The cruel world of Money.

[Graillik Tur]

The wieght of the gun pulled at Malone's fingers, wishing to fall to the ground. This was just an annoyance at this point, it was the pull of the world on his heart that bothered him. He knew it was the job, he had to do it but this was getting to be more than he could handle. The tears began to form...not again.

Tuesday morning 6:47 a.m. Jogging down Mockingbird Dr. in downtown Chicago Malone was feeling peacful. The plans were coming together perfectly. Stacy had sent him the information he needed for Thursday night, the poker game was going to go off without a hitch and he'd be on a plain to Venice by 2 a.m. Friday morning. All he had to do was stay out of trouble till Thursday. It was right about then he ran into her, no literally ran into her. A young woman with raven black hair was stepping out of Thompson's deli onto the side walk. Talking back to someone still in the deli she wasn't paying attention. Malone was too busy thinking about Thursday night to notice the slender pant leg coming out of the door way. A shower of coleslaw and ham accompanied the loud thump of the two bodies colliding.

"Wow, whatever I hit really hurt, and smells like meat. What did I hit?"

Malone opened his eyes.

"Are you alright, I'm really sorry about tripping you. Here let me help you up."

She's beautiful. She's stunning. I think she broke my foot.

Malone sat up. Breathed a few deep breaths and looked again at the lady that just messed up his running rythme.
"I'm fine. You don't have to worry. I'll be okay." Man she is so pretty.

"Are you sure your okay? You fell pretty hard." "I'm fine. Nothing's broken. Thanks for asking though. I think I ruined your food though. Let me buy you some more, it's the least I can do." I have to get her number.

"That's okay, I should buy you something for knocking you over." "Well then you can buy me a cup of coffee and a bagel and I'll buy you your meal back and we'll be even." "Alright, my name is Monica." "Everyone calls me Malone, nice to meet you."

They walked into the deli, sat down at the bar and talked for about 2 hours. She said she had to go, lunch, clean the house. She gave Malone her number. Told him to call. He said he would. He stood up. Walked outside, lit a cigarette and walked toward his apartment. Monica, what a woman.

Malone sat down infront of his computer, reached over to the drawer, pulled out the black case and placed it on a stool next to him. He pulled up the documents he needed to read before Thursday and opened the case. He read as he pulled out the silver plated .45 and began to pull it apart.

Past crimes, dislodged the barrel, sexual dipravity, unloaded the spring, transgressions against the states, firing mechanism needs oil, slave trading, clips full of hollow point ammunition, payment in full upon completion of job plus $35,000 up front for expenses and tools, screws the silencer on, chambers the first bullet, places it carefully back into the case and locks it. Everything was in place for Thursday. Tomorrow he would set up the table. So many had died for crimes committed yet it seemed as though there would never be an end to them. They never learned. Even in the closed circles of organized crime no matter how many were hit they never seemed to learn. That was the point. It's the money Malone, it's always the money. That's what he kept telling himself.

Wednesday Morning 5:23 A.M. The table had to be perfect. The faces on the sides had to match up perfectly, he'd only have one shot. Malone cut into the table bottom to make a small area that would hold the .45. Careful not to scratch the rest of the table he began working on the sliding system for the drawer. 2 hours later he had it perfect. With one hard pop right on the corner of the table where he was sitting made the drawer slide right down. The noise was minimal and he could pull and point the .45 with one fluid motion. Mr. Ingels was going to pay for what he had done. He was going to pay in blood for all the children he had shipped in those containers across the Atlantic. Pay for all the arms he had smuggled back in those same containers to warlords in the Middle East. Malone was going to make sure of that. It was getting close to breakfast. Malone lit another Pall Mall and decided he would clean up when he got back. He had to have some bacon and eggs. As he walked down the stairs he noticed a man and woman having an altercation on the floor below him. They were screaming about the children. Malone could see the woman standing over them like a mother bird protecting her nest. Her ebony black skin glistening in the heat of the building. The man was about 6'2" 240. Tattoos covered his milky white skin, ofcourse he couldn't be wearing a shirt, he had to show off that gorilla hair mass growing from his collar line to his naval to everyone. Two little girls huddled close to their mother, one sobbed quietly. Malone began to head down the next flight of stairs when he heard it.

