only one hurt…”

“Frank, that’s the guy. That’s our guy!”

“I know, shush.”

“If things didn’t get tough enough for New York police and rescue units with the massive blizzard we are experiencing, the crash on Charleston revealed large amounts of drugs, weapons and cash that Mr. Kingston had been hiding in the vehicle. It leaves one to wonder if this was an accident or if this stranger was a victim of fate. More tomorrow as we receive updates and more information. Now, back to…”

“We were there the whole time,” Ralphie said. He wore a stunned expression.

“When it’s your time, Ralphie, it’s your time.”