Wednesday, 15 June 2011

Heads or Tails

The little French restaurant was small and dimly lit, with candles flickering passionately on every table. A man and a woman sat alone at one of only two tables that were occupied on this quiet, bitterly cold winter's night. Despite the romantic setting, they were clearly not a couple. There were no signs that they were deeply in love. She was in her mid thirties, had a slender figure and remarkably cold, hard eyes that were framed by wavy blonde hair and exceptionally pretty facial features. Sitting cross-legged and constantly teasing her wedding ring with her thumb, she looked nervous and agitated. He, however, looked calm and serene. Sitting directly opposite her and leaning casually back on his chair, he looked almost bored. He referred to himself as the Doc, but didn't look like any kind of conventional doctor. He was tall, wide and oafish. Dressed in a finely tailored suit, his stubble-covered cheeks made him look unkempt and scruffy. They spoke in hushed tones.

"Heads or tails?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Heads or tails? Call it. I need to know where to shoot the fucker!"
"I don't care where you shoot him; I just want the cheating bastard dead."
"Don't worry, lady, he'll die. I just want a little fun first. So please, do me the favour and kindly call it. Heads, I shoot this pretty boy in the face. See how charming he is then. Tails and I shoot him in the heart. That'll teach him for loving too much. Or not loving right. Whatever it is."
"Look, sorry to spoil your fun 'n' all, but I'm not paying you to play games; I'm paying you to kill my husband. I don't care how you get it done, just make sure you do it right."
"Okay, okay, fine lady. I'll make the call myself. One last thing though; do you want me to cut his balls off?"
"Y'know, cut off his manhood. Give you his prick as a sorta trophy to celebrate your riddance of the two-timing lover boy."
"No! No games, no trophies. What am I meant to do with his little cock now? I don't want this to be traced back to me in any way."
"So leave his prick in one piece?"
"Hmmmm, if you think it’s necessary, just don’t return it to me after."
"So I cut it off?"
"Yeah, cut it off. Start with that. Make the cunt suffer. Just make sure he dies at the end of it. Now, here, take your money. You'll get the rest when I'm a rich widow, as we agreed."
"If you know what's good for you, I will."
"Don't threaten me."
"Whatever lady, are we through? I've got bills to pay and kids to feed. Marriages to save."
"Yeah, go. Just make sure he dies."
"Always do, lady. Oh, one last thing; got a coin I can borra?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, enough with the coins!"

Reaching into her handbag she pulled out a piece of shrapnel and tossed it onto the table, landing head-side up.

"I'm tired of looking at your face and hearing about you prattle on about fucking coins! Just do what I'm paying you to do and..."

She broke off, realising that she was speaking far too loudly in a public place for this kind of subject matter.

"Cool it lady, cool it. The coin doesn't matter now. I can see ol' Queenie's face and that'll do for me. We're golden. The coin's been good to me. I'll be on my way. Like I said, bills to pay and kids to feed. Marriages to save, and yours is first."