Chapter 6: First Steps on the Moon Part 1

"You'll love the freedom up here and the open space. You'll love the peace you get. But then you'll learn to hate newcomers cuz you know they're gonna take some of all of it." Lee ended his statement with his excited hissing laugh. He'd show his dark nubs of teeth and squint his eyes with feigned enthusiasm whenever he spit out this laugh.

Henry smiled politely, not sure how to interpret his escort. Lee Bronavan had seemed a good enough soul when he picked up his bag and shook his hand at the airport. But most of his speech, and he had certainly done most of the talking, was peppered with jokes that started as rude comments. Alaska was an entirely different world. Henry figured it was part of the culture.

It didn't matter how his escort rambled. Henry was captivated with the passing landscape. Staring out the window like a Beagle, he tried to follow the wavs and hills as they rushed in and out of his view. At last, he surrendered and let his eyes glaze and follow only the blur of the horizon. The dominance of green stood out most of all. All he had heard and seen had displayed the whiteness of the frozen tundra. Yet no ice gathered on the land he saw now.

"I expected more ice," Henry said out loud.
Lee darted looks from Henry to the road and back. He had to prepare his answer in his sluggish mind. There was shadow on his face but no beard. Henry felt a beard would be an improvement.
"Well, you'll have to either move north or wait 3 to 4 months to get that. Or you can hike to the coast and dip your ass in the sea for about ten minutes," Lee finished with the same hissing guffaw as before, but this time he faced the highway.
Henry looked at him without expression, then turned back to his dazzling view.

Another hour lapsed before they passed the property line of Henry's new boss. The acreage was hard to believe, in the tens of thousands as Lee told it. The majority of this was untouched wilderness. Even the narrow dirt road to the boss's house appeared untouched save for the dirt road. Henry theorized these unkempt surroundings as a ploy to stay hidden. This argument suffered when they entered the final three acres that preceded his home.

Landscaping didn't seem an appropriate word. The change from thick imposing trees and tall grasses to vivd, exploding colors could cause vertigo. They left the forest and entered a magic kingdom, nothing but yellow and red bushes, purple and pink flowers, all backed by the constant drowning green. Fountains played and streams flowed in a man made path under decorative bridges and over colored rocks to swirl in pools where goldfish swam. Hidden cover was not a concern.

Henry had been in palaces of boisterous wealth on the west coast and drab brick mansions on the east coast that looked cold and dead to any pedestrian but enclosed marble floors, crystal tubs, and gold pianos on the inside. The home of Morgan Still shared the best of both. Henry imagined such flash as a reaction to the anonymity of his world. The bosses in the continental states couldn't care less what happened in Alaska. There was no way it could intrude in their business. Once in awhile, the bosses might lose track of someone in Alaska, someone they want dead, but that proved too minor an issue to consider.

Morgan Still didn't live like the bosses Henry knew and he didn't look like the bosses Henry knew. Boss Still stood a solid six and a half feet. His body was thick with a wide waist and broad shoulders, a true moose of a man. He wore old flannel coats and high, heavy rubber boots. He met the stereotype of the rugged mountain hunter in every way but his mind. And he always kept a clean shaven face, not typical of Alaskan men.

The flannel coats and big untied boots were no mistake. The goal was to send the wrong impression to encourage someone to underestimate him. Boss Still demonstrated strategy and direction in every thought and action. He would prove to be the most shrewd of the bosses Henry had encountered and quickly earned his respect.

"Looks like fuckin' Disneyland don't it?" Lee spit as he jumped out of his truck. Henry quite enjoyed the scenery and again remained without expression. He thought someone as talkative as his escort would find this infuriating. And he was right. Lee Bronavan carried Henry's bags with two clenched fists as they cascaded the stairs to Boss Still's front door.

Lee removed his tattered cowboy hat when Boss Still opened the door. Henry followed the cue and removed his hat before extending his hand. Boss Still's voice carried the weight his body suggested. The tone hovered low but the volume was loud, even in a simple greeting.

