Short Story

January 13, 1997.
James Carter was never known for his smarts. He wasn’t known for his looks. He was known for being persistent and careful. His few friends called him “Slowly” because he was born with a limp in his left leg. He was also born missing the two smallest toes on his left foot. He was standing outside house number 52 on Strapple Street. It was a blue house, small, with a screen door. Inside, there was a kitchen to the right, a living room straight ahead, and a master bedroom to the left. There was a basement, but it was rarely used. It was only used for mixing drugs. Carter was told that the victim was inside this house. He was nervous; this was his first ever assignment. The victim was supposed to be a middle-aged man, bald, no family, with a belly and a shotgun. But then again, the victim wasn’t expecting him, so the shotgun probably wouldn’t be too near him. Carter walked up to the door, and put his ear to the door to see if he could hear anything. He heard the TV on. That meant that the victim was straight ahead, in the family room.
A man in a black coat, standing 6’3 with wide shoulders burst through the door. He was holding an outstretched 9mm pistol with a silencer attached. He was limping on his left leg. The fat man knew he was done for. He was sitting in the middle of the living room in his underpants, right in front of the man with the gun. He was defenseless.
“Please don’t kill me!” The fat man begged. “I know I’ve made a mistake, he’ll be paid immediately. Let me go get his money and”
Bang, Bang. The fat man was shot through the head twice, between the eyes. He was dead instantly. He fell onto the floor in a puddle of blood. The blood was all over the carpet. The man in the black coat stepped slowly out the doorway.
Carter’s heart was racing. He had done his job to perfection. He felt bad, though. He had just killed a man for no reason. Well, almost no reason. His reason was because he was being paid $35,000. Why he was told to kill him, Carter didn’t know. Must have been about money, though. That’s what the victim had mentioned. Carter probably wouldn’t find out why he just killed that man. What did matter was the James “Slowly” Carter had just completed his first ever hit. He drove away in his black ‘87 Chevrolet Nova. He had been given the car to complete the mission, and then had to give it back. It was a pretty old car, 10 years, in fact, and was a piece of junk. But it was better than no car. Carter didn’t own a car. He sometimes used his mom’s, but didn’t want to for this mission. He drove back to the base, “Boswell’s Bar”.
He walked in, right to the back of the bar, where he found the orange door. He knocked and waited a few seconds. A big white guy, Giorgio, came to the door.
“How old you, son? 15?” asked Giorgio.
“I’m 17, thanks for asking,” replied Carter, ticked off at the question. “Can I come in?”
Giorgio turned around for a second, yelled something in a language Carter couldn’t understand, and then turned his attention back to Carter.
“Ya come in. He’s waiting for you at the back.”
Inside was a big square room, poorly lit, with a table at the back. There were couches on each side, with men sitting on them, talking business and drinking. Carter walked to the back and sat down at the table. The man at the desk was expecting him.
“Hey! How’d you do, junior?” The man said.
“Unfortunately, extremely well. I shot him twice right between the eyes. He begged for mercy, but he never finished.” Carter replied.
“Unfortunate? That’s great! You did very well. Are you just sad about the whole killing thing?” The man asked.
“Ya, the whole ‘Killing thing’. I feel horrible.”
The man stood up, came over and sat next to Carter.
“Listen Carter,” the man said, “That guy was a scumbag, a bad guy. We’re the good guys. You did what you did, end of story. He wasn’t paying up and he was ripping people off. I’m impressed, though, that there where no mishaps. Everyone has a problem on their first job, between a car not starting or the idiot trying to fight you and you miss the bozo. Even me, the Don, had a problem the first time.”
Carter looked surprised.
“That’s right, even I had a problem. The scumbag I was supposed to take out wasn’t there. He had stayed out late and I was too early. You’re good at this, whether you want to be or not. Here’s your money, $40,000.”
“I thought we said $35,000.” Answered Carter, honestly and stunned.
“Whatever. Go buy yourself sometin’ nice. You did well.” The Don replied generously.
Carter took the money and shoved it inside his jacket pocket. He wasn’t buying anything. He needed the money. His family was poor. His dad had walked out on him when he was 3, and since then it had just been him and his mom, Lisa.
Just as he was leaving, the Don said, “Anytime you want to help me out, come back. I like your style, kid, and I wouldn’t mind having you around.”
“Thanks” Carter said, as he walked out. And he meant it.


