THE CLEANUP HITTER
The well-dressed older gentleman standing in the window was admiring his manicure when he saw the sullen young man walk across the parking lot toward the building. He shook his head in disgust and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He could see a cigarette stuck behind his ear. The young man was wearing a black leather jacket that had zippers all over the front and on the sleeves. It was open in the front in spite of the cold December day exposing his white t-shirt . His black pants were tight and high and he was wearing white socks and black loafers. He had his hair slicked and oiled back in what was called a ducktail, the style most punks were wearing today. He was late.
The well-dressed gentleman went behind his desk and sat down waiting for the young man’s arrival.
When the young man opened the office door he saw the man he was scheduled to meet sitting behind a large cherry wood desk. Against the wall was a matching credenza. Above the credenza was a large window overlooking the parking lot and the Wisconsin River. The young man took in the office and its surroundings. He looked out the window and noticed ice had started to form along the far bank, the current in the center of the river was too strong for any ice to form, at least until after the temperature dropped well below zero and it would have to stay that cold for quite some time. More likely to happen the end of January or sometime in February, if at all. It was only December 1st.
The desk was bare except for a black phone and one 9”x 12" brown manilla folder that he assumed was meant for him.
He could tell the well-dressed gentleman behind the desk was a big man even though he was sitting. His head was large and bald and he was sporting a Fu Manchu mustache that traveled down the side of his mouth and around his jaw bone. It was a white blond. His skin was an alabaster white and his clear blue eyes were ringed in red, an albino he thought. He took a deep breath.
The large gentleman squinted as he looked up at the young man.
“Close the door,” he commanded.
He did.
“What took you so long?”
“Traffic.”
“Fuck, ain’t no traffic.”
He didn’t say anything he just stared at him.
The big man asked him, "What's your name?"
"My friends call me The Cleanup Hitter."
“So, I should call you the cleanup hitter?”
“I guess,” the young man replied.
“Okay then, let’s get to it.” He stood up and handed him a gun.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s a .25 caliber” he replied.
“I don’t need it. I got a .357. Should do the job.”
“You need it. That fuckin’ .357 makes too much noise and will draw attention to you. Plus it’s messy.The .25 caliber is a hitter’s gun. You take it when you know it’s going to be a head shot.
“It’s a worthless gun,” he said. “I know a guy was shot on a Saturday night with a .25 and was back at work on Monday.”
“Yeah, well, you ain’t goin’ to no shootin’ match with this one. You are going to place the barrel up against the back of his skull and then pull the trigger. The slugs will ricochet around inside the head. It’s like putting the victim’s brain in a blender. When you finish you can drop it or take it with you. They can't trace it. But, if you drop it, make sure it's wiped clean. Make sure you get all your brass, though. Guys got nailed by leaving partials on the brass.”
The young man looked at him and nodded.
“All right, then,” the gentlemen said, handing the young man an envelope. “This has a picture of the guy along with his home address and where he works. Joey followed him for three weeks and we got every place listed where he went. He’s got a little lady that works at Dinah’s Tap off Carson Street. You know where that is?”
He nodded his head again as he removed the contents of the envelope. There was an eight by ten picture of an overweight older man wearing slacks and a Hawaiian shirt along with three sheets of notebook paper documenting his daily routine for the past three weeks and $2500.00 in cash, all in twenty dollar bills.
“Who is this? I think I recognize this guy.”
“You don’t need to know. Just take care of business. The cash is yours. That’s half in advance and once it’s done, you’ll get the rest as we agreed upon.”
The young man nodded again. “So, this .25 caliber gun won’t attract any attention?”
“No, it won’t. I make more noise when I fart. Just get behind the bastard and pulled the trigger. The slug will do the rest. I’d pop ‘im again, just to make sure.”
The young man nodded again. “What did he do to you that you want him gone?”
“It’s none of your business. Your business is to take care of this. Make it clean, you understand?”
“Okay,” the young man replied as he put the $2500.00 in his pocket and picked up the .25 caliber. “I guess I better get this over with then.”
The young man placed the barrel of the gun against the big man’s head and quickly fired two shots at point blank range into his skull.
The large man fell forward over his massive desk. His eyes were open with surprise etched on his face. It was turned to the side and blood was pooling around his neck and down the back of his suit.The young man said, “You were right, this little gun is real quiet and that second slug just to make sure was a good idea.”
He bent over the body and said, “I think I can hear them slugs ricocheting around in your head, cocksucker.” He stood up and looked at the .25 caliber gun. “I think Joey will be surprised to see this, don’t ya’ think?” He chuckled as he put it in his jacket pocket while grabbing the cigarette from behind his ear and popping it in his mouth.
“Damn, I forgot my lighter,” he said as he walked to the door.
The young man stopped and was about to open it when he turned back and said as he returned to the body, “Oh, I almost forgot, the brass, and by the way, my pa said to say hello. He wanted his picture back.”