The Only Option

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“What other option do I have?” Spencer’s breath came quick and shallow. His legs were too weak to stand and he collapsed onto the broken sofa. His mind raced with a million thoughts that all crashed into one another, leaving him with nothing but a headache. He stared at the small notebook. Heather stared at him.

She knew what the notebook meant. Everyone in Herman Gardens knew what the small black book meant. It had shown up this morning at the time when people who had jobs would be leaving for work. Almost no one in Herman Gardens had a job, so the man with the nice suit was not in danger of being spotted. Of course, every one knew where the notebooks came from, and the envelopes filled with cash.

Heather broke her stare from Spencer and looked back at the envelope laying on the filthy coffee table. The money looked so clean compared to the grime on the table. They had counted the money twice and both times it had come to the amount of twenty thousand dollars. Neither of them had ever heard of anyone getting so much money before.

“What are you going to do?” Heather asked breaking Spencer out of his stupor. He turned to her and swallowed hard. Spencer Slate had never so much as robbed anyone. He was a thief to be sure, but not a robber and definitely not a murderer.

He met his wife’s gaze.

“I don’t know.” Which was the only response he was capable of giving.

“Well I do!” Heather shot back the with the authority of a queen. “ You’re gonna put on your big boy pants and you are going kill…..” She craned her neck to read the name in the black notebook. “.....Charles Worthington. What a stupid name! You’re gonna go kill old Chuck because if you don’t, in twenty four hours a couple of really mean gangsters are gonna come here and kill you and kill me.”

She was right and he knew it. Anyone who refused the little black notebook was killed exactly twenty four hours after receiving it. People did not say “no” to The Association.

“Do you remember Sarah and her husband Robert? He worked for the road commission. They lived on the south end of the Gardens. Well, I heard he got a little notebook just like this one, although I think it was a whole lot less than twenty grand. Well, he didn’t go out and kill whoever’s name was in the book and do you remember what happened?”

Spencer did remember, but he knew the question was rhetorical. She would recount the events even if he answered yes. So he did what usually seemed prudent and kept his mouth shut.

“His apartment was fire bombed while he, Sarah,and their two kids were all asleep. Now if they did that to him, imagine what they will do to us for twenty thousand dollars.” Her tirade was over and Heather could tell she had gotten through to her husband. It was time leave no lingering doubt in the poor fool’s mind.

Heather rose from her chair and swayed over to the couch sinking seductively next to her husband.

“Baby.” Her voice was silky and her lips slightly pouted. She pressed her body next to his and gently stroked his disheveled hair. She repeated, “Baby, I know this is unpleasant, but please, for me. I need you to protect me. “ She paused letting her affect have it’s way with him.

“It’s not so much you are killing someone as you are protecting your wife. Really, it’s your only option.” Her eyes were big and pleading and her lips soft as they brushed his ear.

“Ok.” Spencer could only get the word out through a whisper. Heather squealed and wrapped her arms around her valiant husband.

“I knew it! I knew you would make the right choice. I always knew I could count on you.” She sprung up off the couch and practically bounced across the room. She flung on her coat, grabbed the envelope of money, stuffing it into one of the inside pockets of her coat. She wiggled her feet back and forth trying to force them into her boots.

“Where are you going?” Spencer asked, sitting upright on edge of the couch.

“Out!” She replied as if his question was completely stupid.

“You think I’m going to leave twenty thousand dollars just laying around this crappy apartment? I haven’t eaten anything in two days and I haven’t been properly drunk in a week.” She won the battle with her boots and sauntered over to her husband.

“I’m gonna make the best steak dinner, and I’ll get the most expensive bottle of wine for when you get back, Mr. Slate.” She kissed him and a devilish smile spread across her face. “I may even get something special to wear tonight.” She let go of Spencer and headed to the door but stopped and turned around with a quizzical look.

“Do you have a gun?” She paused trying to remember.

Spencer blinked more times than any human needed to blink and shook his head yes. He had a small revolver that he always carried with him, but up until today it had only been for protection. Heather smiled, winked at him and was gone. Spencer was alone with just the broken couch, the dirty coffee table, and the small black book.

He opened the book again.

Charles Worthington

11368 St. Micheal Ave.

He punched in the address on his phone. It was at the complete opposite end of town, nowhere near the Gardens. He needed a beer. All of the beer was gone and he knew this, but he opened the fridge anyway hoping for a miracle; but miracles did not happen in the Gardens. The best residents of Herman Gardens could hope for was a deal with the devil.

