High on the Hog

“Were you followed?” Kirk asked, a sense of urgency in his voice and also a trace of accusation, like he expected Isla to slip up. He poked his head into the dimly lit hallway of the apartment building, the flickering fluorescent lighting casting a greenish glow on the dull beige walls. He whipped his skull in each direction and then darted back inside.

Kirk was taller and more sinewy than Isla had imagined. During their phone conversations, his voice had sounded weighted down, like it was having trouble breaking free from the confines of a broad chested, thick throated creature.

“I was careful,” Isla finally responded, “I parked three blocks away, marched right past the main entrance, then circled back by the alley and came up the side stairs.” She looked down at her ebony Versace pumps, now scuffed and dusty. Like her, they weren’t designed for the south side of Chicago.

Kirk maneuvered himself through the cramped living area of the apartment into the connected kitchen. The whole space was a mess, not dirty, necessarily, but there were stacks of files covering every surface and wrinkled piles of clothing on the floor that seemed to have been discarded absentmindedly. He offered Isla some coffee, but one look at the stained mug he pulled from the cupboard put that out of the question.

“Let’s just get to the business at hand,” she directed. “I’ve brought the money and the photos.” She reached into her handbag, pulling a yellow mailer envelope and a crumpled paper bag out of her leather satchel.

Kirk took the bag and pulled out a stack of hundred dollar bills; he leafed through them without really paying them attention. It was a formality, one he’d obviously performed many times. Then he took the envelope and slid one of the photos out. He stared at it for a moment; Isla wasn’t sure which picture it was, but they were all basically the same: a shot of her big shot businessman husband with his hands tangled in some girl’s over processed blonde hair, the two of them intertwined with one another in either some pay-by-the hour motel or his silver Range Rover.

“You’re sure about this?” Kirk queried. “If you’re having second thoughts, that’s normal. You can still walk away.”

He sounded like he genuinely hoped she would take the money and leave his apartment without looking back, but maybe she imagined that. After all, this was his job and he was a professional, that’s why she’d chosen him.

She stared him directly in the eyes, peering into his black pupils till that’s all that existed. “There is no going back. This has to happen”

Kirk returned her gaze, but didn’t respond. She wondered how many times someone like her had shown up with pictures and money asking him for the same thing she was. She felt a sudden urge to explain herself to him, not for approval, but so that he knew what was at stake.

“I won’t pretend to know what you think about me,” Isla said coolly. “Or what reasons your other clients might have for hiring your services. And I suppose your opinion of me or them doesn’t matter, not to me at least and I’d guess not to you either. But understand this, I could have overlooked the affairs, could have put up with the lying, but I can never forgive what he’s done to my father.”

Kirk remained expressionless. She was right, he didn’t need her explanation and probably didn’t want it either, but now that she had started, it felt good to say it out loud.

“The man I married used me to take away the one thing that my father has spent his whole life building. A pig farm may not seem like much of an achievement to most, especially my husband, but to my family it’s everything. My husband knew that and he snatched it away without blinking an eye.”

Isla clenched her jaw to keep tears from smarting. Her husband had to pay for what he’d done. Not only had he been involved with the scheme to seize her father’s farm, he’d been the main architect in the venture and had made a huge profit from the deal. He’d crossed a line and she always protected her own. She once thought he was one of them, her own, her teammate and partner, but that had been an illusion. “I want him to suffer,” she said through gritted teeth.

Kirk nodded mechanically. “Then I’ll make the blackmail threat tomorrow, and set up a meeting for a payoff. Somewhere in South Deering. Some place the body will be found, but not for a couple days. I’ll take care of the frame job; it’ll be concrete enough to put him away for life.”

Isla’s only response was to cross her arms in front of her chest and lean against the kitchen counter, suddenly mesmerized by a paint chip on the opposite wall. She had never been fond of being raised on a hog farm, but it was her home and it was her father’s whole life. She had been seduced by platinum credit cards and vacation homes, but family trumped any diamond studded bracelet and always would.

Her husband had to be punished. He would rot, not in a coffin like his business partner, but slowly in a cell in Stateville. It would be made right and her dad would have his hogs again to raise for slaughter. A hint of a smirk pulled at the corners of Isla’s MAC glossed lips and, without another word to Kirk, she left the apartment and evaporated into the night.