"Pleased to meet ya," Morgan greeted as he took Henry's hand. "Always good to steal a big brain from the mainland." He beamed.
Lee didn't spit or hiss when he laughed at the boss's comment. He barely mustered a giggle.

Chapter 6: First Steps on the Moon

Chapter 5: Frozen Ghosts

Water rose while the floor sank. Henry was in his sixties and he hadn't taken very good care of himself. Now forced to slosh around in thigh deep water just to move, he felt the pain of years of neglect. He had kept his brain sharp, but he gave up on his body so long ago the idea of health and wellness didn't register in his mental library. The concept didn't exist. He hadn't performed any real physical labor since the last time he dug a grave and buried someone, over twenty years ago. Between the shocks of cold and exertion his hypothermia proceeded completely unnoticed. The blame for his exhaustion fell on hard labor and age.

Henry trenched his way to the window facing the sea. The angle bent dramatically downward but he could still out to the horizon. Waves rippled less than twenty feet away. When he had bought this property the waves were over sixty feet away from his standing spot. The permafrost had melted. The land flooded and sank. It happened so gradually. Henry never said good bye.

Fury fueled his first reaction. He wrote nasty, borderline threatening letters in the late 1990s to the agency that sold him the land when he measured his loss as compared to the diameters of his parcel note. The flooding became frequent that long ago. His coastal position had cost him an extra $10,000! But it was too late for action. He had purchased the land over ten years prior. The agent that sold the parcel no longer worked there. There were no tax assessments to dispute in Alaska. Newtok is a Yup'ik Eskimo community in the Arctic circle. No one paid attention. No one cared what went on in Newtok. It's the same reason Henry bought the house there. It was simply money lost. A mistake he had to endure.

Of course, he plotted revenge in his twisted passive ways. He considered making examples of local government. The Yup'ik tribal council were totally powerless to stop his issue, but perhaps the attention brought by a few random deaths could bring some inquiring minds. It would have to appear as murder to bring the attention, not an accident which was Henry's specialty. In the end, Henry felt such an effort served too little purpose to be worth the risk.

Instead, Henry sat and grew old watching his land disappear, watching his final resting place as the earth itself accelerated the speed by which his final rest approached. He thrived in the life of a hermit hiding such stained skeletons. Summers were brief. Over half the year passed in darkness. Henry thought of the long dark and still savored the relief that it was light. The water stole his land faster in the dark. Henry would swear to it.

Twenty two years spent hiding in this home. His calls for help with the flooding ignored for over ten of those. Things had recently changed. Arctic flooding became the world's business rather than Newtok and Henry's. The world, how Henry despised it. How he had suffered and struggled through its vicious maze. He didn't mind leaving but it must be on his terms.

The world solution was one he couldn't accept, abandonment. Newtok residents were being relocated upriver, courtesy of the federal government. Henry had forgotten such an entity existed. It would require both Hell and High water for Henry to abandon his only confidant of the last two decades. And Hell had yet to arrive.

His home was his friend. He had shared his thoughts and desires with these walls. He shouted his dreams to the icy stars that hung above his bed. Having to uproot and live somewhere else was just something he wasn't going to do. He just didn't care enough to do so. Henry was ready to die. Why wasn't everyone else?

Henry turned from the window and looked across his trailer. He could see the reflections of his book shelves in the water. Books from the lower shelves now drifted in patterns before it. "Those are books I'll never read again," Henry said out loud. "I should've read more."

Slowly, the old man leaned his back on the damp wallboards. Streaks of absorption climbed to the roof. Henry didn't feel the cold anymore. The water welcomed like a tub. His back slid carefully downward as he bent his crystal knees. He felt the cracks in his vertebrae from bending but no shocks on his bare skin from the chill. Henry let himself sink until the water line covered his moustache. His withered gray beard expanded in ropes and hovered beneath his chin. He breathed through his nose and floated, examining what he had left. His eyes wanted to close but he didn't let them. Henry Castle was tired, so regrettably tired.

