Arthuro By Tom Fynes

Desperation makes a man do terrible things. I knew I had to pay the $50K back on time. Plus, the Vig. But what could I do. We needed the money to keep the Nite Club afloat. And the bank told me to fuck off. The punters were starting to come back. I could see the greenback stash of light at the end of the tunnel.

Zippo would come looking for the cash. I knew Zippo. Was best man at his wedding.

OK, the hooker he married wasn’t exactly voted Miss Spreadable 1985, in her college yearbook, for nothing.

I knew her from the Club. She had her regulars. Some paid over the odds. She was that type of gal. Went all the way and a bit more. If you get my drift.

Said she loved them. Which is what most of them lonely sad-sack losers wanted to hear. She spread more than her favours around.

And yes, I indulged. Caught a dose of the clap for my troubles. But she was a nice gal, and they suited each other.

Zippo wasn’t the smartest guy on the block. Stacked like a linebacker. He dressed as though he was in some fifties’ gangster movie. Black pin stripe suit with a Capone fedora. Smoked cheap Havana cigars.

The Serb trusted him to collect his investments. He had no emotions or empathy when terminating bad debts. I argued the point, that it was not a good idea to close an investment before it had paid its full dividend.

Zippo said he’d asked the Serb about that and was told it encouraged his other investments to mature on time. Which I suppose made some sort of extremely violent mob sense.

It was never personal said Zippo. Just a business deal that ended with an exchange of lead for the non-completion of the agreed transaction.

I offered to convert the Serbs note into a percentage share in the Nite Club.

He laughed in my face. Said if I didn’t repay the loan in full, with the Vig. He would pick up the Nite Club for a song. As I, certainly, would not be around to protest.

Killing Sadie was never part of my plan. I liked Zippos wife. She was just unlucky, wrong place, wrong time. Rumour was, she kept a large wad in a box at her flat. Rumour was wrong. I left a dead body and empty handed and headed back to the Nite Club.

Zippos bright yellow Cadillac was parked outside.

He was sitting at his favourite table in the empty Nite Club. Just staring at the stage and smoking his cheap cigars.

I stabbed him multiple times in the back before he could react. But he still stood up and turned. He had a gun out, but fell on his knees as I stabbed him again and again.

The fucker would not die. He looked at me all confused and said, “Arthuro, I thought we was friends.”