I could see Frank was disturbed. “You OK with everything?” It was polite to ask, but I knew he wasn’t OK.
Frank never looked up from where he was staring at the space between his feet, at the floor of the metro car. “No.”
“What’s up?” I tried to sound positive, something that’s not easy to do after you had to shoot someone in the back of the head while they were blindfolded, and on their knees. “You thinking about the job?”
He still didn’t look up. “He spoke the truth, you know.”
“Yeah, Frank. I know. So do the people who sent us to take care of him.” I patted him on the shoulder. “He spoke the truth, and that’s why they had to get rid of him.”
“It’s not right.”
“Frank. It’s a bit late to worry about right and wrong. It’s just a job. It’s what we do. We take orders, and we follow them. That’s all.” I had to sigh. I already knew Frank wasn’t going to be around long. A guilty conscience was a death sentence in our line of work.
“Let’s get you home, Frank. So you can have a stiff drink, and sleep it off.”
I’d do what I could to keep him in line, but sooner or later, he’d try to get out of the business. No one got out of the business. One in, it was for life.
“It’s just a job, Frank. That’s all. Just a job.”
It’s Week 498 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the stories in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.