The trailer filled with water but it was still his. An agent of the federal government had tried to convince him differently. Henry wasn't leaving. He was prepared to defend his position. The agent didn't bicker, just nodded politely and drove away. But Henry expected them back. He had moved his guns to the top of his now unplugged and useless refrigerator, the highest point in the house. Henry was ready to die. Why wasn't everyone else?

Showers of despair rained over the pale shivering old man. He didn't want to give up. His life bled with accomplishment and pride. Still, starting over repulsed him even more. Over that injustice he would gladly choose death. He felt relief again that it was light outside.

Henry thought of old friends. Someone to talk to would be grand. It had been years since he had a conversation. Sometimes he tried to walk into the village and say a simple "hello". But Henry hadn't learned even the basic Yup'ik greeting. He returned feeling more outcast and bitter than before. Despair moved aside to make room for the anger that swelled.

A splash and commotion grabbed his attention and pulled him awake from his final nap. Henry's eyes opened wide as he believed a prayer had been answered. An old friend bobbed in the water and came near. Henry brought himself to his feet and began his battle to lift his knees above the water line.
"Lee?" Henry begged, "Is that you Lee?"

Lee Bronavan's hardened face glared at Henry with lifeless eyes. His skin was rock solid but rapidly thawing. Melting ice appeared as tears coursing down his cheeks. The frozen nubs of his feet struck a part of the floor still in tact and angled his face down into the water.

"Lee!" Henry screamed when he saw his friend fall. The old man dove forward and thrashed wildly through what he must have considered a swim. Not even Henry would've thought himself able to exert such motion. He reached Lee and pulled his head upward from the water.

Henry pulled the man closer and hugged and cheered his rescue. The moment held such sentiment, such passion of humanity, Henry neglected to recall a most important fact. Henry had murdered Lee Bronavan over twenty years ago.

Resignation: Part 2

Henry gripped the steering wheel tightly as the drive began in silence. The conversation in the hospital room allowed itself to steal all his thoughts. Steffi knew something he didn't, something about him. At last, he broke the silence to pry.
"So, how was he?" Henry asked.

Steffi looked over with a snarl. "He's not dead. Is that what you mean?"
"No," Henry replied. Then he considered and changed his answer, "Yes."
Steffi shot another evil glance. His disdain dripped from his cheeks.
"How could you be so fuckin' stupid?" Steffi prodded. "What could make an accountant think he could take out a captain?"
Henry kept his eyes on the road and his tone calm, "I did what I thought Cal would like. I saw an opportunity and I took it."
Steffi burst his rebuttal, "You don't take opportunities, you MAKE 'em! Stop tryin' to be a solider Henry! It's never gonna happen!" The last sentence lost the anger and was more pleading than demanding.

Henry looked over, spite simmering at the bottom of his throat. "My loyalty is to Cal, regardless of rank."
Steffi cringed at the superiority of tone. He waited a long time before he said what he had to say. His nerves had him cracking his knuckles incessantly inside of ten seconds. But he still enjoyed saying it.
"You might want to check that loyalty, Henry." Steffi blurted into oblivion.

Henry turned his head and stared open mouthed at Steffi. The soldier could only shrug. "Who knows," the cheap agin thug reasoned, "Maybe had ya killed the fat fuck it wouldn't be so bad. But since Big Abe is alive, you gotta die." Steffi felt his sarcastic scoff would ease the news.

"He told you to kill me?" Henry shrieked. Steffi held his ears.
"Whoa," Steffi groaned, "Calm down and relax." He gestured to the road. "Keep your eyes on the fucking road! Nobody's killing nobody," he promised.
"Well, what do you mean?" Henry's volume was a whisper below his previous shriek.
"I mean Big Abe wants you dead. But Cal is the only one that can make that decision," Steffi finished and rubbed the dashboard like a genie rubs a lamp.

