"C'mon, Elisa. Don't bullshit me — you gotta have one in the back."
She sighed, already annoyed.
"Fine. We've got one, but since you're desperate, it's double." She disappeared into the back.
"Highway robbery," I muttered.
"Better than waiting till Monday," she shot back, reappearing with a Sony Walkman.
I wandered the tape aisle. One cover caught my eye — The Marshall Mathers LP, fresh on the shelf. I grabbed it, tossed it on the counter.
Elisa punched the register, deadpan: "That'll be $445, with tax."
I froze. "You say what?"
She leaned forward and barked like I was deaf: "FOUR FORTY-FIVE WITH TAX, SIR."
"Christ." I slid the cash across the counter.
She bagged it up and squinted at me. "So... what's it for?"
I held the Slim Shady tape up like it was obvious. "What do you think? Don't worry about it."
"My bad. Have a good one."
"Yeah." I flashed her a peace sign and walked out.
In the truck, I cracked open the Walkman, slid in a cassette labeled La Visitas, and hit play. Nothing. Dead silence. I popped it out, tossed it in the glove box, and sped off with a curse.
Later That Night
At the motel front desk, the clerk greeted me with fake cheer. "How can I help you, sir?"
"One bedroom."
"Deposit's $150, fifty a night. ID too."
I slid him the cash and my license. He handed me a key.
Room 12. Four walls, flickering lamp. Home sweet home.
I tossed the Walkman and tape on the bed, showered the dirt off, then laid back with the TV humming the local news.
"Breaking news: A gang shootout rattled the city of Bloomington tonight..."
I reached for the phone, dialed. A voice answered immediately.
"That was you, wasn't it?"
I smirked into the receiver. "Funny — was about to ask you the same thing."
A heavy sigh on the other end. "Meet me at the abandoned diner. Mr. Quick's. Nine sharp. Someone wants to talk to you."
Click. I hung up. Sleep took me before I knew it.
Next Morning
The diner looked dead, but the cars outside told a different story: a white Chevy van, a red Cadillac DeVille.
Inside, a man in a black leather coat sat alone at a booth. My hand rested on my pistol.
"Aye," I called.
He looked up calm as stone. "Relax, son. I'm the one Dan told you about."
"I don't believe you." I leveled the pistol at him.
"George! The fuck you doing?!" Dan rushed in, swatting my arm down.
I holstered it, teeth clenched. "He's lucky."
The man smirked. "Guard dog finally put his teeth away." He sipped his coffee like nothing happened.
Dan lit a cigarette and sat. "Alright, introductions. Harvey — George. George — Harvey."
"Good," Harvey said. "Now to business. There's a rival I've been trying to clip for a year. You're gonna help me finish it."
"Why me? Yuki still breathing?"
"She's on break."
I sighed through my nose. "Fine."
"Good. One week. Be ready. And keep low — Feds might be sniffin' around the warehouse."
I stood without another word, pushed through the door, and drove.
Back at the Music Store
"Look who's back," Elisa said.
"Double A's. Earbuds too."
She came back with a small bag. "Twenty-five bucks."
I paid, grabbed the gear, and left without a goodbye.
Motel Room
I dropped on the bed, cracked the Walkman open, and loaded the batteries. Earbuds in. Pressed play.
Static at first... then voices.
"Hey Chris, how's life been treating you?"20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi0NGk5sv2i
"Good. You?"20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPYQYv29HRA
"Good if I don't say so myself."20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9Ni6kkZ5tv
"Should I call Vic?"20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ82p1ZFw1GP
"Yeah."
A phone rang, then another voice.
"Chris is here."20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3QYEeXIbPU
"Alright. Send him up."
Footsteps. An elevator ding. A door creaked. More footsteps.
I fast-forwarded.
Then—
"George's sister."
My chest tightened. I rewound. Played it again.
"I need you to assassinate George's sister."
"But sir—"
"Who's the boss here?"
"...I can't. That's my brother."
"That 'brother' killed one of my suppliers."
"I don't care. Killing his only sibling over your screw-up? Not happening. Got anything else for me?"
"...Yeah. Watch your back."
"What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Vic?"
"You'll see. Now get the fuck out."
The tape ended.
I stared at the Walkman, jaw tight, rage brewing slow and cold.
20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsXSP2pVCYs
and then Add to home screen.