The Last Job

I stop walking and look up. I’ve arrived at 17 Berkshire Lane. It looks like a very normal neighborhood. Huh. Most of these jobs are dives. They made sense. This place was too apple-pectin-perfect. But, not my job to judge. Just here to collect the debt. Ew, even the doorbell was chipper. I dunno maybe they’re serial killers. But a little girl answers the door.

“Sorry, I think I’m at the wrong place, there’s not a Judy here, is there?” I ask, almost walking back out the door.

“Come on in,” the little girl turns as if I should follow. I cautiously enter.

“Take a seat,” the girl stares at a velvet arm chair and it slides across the room right behind me. I meet really interesting people on this job.

“Thanks,” I say, thinking I’m avoiding any liquids or food if it’s offered. Just to be on the safe side.

“I don’t have it. I don’t have the money”, the little girl plainly states. I look down at the notebook. Ink apparates onto the pages: She’s lying. Find the bag.

“So what’s it like working for him?” Suddenly, she has a knife in her hand and twirls it, sticking the end into her finger.

“It’s fine. Hard to find work these days, so I gotta take what I can get. Anyway, back to the money. I think you do have it”, I insist.

“I told you I don’t have it. So how am I supposed to make it appear?”

I roll my eyes, realizing I’m going to have to find it the hard way. I get up and dart out of the room, her knife sailing past my ear. I dodge the knife, diving into the little girl’s bedroom. A big Cassandra is hanging in block letters. Very serious name for a sociopath, fitting.

I lock the door and start tearing through the room; ripping out every item from her closet, pushing over the teak dresser, and checking for loose floorboards. The kid bangs on the door hard, so I head out the window instead and onto the ledge that wraps around the second floor. The notebook vibrates in my back pocket. Of course he’s writing me now. I open it and flip through while balancing on the eaves trough. She might not have the money because she’s a child...

It’s in her parents bedroom, of course. I hear the door being blown apart and the little girl flies out the window, screaming like a banshee. Honestly, this is what late stage capitalism makes people put up with. Working for so many days straight you die (happened to a young girl in Korea), or being pushed off the side of the house by a baby banshee.

I dive into the bedroom and grab a picture of Jesus off the wall and proffer it to her.

She laughs and hisses. No? Okay, I grab the baseball bat and and chuck it out the window. Baby banshee is surprised by the bat to the head, and crashes to the ground.

But she won’t be down for long. My eyes dart around as my brain tries to keep up with them. Not in the closet. Not under the bed. Where the hell do people hide money...

En suite bathroom. I lift the toilet and taped to the reservoir in Ziplocks are stacks of hundred dollar bills. I didn’t expect to collect cash on this job. Just extinguish a soul. I find Dad’s nice leather bag to put the toilet cash in.

The stupid notebook vibrates again. Set it on fire. Man, he’s really a flames fan. Because this is the usual request, I’ve got some lighter fluid on me. I go room by room and sprinkle the furniture, the quilts, the couch, the counter tops, everything.

I light a match and let it fall. I take one last look and see Banshee Baby standing in the beginnings of the fire with a welt on her head and tears streaming down her face.

“At least I made you laugh”, she calls out to me. Which is what my daughter always used to say when she got into trouble. My heart in my throat, I run back to the house and pick her up. I throw baby banshee in the trunk, and slam it shut. She hollers, but this stupid muffler covers any cries of protest. I bought it off a guy who loves loud muscle cars. I chuck the leather bag of cash into the front seat. I take the vibrating notebook and chuck it out the window. We peel away from the burning house.

Throwing out the notebook is pointless. I know he’s going to find us. Until then, we’re free.