Short Story Samplings: #5

Goodbye

Jonathan showed up ten minutes early only to find Frank sitting at the table, already waiting for him. As usual he sat perfectly straight without somehow looking rigid, perfectly proper without looking too professional. When he stood up to shake Jonathan’s hand, he made sure to shake firmly for no more than a full second and maintain eye contact throughout. He then held his arm out towards the chair across from his, as if inviting his employee to join him in the higher ranks.

            “Good to see you again, Jonathan. Please sit. I’ve already ordered us some wine.” Jonathan obliged, and just as soon as he hit his seat he was taking a swig of the glass Piano Bianco laid out in front of him. It tasted a bit dryer than usual but he did not think anything of it.

            “So, Jonathan. How do we handle this little issue of ours?” He said it as if he had asked it many times before; he asked it like he already knew the answer, like he had always known.

            “Well, I put one of my guys on it, and he seems pretty confident that we can get a name on that eyeball witness.”

            “Oh really?”

            “Yea. Yes.”

            “And when does he think he can do that?”

            “I don’t know, any day now.” Frank stared at Jonathan without the slightest hint of distrust. He took a sip of his wine and patted his lips together, making sure to get all the taste that his glass had to offer.

            “Ah, I love this wine.” Jonathan cleared his throat to speak, but before he could get a syllable out Frank was elaborating on his thought. “Bordeaux used to be my go-to, but recently, this Piano Blanco, it’s really been hitting the spot.”

            “Well people change.”

            “You’re telling me.” He smiled at Jonathan and suddenly a fear came over him. For a moment he could feel his skin heat up, but just as quickly his attention was reverted to the waiter that had suddenly intruded on their private space.

            “Can I get you gentleman anything?”

            “How about some menus?” Jonathan was ready to get this show on the road.

            “We’re actually fine for right now. I’ll give you one of these,” Frank raised his right index finger in the air and emphatically stuck it high in the air, “when we’re ready.”

            “Sounds good. Enjoy the wine.”

            “Oh. We shall.” Jonathan thought he noticed a correspondence between Frank and the waiter, but before he could properly ascertain the truth the waiter had scampered off to another table, ready to do whatever it takes for a bigger tip. He cleared his throat yet another time, but Frank beat him to the punch yet again.

            “So, Jonathan. Hypothetically— and of course, I stress hypothetically,” he held his hands out in front of him in defense, but was smiling as if they both knew the reality of the situation. “What if you can’t ID the witness? What then? Can I trust you?” Almost without any transition at all, his eyes now burnt though Jonathan. Jonathan knew the way he handled this question might mean his life. Quickly, almost too quickly, he loudly retorted “Of course.” That was all he felt he needed to say, and he stared confidently back into the eyes of his omnipotent boss. They maintained silent eye contact for a few seconds before Frank leaned back in his chair.

            “Good. Because if this somehow gets down to what I think it might, I need to know that you’re willing to spare your life for mine.”

            “Of course.” But this time he heard his voice go up a pitch. Spare his life? For this man? When it came down to it, he knew that’s what he had signed on for, but now that it was so close to becoming an actuality he couldn’t get it out of his head that he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Five years ago, when he had met Frank in this very restaurant, and told him he would be loyal until death, that he would do anything to be made Capo, and that he would do nothing to forget where he came from— his heart suddenly sank. He thought he saw Frank raise his eyebrows, but there was no way. Frank never let anyone know what he was feeling, wouldn’t even give the slightest hint. There was no chance that Jonathan had just broken that wall. He nervously finished his glass of wine and Frank poured him another one.

            “You have any idea what you want to eat?”

            “I haven’t seen the menu.”

            “Do you really need to? You haven’t been here enough?” Jonathan was afraid to say that he was not a regular, that when the other guys came to shoot the shit and talk emptily about who intimidated who or how to get revenge on all the rat fuck informants, he was at home with his wife and kids, who meant more than anything to him. He was afraid to admit that his family meant more than this family. And then he knew he was in trouble. He couldn’t even respond verbally, instead settling for a feeble shrug. Frank did not change his expression. This time, he initiated by clearing his throat; Jonathan could not even come up with an interruption.

            “Have you ever heard of ricin, Jonathan?”

            “Ricin?” A smile came across Frank’s face, and he swiftly took on the demeanor of an expert.

            “Yes, ricin. Ricinis Communis, from the castor oil plant. Highly toxic. Even if the smallest amount is ingested it can lead to death.”

            “Oh yea?” Jonathan had no idea where this was going. “And?”

            Frank tilted his head, offended and confused by Jonathan’s lack of interest in his own demise. He picked his napkin off his lap, threw it on the table, and leaned forward onto his forearms, now resting on the table. He looked Jonathan in the eye, and, like a father would tell his son to take out the trash, said, “We’re going to have to terminate your contract.”

            Jonathan’s throat went dry. He needed to take a sip of wine but could not muster up the courage to move a muscle. “Excuse me?”

            “Your contract has been terminated.” And suddenly it was clear why the Piano Blanco tasted a bit dryer than usual. His contract had been terminated by ricin. “Don’t worry, Jonathan. It won’t hurt—well, not like you expect. You’ll have a few days to say goodbye to your family and whoever else it is you think is more important than what we’ve got going on here. I’m very sorry.”

            Jonathan was frozen. He was not mad, or disappointed, or even surprised; he was merely frozen. For the first time in a long time, he felt something distinctly real, yet it was a distinctive nothingness. He did not wish to yell, or cry, or anything. He did not wish to respond. And Frank did not mind. He raised his index finger in the air and the waiter began rushing over, as if his life depended on it.

            “I think we’re ready to order.”