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The Little Black Book

Choices. We All Make Them.

By Melidee MatthewsPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
6
Tea

Welcome to Verizon Wireless. Your call cannot be completed at this time. Please contact the billing office at …

I put my phone down, shaking my head, having listened to the same disconnect announcement twenty times. I pick up my wine glass and drain the last of the crimson elixir before realizing it’s one o'clock in the day, and I’ve already finished an entire bottle. I get up, tossing the glass into the recycling bin before going to the wine refrigerator and pulling out the most expensive bottle I have left. As I pop the cork, my doorbell rings.

I walk towards the entrance, pausing to make sure I look somewhat presentable. I smooth my hair back behind my ears but realize my beyond wrinkled clothing has seen better days. I shake my head and give up.

“Hello,” I say, as I swing the door open wide and lean against the door jam, dizzy from my morning brunch.

An older gentleman is standing at the entry, smiling pleasantly at me. He is wearing a three-piece gray suit with a bowler hat and wire-rim glasses.

“Greetings," he responds, smiling. "How are you today?"

“I’m doing well,” I say, lying through my teeth. “Is there something I can do for you?”

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" He asks quietly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I say, pulling my sweater tight across my body. “I don’t know you. Are you a friend of my husband's?”

“Where are my manners. My name is Mr. Sims.”

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Sims, but I still don't know you?"

“Let’s just say I’m here to help.”

“With?” I ask, confused.

"Why don't you invite me in for a cup of tea, and I'll explain."

Having nothing left to lose but my life, I shrug and allow him to enter my home.

Mr. Sims strolls inside with his hands behind his back, looking around with a small smile on his face. He turns expectantly towards me as I close the door and stands aside as I lead the way being careful not to crowd me. We walk into the kitchen, and I motion for him to have a seat.

“Okay, Mr. Sims, what can I do for you?”

“How about that cup of tea?”

“Sure,” I say, taking the tea kettle off the stove and filling it with water as my guest takes off his hat and sits at the kitchen table, his eyes landing on my stacks of past-due bills. I sit across from him, removing my business from his prying eyes.

Mr. Sims reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a thick white envelope, and places it on the table. He folds his hands in front of him and smiles.

“I bet you’re wondering what that is?”

“You're here, so you may as well tell me.”

“In this envelope is fifty thousand dollars in cash.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, positive I didn’t hear him correctly. “Did you say fifty thousand dollars?”

He laughs, nodding.

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

“I work for an organization that helps people like you in unfortunate circumstances. For instance, we know you have come under great financial difficulty due to infidelity.”

“How do you know that, and again, who the fuck are you.”

“I’m Mr. Sims.”

“What’s your first name?”

“Mr. Sims is fine.”

“Are you going to try and get me to send this money to a Nigerian Prince or something?”

“That’s funny. I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but that is a new one."

"Okay, Mr. Sims, tell me about this organization.”

“As I said, we offer assistance.”

“Based on?”

“Our very skilled computer programmers created an algorithm that reads individual financial reports with specific characteristics.”

“Which is?”

“Oh dear,” he says, chuckling lightly. “I’m not tech-savvy in the least. The Board of Directors set the guidelines. I just make the offers."

“So, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. You take the money and pay your debt.”

“That money wouldn't touch my debt, and nothing is that cut and dry.

"It may not relieve all your burden but would give you a fresh start, so to speak."

“Why do I get the feeling you know more about my debt than I do?”

Mr. Sims shrugs and smiles.

"What's the catch?" I ask again.

“No catch. Consider it services rendered for a good cup of tea and conversation.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mr. Sims laughs as he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a weathered black book that has seen better days. He places it approximately ten inches to the right of the envelope.

“What’s with the book?” I ask, pointing, and Mr. Sims smiles.

"This book has information that is important to a lot of people. It contains names, dates, locations, and some would pay a lot of money to have access to it.”

“I don’t understand. What does the book have to do with the money on the table?”

“Nothing really.”

“Mr. Sims, I don’t understand.”

“You simply have to deliver the book to a designated place and time, unopened because the contents don’t concern you.”

“And what happens after I drop it off? I get the fifty thousand?”

Mr. Sims reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a thin white envelope.

“No, here’s a check made out to you for one million dollars.”

“Wait a minute, a million dollars for dropping off a book? What’s the deal? Am I being punked?”

"You are quite funny," Mr. Sims says laughing, but quickly grows serious. "At this point, I've explained everything I'm required, and you have three minutes to decide. I can walk out of here as if we never met, and you can take the fifty thousand for your time, or you deliver the book and become an instant millionaire. I can step outside while you make your decision.”

As he rises, the tea kettle whistles.