February 24, 2005

James Carter was in his 2004 BMW 330 XI, driving with his best friend, Dave Adams, next to him. They were going to Carter’s mom’s house for dinner on a Sunday night. It was a small house in a respectable area. Lisa Carter used to live in one of the worst areas of Philadelphia, but her son had bought her a small house in a nicer area. Business was thriving, with James Carter doing a job every month or so. He was being paid depending on the importance of the victim. The more victims he took care of, the more important the next victim was, therefore more pay. He and the Don were friends, having get-togethers and having a good time.
“How’s business, James?” Asked Dave Adams.
“Really good. My plumbing business has just taken off. How’s teaching gym working out for you?” Asked Carter.
“Fine. Some of the kids are really obnoxious!” Said Adams.
Carter laughed. “We were never honour students, if I remember correctly. Is gym teacher all they would give you without a degree?”
“Ya. But it’s not so bad. I get paid solidly, I have the summer off, and I never had to go to college.” Answered Adams.
They both laughed. “We better make this fast though, I wanna catch the Eagles football game.”
“Alright, no problem here.”
After the nice, short meal with Lisa Carter, Carter and Adams went back to Carter’s apartment to watch the football game. Midway through the third quarter, Carter’s cell rang. He went into a separate room and read the number on his caller ID.
“Hey”
“Hi ‘Slowly’. How are ya, buddy?” He didn’t wait for a response. “I got a job for you.”
“ I just did one a week ago Friday, for heaven’s sake. “
“You don’t wanna to do this one, I can get someone else.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s good, actually. So down to business. Where does this guy live and when do you want it down. I’m kinda enjoying the Eagles’ game.”
“Same here, son. Eagles are whuppin anyway, though, so it’s kinda getting boring. He lives in apartment 358 on Ross Blvd. at James Wood Rd. Floor 3, just in case you couldn’t figure that out. I want it done tomorrow night, if possible. He works at a factory and should be home after work. I would guess 7-7:30. He is 5’10, with jet-black hair. He’s thin, and is probably armed. If not armed, he has a weapon in his house. This guys a pest. Take him out, and anyone else in there. There shouldn’t be, though. Do this well, like you always do, and you got yourself $70K. Got it?”
“Ya I got it, Mr. ‘I’m the Don, bla bla bla’. I’ll have it done by late tomorrow night. And thanks, like always.” Said Carter.
“No, thank you, Mr. ‘I’m a hitman and my nickname is Slowly, bla bla bla’.”
They both laughed, and hung up.
At 7 PM the next night, Carter was positioned right across from the target building, eating a bagel and having a coffee. He figured it would be a long night.
He waited there until 10 PM, 2 and a half hours after seeing the victim enter the building, just to be safe. When he finished his coffee he looked at his watch; 10:13 PM. He decided it was time. He had a 9mm pistol with a silencer with him and a knife. The 9mm was his favorite handgun, and this was a perfect situation to use it. He walked up all 3 floors; it seemed safer and probably was. He found the room easily. He put his ear to the door. There was a CD playing, an AC/DC one. He thought it was Hells Bells but he wasn’t sure. He assumed that the victim wasn’t watching TV, because of the music, and he decided that rather than charging in and being unsure where the victim was, he would sneak in. He started picking the lock with his lock gun. 4 minutes went buy, and then he heard the click. It took 1 minute to walk up the stairs, 1 minute to find the room, and 4 to pick the lock. The time was 10:19 PM. He opened the door slightly. No one came running. Nothing happened at all. He put his handy mirror in front of him so he could see the room. To the right, a living room. To the left, a kitchen. Straight ahead was a door, leading to the master bedroom. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar. The music was coming from the room. Carter crept slowly along the wall, very slowly. It was hard for Carter to duck down, considering his limp. He made his way to the door without making a noise. He stood up and put his back against the wall. He took out his pistol. The silencer was on it. He kicked open the door to find the victim in the bathroom. He had left the bathroom door open.
“What the h”
He was shot in mid-sentence twice. Once in the stomach and once in his forehead. He fell off the toilet bowl and dropped to the ground, obviously dead. The smell in that apartment was horrible, so Carter decided not to search the apartment for things he might want. He usually only did that in expensive homes or had something he knew he wanted. He got back in his BMW, and drove away, without anyone thinking or seeing anything suspicious.

