The Pay Off

Walter had hidden from them for months. Now, crouched in the alleyway, his eyes peering down at the black bag that lay before him, he feared he’d been uncovered yet again. They always had a way of finding him, it seemed. These people: they were powerful. And he, well...he was just a junky in their eyes. You can never be too careful, he thought. And now, with the upcoming trial, there was soundly based reason for his trepidation.

Walter’s mind returned to the night it all started, the night he... saw it. Though his memory of it was so dim and dream-like that the cops had hardly believed him. Rhythmic fluctuations from darkness to consciousness, consciousness to darkness, like a tide pushing and pulling from the shoreline. A black 718 Cayman... five shots...the body dragged across the concrete... the woman, her features indistinct yet unforgettable. She hadn’t thought anything of him; with his flushed skin and dozy demeanor, laying there on the park bench cloaked in the depths of his coat. His eyes had been heavy, but he’d watched it unfold clear as day.

Terror and paranoia swept over him again. His breath shallowed and his throat tightened. Deep breath. He looked down again at the black bag in front of him. He’d just discovered it next his trash can along with a little black leather-bound notebook. He’d spotted the bag almost instantly, as it was shiny and perfectly new and was obviously noticeable among the piles of trash. His gut didn’t lie; this was no accident. Someone had left this there for him on purpose. He opened the bag again and counted it over for the tenth time. Twenty thousand dollars.

***

Delilah had hidden from them for months. She’d barely left her apartment since that night. She spent her days and nights alone, paralyzed and numb, feeling discomfort in her own mind and body. Today, however, she felt ready to go out and reunite with her friends. Ready to...just feel like herself again, like the light-hearted and lively person she was before this ever happened.

She had a fragmented but vivid memory of that night. It was the tiny details that embedded themselves in her mind, it seemed. The roughness of his calloused hand over her mouth, the musty smell of the cushion he pressed her head against in the backseat, the tightness in her chest when his tone turned from charming to threatening. She laid there, immobile and silent, the sounds of the city muted for what seemed like an eternity. She should have known better than to let him drive her home.

Her heart began to race, and she felt a cold sweat break out over her body. Deep breath. She looked down at the pocketknife she’d been fiddling between her fingers and placed it in her coat pocket. You can never be too careful, she thought.

***

When the shock of possessing that much cash subsided, Walter decided to check the notebook. He unlatched the magnetic closure and opened the front cover. As opposed to the bag, time had worn its edges; the leather so delicate it could peel with the slightest touch. He opened it to the first page. Nothing but a few bold words filled its entirety: For your silence. It won’t be rewarded next time. He flipped through the rest of the pages; empty.

***

They were to meet at the High Dive at 8pm for drinks. Delilah decided on this as it was only a 5-minute walk from her apartment. Just a straight shot with one right turn, she repeated it over, tracing the route in her head. The bar was never too crowded around that time; she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone brushing up against her or pushing past her to get a drink. She wouldn’t have to worry about losing her friends in an inebriated sea of people or of her voice being drowned out by a bunch of 20-somethings seeing who could speak over each other the loudest. No, her friends would be able to hear her if she screamed.

She left her apartment, double checking that she’d locked the door, and headed down 4th avenue. She felt the city lights hit her like a bucket of water, awakening her, and though she’d walked this street hundreds of times, the sense of novelty of everything she passed did not go unnoticed. Deep breath. She was ready.

***

Walter couldn’t stop analyzing this discovery. The money...the message. How did they find him? All the others that roam these streets, he thought, how did they know he’d find it there? He stuck the notebook in his pocket and started scouring the street and rummaging through the trash, looking for clues. Drones, he thought, micro drones following his every move. No, no, no, they’ve planted a tracker in me when I was sleeping. Those fuckers. Probably got surveillance on the streetlights. He broke out in a cold sweat and his heart raced. Then, almost suddenly, he felt something that stopped him in his tracks. It was a sense of apprehension, an indescribable inclination that someone was watching him. He looked up. At the end of the alley was a woman in a black coat. She stood there, impassive, staring balefully and directly at him. The lights grazed her back, causing a halo around her body. Her shadow stretched down into the alley, lessening its blackness as it neared him until fading into the piles of trash. Though the lighting darkened the hues of her features, he could see her clear as a bell. The sleek black coat, the polished purse and silken scarf. Her hair, carefully pinned back, with just the front pieces blowing aimlessly over her face. It was her. Yet, just as suddenly as she appeared, she was gone, withdrawing back into the sidewalk’s bustle.

His body felt rigid. A deep, unsettling realization swept over him. The money: it was just a diversion, a ruse of relief that this would all be over. But he’d always know the truth, and they’d always find him. They are going to kill me. They are going to fucking kill me. He dashed out of the alleyway. She wouldn’t get away this time. The panic consumed him.

Delilah continued on, breathing in the city air and soaking up the city’s sounds at night. An elderly woman passed by, her small white dog in tow, smiling at her. She smiled back, the first time in a while shed done so. She was one street away from her right turn when an ominous sensation flooded her. It was an indescribable inclination that someone was watching her.

Just then, a firm hand grasped her shoulder and – along with an intense, vehement shouting - dug into her skin and pulled her back forcefully. The stench of waste and filth filled her. She gasped, unable to scream. The shock swallowed her whole and she felt as if her body were in autopilot. She didn’t even remember pulling out the knife from her pocket. A reflex, as if she were playing a part in a play she’d rehearsed a thousand times. The panic consumed her.

Delilah, in horror, hovered over a filthy, scruffy man in tattered clothes, still holding the knife to his neck. He reeked of booze and rotted food. Blood surged onto the pavement, soaking into a black trash bag filled with shredded newspaper beside him. His eyes, locked on hers, filled with fear and distress. He gasped his last breath, clutching a black leather-bound notebook tightly to his chest. His limbs changed from tense to unmoving, his skin flushed, and his eyes turned heavy as he drifted. Delilah stood immobile and silent; the sounds of the city muted for what seemed like an eternity.

Moments later, a woman in a black coat walked inconspicuously out of an alleyway, a shiny black bag over her shoulder, and vanished into the city.