Nate walked through the woods, alone but unafraid. Ty's corpse was in no danger of being found: he had seen to that with his bare hands. It was odd that he felt no regret for what he had done, though he just killed his brother. There was nothing: no feeling, no stirring of human compassion. He grinned, baring his teeth in a beast mask. Maybe I'm not human. Who cares? The job is done: that's all that matters. Within a few hours, he glimpsed a light through the trees, dim and ethereal. The Coyote outpost. He nodded grimly and quickened his pace.
He arrived shortly: the door was open to meet him. He walked inside and sat down on a wicker chair, waiting for the contact to rouse himself. He didn't wait long. The man was a shrimp: nervous, small, and jumpy. But he had the money. He took his seat across from Nate, and made a clear effort to stay calm. Nate had that effect on people. " I assume this means that he's dead." the shrimp piped up. Nate nodded. "Excellent. Your money's in the back: take it and go to the heli. They're waiting for you." the little man said, mopping his brow. Nate didn't move. "Bring me the money." he said. The contact looked at him ascance. "You're giving me an order? You're giving a Coyote an order?" he said, trying to sound indignant but sounding more tense than ever. "If you're a Coyote, then I'm a frog. Get the money. Now." It was something in his voice, something implacable and horrifying. The shrimp rose shakily, and went into a back room. He returned with a fat chrome briefcase. Nate smiled. "Open it.". "W-w-what?" the man stuttered. "What fuckin' country are you from?!" Nate snarled, "Open it!" The man was obviously terrified, and he bent down to open the case. He unlocked the hinges, and slid it around to Nate. The case was full of the finest greenbacks he had ever seen. He mentally counted them: all 100,000. Good. "I can see that our employers are men of honor. Thank you for your business." The man gulped and nodded. Nate saw his eyes flash to something behind him. He turned quickly, his hands up, ready to block whatever was coming towards him! But it was no use: the club caught him full in the face, knocking him to the floor. The last sight he had before he faded into unconsciouness was the glittering barrel of a .45.
© Copyright 2016 Jack Delgado. All rights reserved.
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