WHAM!

CRACK!

He looked back over his shoulder. The mother was slumped down on the floor. Blood ran down from the side of her head oppisite the blood coming from her mouth. The man's hand was looming over his left shoulder. He began to reach down, grabbed the mother by the hair, picked her up and threw her inside. The tattood man looked at Malone. "What the hell you lookin' at punk?"

"A woman beating loser, sir." The tattood man walked up to Malone and shoved him back a little. "You calling me a loser boy?"

"Touch me again sir and I promise you will lose something." Malone saw it, the tension in the man's right shoulder, building power into his bicep. Malone gently rocked back on his heels as the fist came flying from below. As it passed Malone reached out and grabbed the left hand and began to bend it backwards. He twisted it till the man bent down on one knee. Malone had ahold of the man's pinky, the rest of the fingers stuck straight from the force being exerted on the muscles in the hand. Malone produced a cigar cutter from his left pocket.

"Hmm. I think this hole will just fit around your whole thumb, but if it won't, I'll just snip off whatever I can get." Malone placed the cutter around the thumb, just barely able to get it above the first bend in the thumb. "Dang, I'm just gonna get the tip. Oh well, cutting through the bone is much more painful than getting a clean cut through the bend. Sucks to be you."

Suddenly the tattood man felt the need to repent for his sins. "Alright man, whatever you want. You wanna take a crack at my wife, get a little too. That's fine by me, you want one of the girls, that's cool too, whatever you want."

"I want you to take this money. Go down to the corner store and buy asprin, ice, some snack cakes and a shirt. If I find out you bought anything thing else I'll come back for both thumbs. Your understand me?" The tattood man nodded in agreement.

Malone put the cutter back in his pocket and headed down stairs. As the tattood man picked up the forty dollars on the ground he was thanking God he still had his thumb. He ran past Malone down the stairs and headed toward the corner store.

Malone headed the other way toward a local coffee house. This was not turning out to be his day.

Malone sat down with a paper and a black cup of coffee right infront of the window. He read the funnies first. They always made him feel better. Then the business pages. It looked like Ms. Stewart wasn't going to get out of her troubles after all. Malone read on for a while sipping he coffee and smoking a cigarette. Once he had finished he decided a trip to the library would be a good diversion. He walked out and sat down on the bus bench. Next to him an elderly couple of men sat discussing how much better the town had been way back when. Your not kidding Malone thought to himself. Then again, how would he know, he'd only been here 2 weeks. The bus arrived, Malone payed the fair and sat down.

The campus had the best library. They always did. He walked in and looked for the information desk. "Excuse me, where is the section on Michelangelo?" The cute college girl looked up. "Oh, it's on the second floor. Section b12, would you like me to show you were it is?"

She bit her bottom lip. Cute. "No, that's alright, I can find it myself. Thank you."

Malone walked up stairs, went down a few rows and came to the section he was looking for. He pulled out a single book and sat down next to a window. He found the sketches of early works and of the statue 'David'. He read on about the life, the man, the works, the genius. Once he felt he had exhausted his brain he closed the book and placed it on a cart for books to be put back. It was getting to be about 4 now. He decided to call Monica.

"Hey Monica? It's Malone. I was about to head back to my place and thought maybe you'd like to meet me later for dinner. Ya, I don't usually call this soon after getting a number, you know, the whole '3 day' rule but I'm only going to be in town a couple more days and then I have to leave on business. How does 7 o'clock sound? The Drailian sound good to you? I'll meet you there. Later." Don't get attached Malone. You know you can't stay here and she can't come with you. I know that, just leave me alone.

7:02 "Dammit I'm going to be late." Malone sat in his rental car. 76 Cadillac Monte Carlo. Black as night, gleaming under the lights on the street. "I'll make it by 7:15 surely" He didn't. 7:30. "Sorry Monica, traffic was killer."

"It's alright, I was running a little late myself."

"Well shall we?" He offered his arm. She took it. They spent the next few hours discussing life, love, past love, futures, jobs. The date shifted to an after hours club. She became hammered, he became amorous. She said yes, he took her home. He fumbled with the key, she was already fumbling with his tie. He forgot to lock the door, she forgot she was in heels. He carried her to the bed. Her hair fell like a fan on the sheets. They stayed in that passion long into the morning.