Carter and Adams were on their way to the card game on 35th street. The car ride had been pretty quiet until they got to 30th street.
Then Adams spoke, “Carter, you want to just go to a bar instead?”
“No man. I’m exited for some cards. Why do you ask?”
“Not sure. Just, you know, don’t feel like playing cards.” Adams said in a shy tone.
“You’re not telling me something.” Figured Carter, “What is it that I don’t know. Don’t worry, I’m here for your.”
Adams took a deep breath and said, “I’m kinda low on money right now, Carter. We go to this card game every month, and sometimes I go more by myself. And you know how hard it is to win. I just feel like I’m in a hole right now. I think going out for a drink might cost me less.”
Carter took it all in. He realized what his friend meant. They were never rich growing up, and if Carter didn’t have such a high earning job, we probably wouldn’t want to go and play cards either. But he was in the mood to play tonight, so he made a generous move.
“How ‘bout I give you $500 to spend tonight. If you win anything, you can keep it. If you lose, it’s all right; I just wanna have a fun time with you tonight.”
Adams broke into a big smile. “OK James. But if I lose, I’ll repay you soon.”
Carter also smiled. “You haven’t called me James for a while. That sounds good, though.”
They pulled up to the old hairdressers on 35th street. It was called, ‘Luigi’s Amazing Cuts’. It had very few customers coming in to get haircuts. Most people who came in went straight for the back room. That’s where the card games happened every Friday, Saturday, And Sunday nights. That’s how Luigi made a living. He didn’t own a gambling permit, so technically it was illegal. But Luigi never got caught. Money must have been changing hands with some people other than the ones betting. The Don was seen there often. Most people thought he was paying Luigi’s rent, and then running Luigi's mini-casino. He was also thought to be giving Luigi a cut of the gambling profit, but not too much. Carter and Adams walked down the stairs in the back corner. At the entrance to the mini-casino, there was a guard. He knew them, and let them in. Carter and Adams first went to the bar and grabbed a beer. That was one perk at the mini-casino; half priced beers. If you bought two, you only paid for the price of one. And a mug of beer was only $2.50! It worked out great for everyone. The gamblers got great deals on beer, making them drink more and being able to spend less drinking, while still spending more gambling. If you’re drunk, you think you’re gonna win every hand.
Carter got off to a fast start. He went to the blackjack table and started off pretty good. He always only let himself spend $500, but usually only spent around $50-100. He was a good gambler, if there is such a thing. Adams, on the other hand, got off to a very quick start. He lost big. 30 minutes in, he had already lost $150, while Carter had lost $30. After 2 hours, Adams was out of money. He had gone all in Texas Hold’em when he had a pair of Kings. The other guy had 3 of a kind Nines. Adams was steaming mad, but understood that he had lost and took it like a man. He shook his opponents hand and went outside for a smoke. Carter was doing fine, having lost $70, but he decided that was enough for one night and went to be with his friend. Adams apologized, and promised he would repay Carter soon. Carter told him not to worry about it, that he still had fun; even knowing he had lost money.

Carter was at home by himself a few weeks later preparing himself dinner. The date was Friday, March 16, 2005. He was just making some pasta, penne, and his mother’s famous meat sauce. He loved her meat sauce. He had invited her over for dinner, but she was tired and couldn’t make it. They said they would get together next Friday, on Friday, March 23, with Carter making some nice soup and chicken.
Carter’s phone started ringing, startling him and almost making him spill the meat sauce.
It was the Don. “Hey Carter, how are ya?”
“Fine, just making some pasta for myself. What’s with you?”
“Nothing much. Who do you think I should bet on in the football game on Sunday, the N.Y Giants or the Chicago Bears? It’s a straight up, with no odds or nothin’.”
“Bears. They’re at home, and it’ll be as cold as it is here there. I know you didn’t call me just to ask for my advice on the football game, so get down to business.”
“OK”, said the Don, “I have a little bugger who’s pissing me off. He owes me $100,000 in loans and debts from Luigi’s casino business. I even got him a job, for Christ sakes. I shaped his life, and never pushed too hard for him to pay up. But I have the password to his bank account, and I checked it out. You know how much he has in there? $35,388! That’s it! I phoned him up and told him I needed the money, fully knowing he didn’t have it. And he gave me this whole B.S answer on why he couldn’t pay me right now. So I’ve had enough of him. Take him out and I’ll take whatever’s in his account as mine. Also, I’ll sell his house and keep the cash. The bum owes me, plus interest.”
“So, where does this guy live, how much do I get, and anything else I should know?” Said Carter.
“You get $30,000. Sorry it’s low, but this guy owes me and he’s not a big name worth big money. He lives on Cartmouth Street, Apartment 216, floor 2. He’s a gym teacher, so he should be home soon. He has dark brown hair and is around 6 feet. Get it done soon. Got that?” Said the Don.
“Ya.” Said Carter, startled. He couldn’t believe whom the Don just asked him to kill.
“Good. Good night, Carter” Said the Don, and hung up.

