Regret

It was a Friday afternoon just like any other. But not for J.T. He was hung over, tired and most importantly broke. Years of gambling and womanizing had lead him to where he now was - a dingy motel room in a bad part of town. He waddled over to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face hoping it would sober him up. The only thing it did was awaken the part of his brain that drove him to drink in the first place.

A stream of images raced in side his head: his daughter’s birth, her christening and then that dreaded day. “Mr. Cotton, your daughter’s kidneys are not working well and she will probably need a transplant by age five,”said an emotionless balding physician. JT’s wife cried as the doctor walked away. “What now ? What do we do? ”

Flash forward two years. It is two weeks before his daughter’s fifth birthday. After his wife left him, there was really nothing left for him besides the casino and the ladies that came along with it. His daughter’s illness didn’t help his marriage. But, that was the reason his wife suddenly walked out one cold Wednesday night. Every day JT left for the office at the same time and was home by supper time. All was well til she found out that Wednesday that there was no office. He was not an accountant. He wasn’t employed by an accounting firm. His profession was far more nefarious. For years, he would be hired by unsavoury characters as a hit man. On average he would routinely kill two or three individuals a month. His only stipulation was that he wouldn’t kill children. Everyone else was fair game. He once shot a gang leader’s girlfriend just because she strayed and his most lucrative assignment involved a high profile CEO with a checkered past. His life forever changed that Wednesday. His wife was gone and with her his now ill daughter.

His cellphone rang. He stumbled to the dusty dresser and picked it up. On the other end was his wife. She was unconsolable. “I’m at the hospital. Christina is not well. She failed dialysis and has slipped into a coma,” said his wife. JT quickly sobered up and threw on some wrinkled clothes. With in an hour he was at his daughters side still smelling of alcohol. His wife sobbed and told him that her only hope was a kidney transplant, but that her insurance had capped out and it would be 20,000 dollars.

J.T. immediately knew what he needed to do. A phone call to the local drug dealer and he was told that a little black book containing a name would be waiting for him at 8 pm at a nearby restaurant. “Ask for Lola and tell her Shorty sent you,” a gruff voice said before hanging up.

JT walked into the greasy spoon and walked out with the small black book with the name and address of some deadbeat with too many unpaid debts. That night, he broke into his home and five minutes later the job was done. J.T. then went to collect his money and as promised his money was waiting for him in a small sachel.

He called his wife and stated that he had the money. “I have it. I am on my way to the hospital,” he shouted. “I will let the doctors know. Please hurry up. They say she won’t make it through the night.” “I am four hours away. I am headed that way.”

J.T. drove as fast as he could. He left skid marks as he pulled up at the hospital. As soon as he pushed his daughter’s door open, he pulled a wad of Benjamins out. His wife just stared at him. “What’s wrong ? I have the money,” he said. His wife cried. “What? What?” he asked. She was speechless and her tremulous finger pointed to the room’s television.

The local news anchor with a mild voice spoke. “New information on the shooting of a transplant surgeon is coming in. The police is treating it as a homicide.”

J.T.’S shoulders sank and then he slowly collapsed to the floor.