Henry wanted to shriek for more clarity, but his mind had regained control of his emotions. He would punish himself for what he had just allowed to leak. He had to choose his questions carefully to pull the answers he sought. He couldn't trust Steffi, not a chance.
Enough silence passed that Steffi broke it.

"You seem like such a smart guy," Steffi remarked, "Didn't you ever consider what might happen if the bastard didn't die?" The question sounded like a taunt but it was honest. Steffi couldn't place this puny accountant. Where did he get the balls?
After Henry didn't answer he tried again. "Big Abe has gotta be over 400 pounds. Did you ration out the strychnine to cover the extra weight?" Steffi laughed and made his own comment when Steffi wouldn't. "Things would be a helluva lot better if you had used enough strychnine." His laughter continued until Henry calmly cut it off.

"Again, it was a spur of the moment decision. While I carried the weapon around with me to be ready I didn't have the time to cut and measure out proportional amounts." He allowed a break from the road to give Steffi a look he didn't like.
"I didn't know I was going to do it until the kid was handing over the pizza. I shut the door, pulled out the bag and dumped it. Then I walked straight into the dining room and set it in front of the fat bastard."

Steffi gave him the benefit of more laughter. "I do love the story, Henry," he offered, "But it's a soldier's tale, not an accountant's." Henry dug his thumbs deep into the padded leather of the steering wheel. Henry was sick of this run around.

"What would you do if you knew Cal put the hit on you?"
Steffi stopped laughing. He respected the question too much to laugh over it. He looked out his passenger window and let the buildings pass.
"I got some action in Alaska," he revealed. "There's some real action up there believe it or not." Steffi cracked some more knuckles for the second and third time. He never told anyone his escape plan. But he was talking to a dead man. And he had a plan.

Alaska was not an answer Henry expected. "Alaska?" the measly accountant asked.

Chapter 4: Resignation Part 1

Henry Castle never intimidated anyone in his life. He was a weak, puny man who grew from a weak puny boy. On more than one occasion, a girl had beat him up in the schoolyard. Childhood had been a nightmare. But he excelled at math. He also learned the value of money at very young age, very young indeed. So he counted money, lots of it. And then he learned how to make it disappear.

Here stood this puny man, balding and pale, flaccid posture, not lacking so much in confidence as in simple physical ability. His back curved, seeming to cower, yet closer to a pounce. Cheap material formed his suit, spitshine leather formed his shoes. He was a loser to anyone watching and he knew it.

Heavy foot steps, quick and shouting, echoed as they neared. Steffi Mallimano was every bit as twitchy as his troublesome accountant. Due to this dilemma, Steffi hated Henry. He would have celebrated Henry's death a long time ago, but he was sent from a boss back east, straight out of New York City. Who knew? Maybe it was just some no neck goombah that carried a gun and signed a piece of paper for his jerk acting brother or something. Steffi couldn't figure out how someone like Henry ever got into the life.

Who trusted this bag of nerves with family business? All this pansy wants to do is bitch and moan. He gives attitude to my guys. An accountant, giving attitude to hired guns? Henry must pray a lot. He must pray more than he breathes.

And now there was this new trouble. Another problem from Henry. Another dead body. Another dead body of somebody known. And Henry wasn't. And that was Steffi's problem. So Steffi made some phone calls he should have made a long time ago.

Henry read Steffi's face as he walked down the corridor leaving the restaurant. Far more assurance resided in every part of his motion. He had gotten permission to do what he wanted. Henry never approached Steffi directly about his feelings for him but he guessed there was countless unspoken hatred.

