Chapter 8: Another Second Chance

So many details had been recalled so many times. Henry went back over everything, even writing it all down to keep the scene as real as possible. Nothing would change what happened, but Henry pleaded for any sign or scheme that might have allowed him to overtake his attacker and emerge triumphant. Such a notion would let him maintain his arrogance as the greatest soldier ever to fight.
No matter how many times Henry re created the events in his head nor how accurate his recreation, he never convinced himself he had a chance. The odds were simply insurmountable. There was no defeating Morgan Still.

Probably the biggest giveaway Henry remembered was the heavy knocking of knuckles while Morgan spoke. There hadn't been much conversation before Henry was covered in blood, but Morgan never displayed anything but true calm. That morning, Morgan continued a steady tapping on his desk with both closed fists, quiet rhythmic beats, an unconscious physical relief of piping, boiling rage. The tapping continued all the way into his explosion like a fuse. And the polite, reserved mountain man revealed why he's a boss.

"How are the books, Henry?" Morgan asked without a smile. This proved another helpful detail Henry might have caught to prepare himself. Morgan always smiled when he asked about the books.

"Everything's lookin' up," Henry answered, his smile still prominent in response.

Henry had quickly grown to love his Alaska home and thanked Morgan for it all. Under Morgan he finally got the respect to which he was entitled. He had dinner with Morgan and his wife. He had been appointed recorder which meant he attended all important meetings with the boss. It might have been just to take notes, but he was on the front lines.

And most revealing of his rightful status was his acceptance as a cleaner, somebody who can get rid of a human problem. Henry had been sick with nerves when he confessed to the murder of Lee Bronavan. Regardless of his confidence, history had taught him that criminal industries don't like their accountants killing people.

But Morgan had appreciated the effort! He slapped Henry on the back and bought him dinner! When Henry added he all ready disposed of the corpse on some of his private land he had purchased up north, Morgan threw in a bonus check. It was all less work for him, just the way Henry saw it too.

Alaska made this possible. The lack of competition let Henry shine. Morgan made this possible. respected brains over muscle. Henry couldn't have been happier. He had made it home.

"I spoke to an old acquaintance for the first time in years last night," Morgan entered abruptly. "I mentioned your name and found out you're a dead man." Perhaps Henry had missed it being there since he arrived that morning, but the evil in Morgan's eyes at that moment pierced Henry's neck and crushed his throat.

Henry expected nothing and held no guilt. He could only catch his breath and ask, "What?"

Morgan's fists increased the speed of their tapping on the desk, more rage to vent. He looked down at them, knocking psycho-somatically, not wanting to face the liar that sat across from him. Facing Henry would make it too difficult not to kill him. Morgan wanted to have his say before killing anyone.
"You killed Steffi Mallimano, crashed his Jeep Cherokee off the Coronado bridge," a heavy breath interrupted his speech. "I worked side by side with Steffi comin' up. He was a good man."

Morgan sat facing his nervous fists. Henry didn't move and barely breathed. He quickly grew frightened with the idea that his happy life was about to change dramatically. Morgan looked back up to meet him. He straightened his slumping shoulders and regained his authoritarian posture.

"It's a shame I missed his funeral. That's what I get for not calling to check up on you," though his words blamed himself his eyes blamed Henry. "But since when do I have to check on a fucking accountant!" His fists stopped tapping and the rage exploded.

Morgan's desk was hand carved oak, massive and heavy, around 200 pounds. It was no match for the angry boss's power. Morgan thrust the desk forward with both powerful arms and shoulders, digging his boots in the floor to fuel the launch. The desk sailed into Henry, knocking him backward in his chair and onto the floor.

Morgan was at his side before he had a chance to stand. Henry almost choked on the steel toe of his boss's boot as it kicked in his mouth and lifted his head. Two teeth were swallowed and two fell to the floor. With the second kick, Morgan buried his boot in Henry's gut, forcing trails of blood through his lips.

"Steffi was gonna kill me!" Henry screamed in defense.

It fell on deaf ears. Morgan grabbed Henry's head and lifted him scrambling to his feet. One blow to the chin returned Henry to the floor, flat on his back. More fury exploded with this show of weakness. Morgan couldn't stand to see a man expose his belly in submission. Such behavior was intended for dogs not men. Morgan threw all his weight into his bootheel and drove it into Henry's groin.