“Mr. Sims, I promised you a cup of tea. I’ll step out. I need to take a moment to myself if that’s okay?”

He smiles as he retakes his seat.

“English breakfast or a lavender blend. I mix the blend myself.”

“I’ll try the lavender. It sounds … intriguing.”

I fill my small glass kettle with hot water before filling the steel infuser with tea leaves. Mr. Sims smiles and tips his head to me as I put the tea down in front of him before I walk out of the room.

Exactly three minutes later, I stroll back into the kitchen. Mr. Sims looks at me expectantly, putting his cup down on the saucer.

“Did you enjoy the tea?”

“Very much so. Have you decided?”

“I have,” I say, pointing to the black book. “A million dollars would make a world of difference for me right now.”

"Delightful," he says, clapping his hands. He reaches into his pocket and puts a small white piece of paper on top of the black book. “That is the address, the date and time you must deliver the book."

“Understood,” I say, picking up the book and the envelope beside it. I open it, and sure enough, there is a check for a million dollars. I look at Mr. Sims and smile as he takes another sip of his tea.

“Would you be willing to share your recipe? This tea is simply delicious.”

“Of course, but if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.”

Mr. Sims laughs as if he just heard the best joke in the world. He removes his glasses as joyful tears run down his face, wiping his eyes as he calms down. He takes a deep breath as he puts his glasses back on and looks at me.

He stops laughing.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks, looking down the barrel of my Desert Eagle with an attached silencer.

I squeeze off two shots hitting Mr. Sims in his chest, reveling in the familiar feel of the recoil. The bullets force pushes Mr. Sims back in the chair, and I watch as he falls as if in slow motion. I walk over and crouch down beside him as he struggles to talk.

“Shhhh, don’t say anything. Those weren’t kill shots but just the same, save your energy. I know all about the algorithm and how it picks unsuspecting people in unfortunate situations to do your dirty work but never for a second did I think The Organization would be here on my doorstep. Funny thing, this house, and all the bills are in my husband's name, and since the name Madison is unisex, you had no idea he was the one you should be making the offer to and not me.”

Mr. Sims stares at me in disbelief.

“Before I met my husband, I’ve been the recipient of a few black books. The Organization loved me. I wasn't sloppy, never left evidence, or taken a life that wasn't in the book. Well, until today.”

I watch as tears run down Mr. Sims' face, and I'm not sure if it's fear or his imminent death that compels him to cry when he was so damn happy just a few minutes ago.

"He said he wanted to take care of me, so I left all this behind, but I had a small fortune saved, and there was no way I could explain how I got my money, so I didn't bring it up, but then he started fucking that bitch at the bank, and she got in my business and can you believe they cleaned me out?"

Mr. Sims begins to twitch uncontrollably.

“I’ll be okay. Obviously, I’ll take the fifty-thousand. There’s no way I can cash a check for a million in my husband's name and get away with it. I had a good relationship with The Organization, and since I’m putting the word out, I’m back, I’d like to keep it that way.”

I watch emotionless as Mr. Sims hangs on, shaking his head back and forth.

“I could've taken it easy on you and just put two between your eyes, but I wanted you to know who I am and what I know about you. Had my name been on the check and had I taken the million, my name would have gone in the next black book. The Organization is nothing if not thorough and leaves no loose ends.”

“Please,” Mr. Sims manages to gasp as he reaches out to me. "I'm…just…doing my job.”

“Oh, that’s right. I promised you my recipe for the tea.” I say, standing, pointing the gun right at Mr. Sims' heart. "It's lavender leaves with a hint chamomile and mint."

I put one more dead center in his heart as promised. Mr. Sims' takes his last breath as his blue eyes widen before going vacant as his lifeless pupils dilate.

I reach into my back pocket and pull out the burner cell that has been off since the day I got married. The person on the other end answers after two rings.

“Isn’t this a surprise? I thought you were dead.”

“I need a cleaner. I’ll text the address.”

“How clean?”

“Burn it.”

“Will do. Good to have you back?”

“Good to be back,” I say before I disconnect.

I reach for the million-dollar envelope and take the check out. I endorse it with my husband's name, intent on depositing it in his account. When the organization realizes Mr. Sims is missing, they’ll investigate, and since nothing is in my name, no one will be the wiser as to my involvement, and all roads will point to my husband, who thought leaving me with a mountain of debt was a good idea.

Despite it all, everything worked out. The Organization will get back one of their most prolific contractors, and my husband's name will end up in a black book.

I only hope it's the one delivered to me.

fiction
6

About the Creator

Melidee Matthews

I'm an aspiring writer who has written a ton of short stories and two novels but need that extra push to trust my gut is right about my work.

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