Steffi was the type Henry loved to spar with when he could, never physically, but mentally. Henry would ask Steffi about his part of a score and question the numbers until Steffi was fuming with rage at having been ripped off so badly. Henry would slink away to his shadows to dabble at his computer, his curtain of Oz. Steffi was just a soldier. Henry hated to waste his time near him, feigning respect.
"Henry boy," Steffi cheered, "Did ya call the car?"
"Sure did," Henry answered. "Kid should be pulling it around any second."

Steffi still held his cell phone from a previous conversation. He put it inside his jacket pocket with this realization. Steffi was well dressed. His style pre dated his age. The suits he wore might have been trendy had he been younger. Instead they just looked like he borrowed his grandfather's suit. Those who knew Steffi would not argue this assumption.

Steffi pulled out a cigarette, then paused and looked around, bothered. "Do they go apeshit about smoking around this place?"
Henry didn't smile as he glanced around and nodded. "I would think so. It's a hospital. Lots of folks in and out that have trouble breathing."
Steffi stopped packing his cigarette and looked at Henry. This was why he hated him. He dropped his cigarette and smiled.
"No problem," Steffi shrugged. "What's another ten minutes?"

Steffi's brand new 84 Jeep Cherokee steered carefully around the lot and turned in their direction. It pulled up to a bumpy stop. A young man in a nursing outfit climbed out of the driver's seat and approached Henry holding Steffi's keys.
"Thanks for letting me drive her! That was great!" He beamed.
"No problem, Kid," Steffi answered, shooting a laser of death through his eyes. "He's generous like that."
The young nurse looked to both men, picked up the tension and kept moving. "Thank ya'll again, both of ya!" He turned and took his jog to a run.
"If Luke Duke had scratched my truck I'd blow your fucking head off right here." Steffi was angry. He spoke faster than he wanted to and stuttered his last words, "I f,f,fuckin' mean it!"
Henry looked solemn and shameful. Steffi waited for a smirk, giggle, any reaction to the stutter. After a minute, he tired of waiting. He threw his keys at Henry. "You drive, comedian. And if you scratch her at all I'll just shoot you and let us both fly off a fuckin' bridge or somethin'. I don't give a shit anymore."

Henry walked around the other side of the truck. Steffi opened the passenger door and climbed into the cab. "Fuckin' freak" Steffi muttered once both men were comfortably able to hear. Henry bristled, then turned the ignition. Steffi had a cigarette lit before they left the parking spot.

Chapter 3: Floating in Yesterday

Henry returned from his daydream wearing the same miserable grimace he had worn walking out of DaVotti's office that fateful day. His hands were clenched in a fist on his chest. Frozen electricity stabbed his back. The old man's eyes grew wide with suspicion his splashing hands confirmed. The water level had breached his bed. It was a simple one person cot, but it stood over a two feet tall. There wasn't much time left.

Henry sat sent his boots splashing in the water yet again. Shivers came like the blinking of his eyes. He was getting weak and he knew it. The memories had provided a brief break. Henry was elated enough to ignore the fresh icy shocks to his knees. Could he ignore it? He wanted to ignore it.

Henry allowed the slightest admittance to his helplessness just so he could cuss those he felt put him there. "You goddamn bums! This is no way for a soldier to die!" Tears glossed his vision. "I did what no one else could do! I was a soldier! I never missed a target, goddammit!" Henry sat up straight and kept the tears from flowing. He sniffled and coughed sending a cloud of exhaust to float away and dissolve. Anger didn't help the situation, but it provided the best distraction.

Henry thought about his story and the water level. He shot up from his cot with speed half his age. He splashed loudly, sea water spilling into his galoshes, yanking all plugs out of the wall. Fortunately, there weren't very many. Henry had become accustomed to quite a subsistence lifestyle. This was a solid example of that lifestyle saving his life. Henry smiled having gained true satisfaction from that idea, that truth. He'd love to gloat to someone how their doubts were wrong. But he would be dead soon. He could only enjoy the gloating in his mind.

