The Man For The Job

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
George Maverick needs the right man for a tough job.

Submitted: May 17, 2016

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Submitted: May 17, 2016

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George Maverick entered the pub.  It was a wreck.  Percy was sitting at the bar, alone.  In the establishment’s warm light, even from afar, it was easy to see his knuckles swollen and bloody.  His face wrenched in a frown and his eyes burned, livid with a fire.  Percy hunched over a glass that was nearly empty.  His demeanor was intimidating, especially when surrounded by the chaos of overturned tables, fallen chairs and bloodied bodies.  This wasn’t the first time he had been involved in a violent altercation and George knew it wouldn’t be his last either.

George had always kept Percy’s foul temper and aggressive manner in the corner of his mind.  He waited patiently for any opportune outlet where he could exploit the man’s bellicosity.  That outlet now presented itself in the form of a painful thorn, Constantino.  Constantino was a specific type of businessman in specific fields of business.  George had upset too many of Constantino’s deals and interfered too many times with his plans.  Now Constantino’s secondary agenda was getting rid of George.  If he could set a man like Percy, one who cares little for the mongrels he’s hired to liquidate, one who is not known in the underground, loose on Constantino then there would be few reprisals, if any, to worry about.

Percy was a man difficult to trace; he met with many people and upset many organizations without a care.  He was a slumming dog who bit at whichever ankles he was hired to bite at.  On this occasion, however, Percy may have one or two sour thoughts, but those could be extinguished quickly with a bottle of scotch, an apology and a reminder that he is still alive.  Besides, it wasn’t the first time George had used Percy to clean up some of his dirty business and the man hadn’t seemed to mind it then.  Why would this be any different?

George crossed the pub floor.  He kicked aside the detritus littering the linoleum and stepped over a fallen chair.  A cautious smile marked his countenance and a wary eye drifted over the fallen patrons yet unconscious on the ground.  He tread over several bodies as he approached the imposing figure stooping over the bar.

George stood next to Percy, careful not to touch him; Percy could react like an animal if surprised.  Pointing at the empty glass, he asked, “Want another?”

“Why not,” came the sullen reply from the hunched figure.

Percy didn’t bother to look up; he recognized the voice.

“So who started this one,” George asked.

“What does it matter?  I finished it.  Who told you I was here?”  Percy tipped back the refilled glass, emptying half its contents down his throat.

“Verney said he saw you come in here.” George’s expression dipped with concern.  “Back to being a drunkard now are you?”

“No, just relapsing for a day.”

“Good, because I have a job for you.”  George signalled the barman that he’d have a glass of the light stuff.

“Good,” Percy said, finishing his drink.  “I’m in need of another job.  This nine to five shit is killing me.  I can’t work on such a curbed schedule.”

George smiled and shot back his drink in one swig.  “This will open up a range of possibilities for you.”


© Copyright 2017 Jeff Bezaire. All rights reserved.

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