Malone woke with a start. It was already 8:30. Were was Monica? Malone quickly got up and went to look for her. There she stood, in his button down white shirt and black lace thong. Ofcourse she hadn't buttoned the buttons. "I didn't know how to cook your eggs so I made them scrambled. Everyone like scrambled eggs." She continued to cook without looking back. When she did look, Malone wasn't there.

The shower felt good, cleansing, relieving. How was he going to get her out of the apartment? He had to think of something. The phone rang. That was Marty making sure the game was on for tonight. Malone would have to call him back.

Marty was a friend of Stacy's. Atleast that's what Marty thought. Stacy was using Marty to get close to Mr. Ingles. Stacy introduced Marty to Malone at a ball game. They hit it off, did a couple of things together that weekend. All of them, Stacy, Malone, Marty, Mr. Ingels, and Mr. Ingels bodyguard and right hand Sanchez. Malone was the one that brought up poker on Thursday night. Said he would need to the relaxation after a tough presentation on Thursday. If everything went right he would be flying out Friday and could always use some extra cash. Everyone bought it. He hated to have to kill Marty too. Marty was nice guy, for a thug.

Malone stepped out of the shower, dried off and put on a pair of briefs. He slowly walked to the kitchen. Monica was sitting there, reading yesterday's paper and drink coffee. "It's black just the way you like it." She handed the cup to Malone. He sipped.

They discussed morning rituals, past memories of home, family, friends. Why they had come to Chicago and their dreams. They made love in the shower, her idea. She left him with a kiss, he said he'd call her when he got back from his trip. He never intended to come back.

After she left Malone remembered he need to run and buy beer for the game. He put on his clothes and headed out. As he passed the first flight of stairs he looked down the hall to see if the tattood man was there. He was. They all were. He was wearing a new blue shirt. They were eating ice cream and the the girls were running up and down the hall. The parents were holding hands. The tattood man looked over at malone. He mouthed the words thank you. Malone mouthed back your welcome. Maybe that's it. Maybe all the world needs is a little kindness. Not likely Malone, it was the money. It's always the money.

Malone came back and put the beer in the fridge. He noticed that the window to the fire escape was open. That was odd. Then he remembered he heard traffic this morning. Monica must have opened it. He closed it and didn't think again about it. It loaded the pistol in the hidden drawer. Checked it one more time. Placed the deck of cards infront of his chair to mark it. Two hours till show time. All he had to do was wait.

9:00 Thursday night. The boys showed up right on time. Marty, Mr. Ingels, Sanchez. They all said their hellos and went straight for the table. Everyone sat right were they were supposed to. Sanchez on Malone's left, Mr. Ingels across, Marty on the right. They played for 2 hours talking back and forth, drinking, cutting up. At 11:30 Malone thought, that's when it will happen. As it got closer Malone began to bring up children, how he wanted them in the future. Mr. Ingels said, "Why wait, I can sell you one right now." Everyone laughed, Malone only half heartedly. "Sure, I can sell you a 4 year old little girl from Turkey if you want her. She's kind of sickly so you can have her cheap. How does six grand sound?"

"Will you take it in silver?"

Everyone laughed, Malone slapped the table. One fluid motion, one, Sanchez in the throat, two, Mr. Ingels in the mouth chipping the front two teeth as the bullet penatrated. He stopped on Marty. "I'm really sorry Marty. I liked you, but I can't leave any witnesses. You know how it is." Three. Those poor looking dow eyes. That's what always made him choke the most.

Malone began to clean up. He moved the table into the living room and drug the bodies into the bathroom to let them drain. Grabbed the cleaning supplies from under the sink. Put on his gloves and placed the gun on the desk on the left of the room. He began to scrub. He tried not to think of those eyes. Those poor eyes. He scrubbed till he felt the carpets he bought would suffice. He gathered up all the dirty rags and put them in a bag. Grabbed the pistol from the desk and took it with him into the bathroom.

He ran the water to help get all the blood down the drain, it has started to coagulate in the bottom.
He didn't hear her but caught her in the mirror just before he got to the gun. It was in his hand, but her's was on his head.

"Monica? Why?"

"The money Malone. It's always about the money."

Bang.

[Zzyxx]

wow, that was really good!