In his mind, he knew he was right. Henry had been right all along. To Hell, with any skunk breath boss telling him how to live. Nothing was ever good enough. They'd never let him up. They'd never respect him like they could some brainless bully that was good at breaking legs or smashing faces. Those greasy chimps only respect their own. They'd never accept him no matter how much he tried. Henry understood that now. But before that understanding he had tried a helluva lot.

The old man stood in his kitchen, leaning on a buckling plastic wood top counter, something only a water beaten trailer would have. Cold water, mere degrees above ice, dried on his legs and back as he stood up. His galoshes wore high, but even they only had about four inches left before that half frozen water began pouring into his boots. Then hypothermia wouldn't take long at all. He might as well dive into the sea at that point. Henry smiled wickedly with this thought and felt a surprising welcome sense of temptation towards the scenario. He walked forward blindly and stopped when reached the opposite wall of the kitchen. He laid his hand on the wall and leaned on one leg. Fresh gruesome thoughts danced in his head like gingerbread men.

Suddenly his leg burst through the floor. Henry sank and yelled out in panic which was soon unfounded. The trailer floor had been submerged for over a week. Saturated with salt water, the floor softened like skin wrinkles. As Henry considered it all he was shocked everything hadn't fell through the floor all ready. He lifted his leg gently and put his hands against the wall to absorb the weight.

He stepped backwards lightly and proceeded to do so as his last hours continued. But that still didn't stop the floor from collapsing, and little by little, plank by plank, it did.

Chapter 2: A Second Chance

Henry sat with hands clasped together forming a balled fist of tension which weighed a dent into the upper thighs of his jeans. His thighs were together, legs straight until the knee. Boss DaVotti stood behind him burning a laser through Henry's neck. The gray lion inhaled his cigar, after a few choice puffs, and released a cloud of ember above the two of them. He stepped up to Henry, less than a foot behind his head, then passed to take his seat. Such behavior from the Boss suggested grave consideration. Henry felt the gravity as DaVotti took his seat before him.

"Henry," DaVotti perked friendly in an insincere way, "We both know you had an accident."
DaVotti lifted his eyebrows for agreement. Henry felt the expectation to voice his the answer.
"Yes, I had an accident." Henry agreed.

DaVotti saw something he didn't like. He shook his head in disappointment. "Henry, Henry, Oh Henry," he spoke with his eyes closed, struggling to swallow the pain. All an act, but Boss DaVotti could act. Some bosses act. Some bosses don't have the need. DaVotti fell in both categories. The Boss's eyes squinted as he delivered. The wrinkles in his temples split his aged leather skin.

"You make a mistake of your multitude and still I get this sense of entitlement. THere's a lack of gratitude in your voice that I think I should hear if I'm gonna let you live. You're just a fucking accountant, Henry. How do you keep forgetting that?" The lion wanted him to continue. He needed a reason to pounce.

"I'm sorry," Henry stuttered, "Mr DaVotti I certainly realize my position and the lack thereof." He wanted to let that statement hang in there, but thought better of it. "I'd never put my life on the line in any way to insult you. I couldn't be more grateful that you let me live. I only wish a chance to apologize to the families of the dead." Henry raised the balled fist in the air, holding his arms up for mercy.

The lion stayed behind his desk. Engines rumbled outside their thin walls. The narrow trailer rapidly filled with cigar smoke. Henry dared not cough or show displeasure. His mouth had gotten him in trouble in the first sentence.

DaVotti rubbed his smooth chin and ran his long fingers through his wispy gray wings. He looked away from Henry then back again. After a minute, he pounded his fist into the table.
"Goddammit Henry! What were you trying to do?"

Henry broke his fist to hold out his open palms defensively.
"Mr. DaVotti I thought I was serving your wishes!" Henry cried. He felt Death's harvest near.

"Serve my wishes," DaVotti raged, "How is frying kids my wishes you sick fuck?"

"They were the children of your enemy," Henry squeaked.
"They were fucking children, period!" The lion roared.

