Tags: Noir, noir crime, hit men, noir crime thriller, drug cartel fiction, edge of your seat thrillers, gripping thriller, hit man book, hit man series
to comfort his stress as well as his bruise. He glared up at the ceiling and didn't speak. The room filled with the sound of a plane going by. We're a pair of deaf idiots in the dark. “You all right?” Hernan sat down on the couch and stared at Nestor. “I think I have a concussion.” “I should have brought you to the doctor.” “No,” Nestor said, waving off the suggestion and tossing the ice bag on the coffee table. He looked up at the ceiling again as if waiting for his frustration to dissolve into numbness. “That would mean just more bills.” “My abuelita said people worry about money too much. Makes them forget about what is important.” “Your abuelita wasn't grounded in reality. People say things like that but it takes money to enjoy the important things. Like eating for one. A roof over your head.” “She said God would provide.” He said it with bravado. “God hates us.” Nestor whispered, trying to get up and Hernan sprang over to assist. Nestor waved him off and got up by himself. He walked over to the window and looked out at the graffiti painted walls. The landscape burned in his brain like a future bad memory then sank into darkness as one of the street lamps blew out.
Nestor felt shame. He thought about getting a one-bedroom apartment. He would sleep on the couch. It really didn't matter. His gambling got them into this hole. He needed to stop denying that he was the loser. Not Hernan. He just brought the kid along for the ride. “I have to do some thinking, amigo ,” Nestor said. He went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Corona. Covering it in a paper bag, he exited through the door. Nestor walked past the street vendors peddling tamales for a dollar. He laughed at how he couldn't even afford that. What will we do ? He passed on the tamales but he did not take a pass on the six bottles of beer he bought at the liquor store. Nestor walked to the park, ignoring the bums exchanging needles under the swing set. He went under the furthest tree, laid flat on his back and drank himself drunk. *** The restaurant would be empty from two until around six. The last to leave on the swing shift, he intentionally left the back entrance unlocked. He left the apartment exactly at two o'clock. Nestor fell asleep in front of the television, the smell of beer strong around him. The quiet of the East Oakland night put Hernan on edge. He entered through the back door as planned and turned on the kitchen light. He already had his story straight. If someone caught him, he would say he forgot his coat. He would say the lights were on so he just went in and retrieved it. He opened the front cash register and found an empty drawer. The safe? He remembered Cisneros kept the spare key in his office. Good luck trying to find that. His eyes turned to the register at the cocktail bar. He jumped over the counter and popped the machine open. There were twenties and a few hundreds. A lot of small bills. Hernan stuffed them into his backpack. Pushing his luck, he went back to Cisneros' office. He rummaged through the drawers looking for a set of keys. He found some but there were about thirty on the chain. He went over to the side of the safe and began inserting them one by one. Hernan didn’t like to steal. Whenever he did, he imagined his abuelita looking down at him from heaven and he felt shame. He rationalized his actions because he worked overtime numerous days the prior week and did not get paid for it. He addressed the oversight to Cisneros but the man just brushed him off. He did not tell Nestor about being cheated out of his rightful pay. Nestor would demand revenge, but he was starting to see things Nestor's way. People will take advantage of you when you play by the rules. So, Hernan was striking back. Annoyed that he did not find the master for the safe right away, he dropped the keys back into Cisneros’ drawer. He looked through the kitchen and thought of other items he could steal.