Spencer grabbed his coat, his keys, and his gun and headed out side.The bitter wind stung his face and warned of the impending snow. He zipped his jacket but the zipper was broken so he pulled it close.

His apartment was on the second floor and he quickly walked across the open catwalk and descended the stairs at the end of the building. He started his mustard yellow car and followed the directions on his phone. He didn’t have a plan or even the beginnings of a plan. But he knew he couldn’t wait. The Association was not known for their patience. They had given him the notebook and the cash, which meant they wanted it done today.

After an hour’s drive Spencer turned onto St. Micheal Ave. The houses were beautiful and the neighborhood immaculate. Spencer looked and felt out of place.

The house at 11368 St. Micheal Ave was nestled in a Cul-de-sac. It was a bright gray color, with four grandiose pillars guarding the enormous porch.

Spencer parked his car in front of the neighbor’s house. He began to hyperventilate as panic set in.

“What do I do now?” He asked out loud. He had no plan. He didn’t even know if this Worthington guy was home. The panic was threatening to overwhelm him but Spencer knew he could not turn back. He had no other option than to carry it out. He didn’t know what to do but he knew he couldn’t sit inside the car any longer or he was going to lose his mind.

With out thinking he got out of his car and walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

“This is so stupid.” Spencer cursed under his breath. He was about to leave when the door opened. Spencer’s jaw dropped open.

A tall man in his late fifties stood in the doorway. His hair was white and neatly groomed. He wore a spotless police dress uniform, decorated with an array of ribbons and braids. His polished police badge hung on his chest and across from it on the other side of his chest was his name plate. Spencer read the name.

Worthington.

Police Commissioner.

“Can I help you?” The police commissioner asked in a slightly annoyed tone.

“Charles Worthington?” Spencer asked still in shock.

The Commissioner was now irritated.

“Who the hell are you are and what are you doing at my house?”

“This is my only option.” Spencer replied in a hushed tone. He raised the gun, fired ,and walked away as if he had done it a hundred times. He heard screaming coming from inside the house, but he didn’t hurry. He got in his mustard yellow car and drove away just as the snow started to fall.

On the drive over the bridge Spencer threw the black notebook out the window and into the water below. Common sense told him to throw out the gun, but he couldn’t get rid of it just yet. He wasn’t ready to head home and took a detour, taking care to follow the speed limit. Heather might worry but she would understand. Eventually, after driving around the city for two hours, he found himself parked in front of his apartment.

His breathing was calm and his mind clear. It had all been so….. so easy. Spencer hadn’t known what to expect but he hadn’t expected it to be so quick, so effortless. He climbed the stairs while his mind replayed the moment he pulled the trigger over and over again. He had crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

He arrived at this apartment and opened the door.

“Spencer!” Heather’s voice was shrill and loud. It was followed by a even louder cheer. There were over twenty people crammed into his tiny apartment, if it still was his apartment. It was littered with brand new furniture including a large screen TV that sat right by the door. Heather made her way over to him kissing him drunkenly on the lips.

“There’s my big hero.” She said through giggles. “I knew you would do it.”

“Who are all these people? “ he asked.

“Oh just a few friends sweetheart. “ Heather said with a smile.

“No, Babe. What are they doing in our home?” He then lowered his voice and spoke through gritted teeth.

“I just killed someone.”

“Yes you did!” Heather said with a laugh that ended in a snort. “And I’m so proud of you.”

“You shouldn’t have told anyone.” Spencer said with a clenched jaw.

“They don’t know any details, silly. Only that you are am-a-zing.” She stumbled away and was clearly done talking about it. Someone handed Spencer a beer and the evening blurred into night. Eventually the alcohol ran out and the guests left. Heather passed out and Spencer carried her to the bedroom. He tucked her in bed then went out and sat down on the brand new couch. In a couple minutes he was asleep.

Spencer woke up at the time of day when people who have a job go to work. Of course very few people in Herman Gardens had a job. A shadow moved across his front window and Spencer jumped off the couch grabbed his gun and ran to the door. He opened it slowly and stuck his head out side.

A well groomed man in a tailored suit stopped walking and turned around. They stared at each other for a moment then the man nodded at Spencer. He descended the stairs, got into the black car and drove away. Spencer had been holding his breath and let out a sigh of relief. He watched the car until it was out of sight. He started to close the door and looked down. In front of his door was a small black book. There was no envelope filled with cash.

Spencer swallowed hard, picked up the book, and opened it. He read the name.

Heather Slate.