DaVotti got up and came around the table. Henry launched upward to back away. Henry shoved a chair in the Boss's path to stifle his pursuit. DaVotti grabbed the chair and threw at Henry, who blocked with his arms but still took an impact. DaVotti rushed forward and connected a punch. Henry stumbled and fell backward to the floor.

"You're never gonna be a gun, Henry!" DaVotti screamed, "You're always gonna be an accountant. That's who you are. That's what you are!" He grabbed Henry by the collar and pulled him to his feet. He continued the tirade face to face.

"You broke so many rules you couldn't even fucking imagine. You killed a somebody else's property, Henry, a fucking soldier. You're a fucking accountant! I've got orders to kill you."
DaVotti had no weapon. He wouldn't need one with Henry. Henry was larger in size than the lion, but he was an accountant.

"Will your life be better now that he's gone?" Henry posed. DaVotti grimaced in anger then quickly receded. He thought about what this long time employee said. Times were hot now but they would cool. Then things would be better. DaVotti knew it was true. Henry saw this and ventured to cross another line.

"That's why I did it, Boss. That's the only reason I did it." Henry pleaded.
"That doesn't excuse those fried kids!" DaVotti exploded before reeling back. He calmed and continued, "You're fucking crazy Henry. So I'm not gonna kill you. I don't know if it would be right. Besides, you still know the numbers. You're still an asset."

DaVotti turned and walked back to the desk. Henry straightened his shirt and followed back to his fallen chair. He trusted the wave had passed.

"You want to know what happened, Carl?" Henry asked. "It was so fast. I followed him home a few times to know where he lived. Then I just waited, but I didn't need to wait very long."

DaVotti looked at this small man, this man whom he had known so long and listened to the horror he had always suspected.
"The kid had a beautiful house. He must've had something going on upstairs, him being married and settled and all. Most soldiers his age would be slumming in some downtown apartment to stay close to the flop spots."
Henry's gaze drifted but now it returned to his boss. "I didn't know he had a family til a few minutes before I killed 'em all. None of it was planned. I just saw an opportunity and jumped on it."

"You saw kids in the pool. You couldn't have waited?" DaVotti growled in disgust.
"Waited?" Henry guessed, "No I don't think so. I can't wait for a muscle head gunfighter in his late 20s to meet me for an even fight. He was vulnerable and I dove."
The coldness lent a tone DaVotti would normally only tolerate from a superior. No soldier would live after throwing an answer in his face in such a manner. But Henry was going away. The lion licked his paw and played bored.

"I don't agree with you Henry. I think you're a sick son of a bitch." DaVotti looked eager to finish. "But I'm not going to kill you. I got a plane ticket to California. It leaves in two hours. You got time to get there. All your shit in your apartment stays here."

DaVotti reached out and handed a crumpled piece of paper. "That's an address of a new employer. They're expecting you." The lion bared his fangs to show his potential. "You disappear and don't return Henry. This is the only way I don't kill you."

Henry knew it was his only chance to cut his losses. He held out his hand but DaVotti didn't accept. Henry nodded silently then turned to leave. As he stepped to the door he spoke his last words to his friend.
"I'm not a soldier. You're right Carl," Henry bade, "But I did something important that helped you out. Does it matter my experience?"

"You electrocuted kids, Henry!" DaVotti shouted.

Henry turned back to face him, standing before the open door. He looked shamefully at his feet then back at his long time employer.
"It was so easy, so impersonal. I just dropped the television in the pool." He looked to Carl, hoping for a shred of assurance. There was no reciprocation. No feeling of gratitude. He was given a plance ticket and orders to catch it. If he wanted to live he needed to leave.

Henry stepped into the hallway and headed to the elevator. He bristled realizing he would have to pay for his own cab all the way to the airport. In such a pinch, he didn't find it very fair. Henry did his best to shrug it off. After all, it would be his last cab ride in New York.