The accountant's screams were silenced when Morgan lifted his head by the ears and rammed his knee into his face. Henry's nose evaporated in a shower of blood. One more drive and Morgan released his ears, allowing Henry to return to a fetal position.

"NO FIGHT?" Morgan boomed, "You kill MADE MEN and now you've got no fight? Just a fucking accountant after all!" Morgan began a series of bootheels to the back.

Morgan didn't want Henry unconscious. He stopped himself and looked down on the beaten heap. Forgiveness was a forbidden emotion to anyone but Mrs. Morgan Still. Mercy was not far behind, not absolutely forbidden, but certainly very exclusive. Morgan stood there, catching his own breath and permitting his rational brain to retake control. He sent the message he wanted to send. Now he wanted a solution.

Henry lay there feeling the blood pulsate from his face. It formed a pool around his head that started to reach his shoulders. Shock prevented feeling pain from his broken ribs, fractured jaw, nose, and eye socket. He stayed still, assuming playing dead as the best policy.

Morgan walked around the fallen body, deciding what move would be most beneficial. He certainly didn't agree with playing dead as the best policy.
"Get up!" he ordered. "Get up or I'll finish you off!"

Henry opened his unswollen eye and flipped to his hands and knees surprisingly fast. His ribs expanded as he stood and stifled what would have been a scream. His legs were relatively unharmed.

Morgan kept his distance and walked back behind his desk chair as he spoke. "Cal wants me to kill you. Said it's something he wanted done a long time ago." Morgan grabbed the desk and pulled it back to its original location. "But I don't think that's how you can serve me best. Be thankful there's so much room to hide in Alaska. Any other state I'd have to kill you."

Henry watched him and waited, not sure how to think or feel.

"I look at you different, all those jobs you did. Like how you killed Lee Bronavan by dropping that car battery on his head. I thought that was a smart way to make it look like an accident. Now I know it's just 'cause you're a coward, too afraid to face a man before you move to take his life." Morgan began to step forward but stopped himself. Henry took a step back in response.

"There's no way you'd get the better of a guy like Steffi Mallimano. Unless you pulled some cowardly stunt like driving a truck off a bridge. You cowardly son of a bitch!"

Morgan caught his voice rising a little too late. He reeled himself back in and let silence fill the room. He would not let his emotions control him. This was a business decision like everything else.

"Seeing as how a coward can't be trusted, and how you are a coward through and through, it would seem the most logical decision to snap your neck over my knee." A growl was almost audible when he spoke.
"But I thought long and hard about how I can get better use of someone who has shown their affinity to the dead. And I've found my answer."

Henry could only stand and hear his fate, his neck red from the blood streaking down it.

"You're gonna be my garbage man," Morgan started, revealing his closest expression to a smile that morning. "You're going to dig up every body I've buried since I've been here and take them all to join Lee Bronavan and the other men you killed when they weren't looking. If you don't have enough land for it all in your lot up north then you'll either buy some more or dig deeper."

Morgan began walking to Henry. He approached casually, without any masked rage. He straightened the desk properly, then took Henry's chair from the floor and returned it to its previous position. He used his boot to pull out a wrinkle in the rug underneath them.

"Make the bodies disappear like the money disappears. Then make yourself disappear," Morgan stopped just feet away from Henry. Calm still persisted and Henry expected no further violence. He listened intently to his orders, ignoring his heartbreak.

"Go run up to the Arctic Circle and hide out with the Eskimos," Morgan ordered. "Go buy some cheap trailer and stay a hermit so no one ever knows who you are or what you are. Go bury all these bodies in one big graveyard and then stay there the rest of your fucking life."

Morgan leaned forward and got close to Henry's face. "I'm playing God today and giving you your life back," he informed. "Don't make yourself regret it."

Morgan stood back and straightened his posture. He ran a hand through his hair and then wiped the sweat from his forehead. When he met Henry's eyes again, it seemed he would speak, but he thought otherwise. Echoes of his boot steps rang loudly as he walked around Henry to leave the room. Henry started to take a deep breath before his ribs cried out in agony to stop.

"Ronnie and Wes are waiting downstairs to take you digging. Don't make 'em have to come up and get you."

These were the last words his hero would say to him. Henry stood bleeding, wanting to die. But survival is a strong instinct. It can push a man to dig even as his bones continue to splinter.