Carter left the food and raced downstairs. He got in his BMW and drove away fast. He went straight to Cartmouth Street. He ran up to apartment 216 and started knocking on the door.
A man opened the door. “Carter, what are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming. I just ordered in Chinese. Want some?
Carter tackled the man inside his apartment, jumped off him, and slammed the door. He started kicking and punching the man.
“What are you doing, Carter?! Stop it” The man screamed.
“You absolute bozo. You numskull. You scumbag. What’s wrong with you!” Carter yelled back. “Why would you borrow money from the mob?! Are you crazy!”
Adams face went white. “How did you know I borrowed money from the mob?” He said quietly.
“Because I work for the mob!” Said Carter.
Adams looked at him and started backing away. “Don’t hurt me, Carter. We’re good friends. Tell the Don his money is coming. Please leave me alone!”
Carter sat down on Adams couch. “I won’t hurt you, Adams. I was told to come here and kill you. I won’t do it. You’re my friend. But listen to me Adams. You have to get out of town. Move somewhere else now. Transfer your money out of that account you have.”
Adams stood up and walked towards carter. “You were sent here to kill me. I didn’t know I was in that much trouble.”
Carter sighed. “Ya, I was sent to kill you. I got over here as fast as I could to tell you. Why don’t you move away, to Chicago or something? And transfer your money, because the Don knows your bank account and password. Please, let’s get going!”
“I’ll move to Chicago. I have family there. Did the Don tell you about all of this?”
“Ya, he told me. Remember transfer your money too.”
There was an awkward silence as Carter helped Adams pack up his stuff. Carter helped put all of Adams stuff into Adams’ car. After they were done and Adams had phoned his family, his sister actually, to tell her that he was coming in, there was a nice goodbye.
“Thanks Carter. You’re a true friend. I’ll never forget you.”
“I’ll miss you to, Adams. I hope you enjoy your new life.”
They hugged, and Adams got in his car. After all the years they were together, from age 12 until now, it was hard to say goodbye. As Adams drove away, a tear rolled down Carters cheek. Carter realized that he could never see Adams again.

March 20, 2005

Carter hadn’t left his house in days other than to get food and go for a little walk. He wondered what would happen between him and the mob. Around lunchtime, Carter’s phone rang.
“Where the he%@ are you?”
“I’m at home.” Replied Carter honestly. “Why, what’s happened.”
“Don’t play dumb with me!” The Don yelled into the phone. He was steaming. “On March 16, I told you I wanted that guy killed. I decided I would give you some time. So today, when I wake up, I check the bank account of that I guy was telling you about. Guess what, nothing is left in his bank account except 1 cent! And guess what, then I phone one of my tough boys to go check what happened. It seems that the guy packed up and left. The next-door neighbors say they haven’t seen him since Friday. Coincidence? No chance! I know you did something. Why wouldn’t you tell me that you didn’t want to kill this guy? I would’ve got someone else.”
“Because he was my friend. Dave Adams was a great guy who had no idea how to handle money and he must’ve had a gambling addiction. I was never going to kill him!” Carter realized he had said too much, but there was nothing to do.
“You are going to pay me back fully. I never want to see your face again. You didn’t listen to me, and now you’re going to get it!” The Don hung up.

Carter stayed in his house for the next two days. He knew someone was coming for him and was scared. Plus, his left leg, where the limp was, was really starting to hurt. He decided to go to bed early because he was tired. He also knew that if anyone came in, he would hear them. His gun, the 9mm handgun, was in his cupboard, under his red NC State sweatshirt.

At 3 AM, on March 23, a man standing 5’8, wearing a grey trench coat and a white fedora, stood outside 78 McRathry Drive. He knew that inside was a man he was told to kill by the Don. He was nervous. This was his first ever hit. He knew that Carter slept in the master bedroom, with a window next to the bed. There was a balcony outside the full-sized window. The man threw a rope with an 80-pound weight attached to it at the balcony. There was no noise because he had covered the weight with rubber that added a couple more pounds, but was quiet. He made sure the rope was secure, and then started scaling up the wall. The man stepped down onto the balcony. He pulled out a lock gun to break the lock into the bedroom. “This guy has little protection,” thought the man. After a while the lock broke and the man stepped inside. There was James Carter sleeping in his bed, with the TV still on and a clicker on the pillow. The man’s adrenaline was pumping. He pulled out his 10mm handgun, made by FNP, and attached the silencer. He Put the gun right up to Carter’s face and poked him in the eye. Carter started to wake. That was the last thing he would ever do. The man shot him 3 times in the head. The three shots were just to make sure he was dead instantly. One shot probably would have done it, but the man felt safer. Carter lay in his own bed, with his eyes closed, all of his sheets stained in his blood. That was the end of James ‘Slowly’ Carter. The Mastermind. The Magnificent. He would never again see the light of day. The man went outside and drove away.
The man pulled up at Boswell’s Bar, the place where he was told he would be paid. The man thought that the bar seemed pretty stingy. He went to the back of the bar to an orange door. There was a guard outside.
“Can I come in, please?” The man asked.
“Hold on.” The guard turned into the separate room and spoke to someone. He spoke in Spanish. The man knew some words in Spanish, but couldn’t make anything out. The guard turned back to the man. “You may come in. He is waiting at the back.”
The man knew who ‘He’ was. ‘He’ was the Don, the man who had ordered all the hits the mob had ever done in the last 20 years.