2016 Winning Entry in Writing Contests for the Brave - Be Badass

DAY 1

"He's a real bastard, Harv. He won't listen to reason."

"Then I won't give him one."

"Man, you are playin' with fire. Just pay the man the money you owe and get him out of your life."

"He'll get his money, Jordy, when I collect from the customer."

"I'm tellin' you, he won't wait. He won't give one crap about your customer."

"Okay, you warned me, now get off my case."

Harvey Biggens, dirty tricks specialist for hire, slammed his desk drawer and rocked back in the squeaking swivel chair that sacrificed itself to his abuse. Deacon Parish had hired him to correct a flaw in his wife's taste in men and to Harv that meant permanently.

The deal was, do the job and payment would be delivered as discussed. Parish had checked out financially and responsibly so Harv forwent the usual deposit because the amount was huge. His problem came up when he needed funds to accomplish the contract. The wife and her bad taste were currently at a resort in St. Lucia and Harv didn't have the bucks to finance a trip and a stay.

Bobby DeLong solved that problem for him with a loan and a vig at 30% for two weeks. Harv said sure, no big deal. the job would be done, he'd get home in ten days and collect his payment. Bobby made it clear that two weeks was a solid deadline, not two weeks and a day but two weeks. He'd looked at his watch, Harv remembered, and written the time down. Prick.

******

"I'm sorry, Mister Parish is in a meeting at the moment, may I take a message?"

"Yeah, tell him his taste problem has been corrected."

". . . are you his doctor? Is this a medical emergency of some kind?"

"Harv grinned widely. "Not any more. Just advise Mister Parish that his account is due for this service."

Harv hung up and immediately the phone rang.

"Yeah."

"It's Bobby DeLong, Harv. Six hours and twenty-three minutes, Harv. Sixteen large ones."

"I'm waiting for me client to call back. You'll get your dough."

"Oh, I know that, Harv. It's just that it jumps to another 30% after the deadline and I kind of get the feeling you aren't making that kind of dough for what you do."

"You let me worry about that, okay. You'll get your money."

"Six hours and twenty minutes, Harv." The phone clicked off.

"Six hours and twenty minutes, Harv." Harv sneered, slamming his own phone shut. "Prick."

He looked at his watch and licked dry lips. A visit to Parish might be a better solution. Shit, another 30%, what the hell is that! He changed into his casual jacket and pants, slipped his belt holster on and grabbed up his car keys as he headed out.

The receptionist looked up at Harv as he leaned on her desk, she felt her neck grow warm as he leered at her.

"Parish."

"Mister Parish is unavailable just now. If you'd care to leave your na-"

"I'll just pop up to his office and see how unavailable he is." Harv slapped the desk and headed for the staircase that led to the second floor balcony.

The receptionist called him once then frantically dialled for security.

Upstairs, Harv looked around and then pointed to another desk where a secretary started to stand up, uncertain as to what was happening.

"Parish. Where is he?" Harv barged past her looking at the corridor of offices.

"Sir, you can't go down there." She turned back to her desk and sighed with relief as two of the company' security team jogged after Harv.

Harv found the office with Parish's designation and he banged the door open and charged in just as security arrived.

Parish dropped the file he was reading and jumped up from his desk. The two guards grabbed Harv by the arms and the three of them did a series of intricate steps as they wrestled around the office.

"Tell 'em to let go or our business becomes public." Harv yelled.

Parish went white. "Let him go, it's fine. It's alright, I'll take care of this matter."

"You sure, sir? He's a little agitated here."

"It's fine. Thank you. Just leave us, I'll handle this."

The two guards withdrew and Parish retreated behind his desk again.

"I don't like gettin' stiffed on a contract, Parish." Harv advanced menacingly.

"I- I had a little financial setback." He saw Harv's eye beginning to slit and he held up his hands. "Nothing critical, it just left me short on liquid assets. I'm good for the money, Mister Biggens, it will just take a little while to get it all together."Harv heard his words being uttered from the mouth of his client and he closed his eyes.

"A little while won't cut it. I need that twenty grand now . . . right now." Harv instinctively looked at his watch.

"I told you, I can't get it right now." Parish heard his own voice crack and he began shaking.

"How soon?"

"T-two maybe three days."

"Three days! No way!" Harv pulled out his gun and shoved it toward Parish. "Now, get the friggin' money now!"

"But- but I can-"

"NOW!"

Parish turned quickly and moved the large painting behind his desk, aside, revealing the wall safe. he fumbled with the combination buttons, starting over a third time before hitting the right sequence and opening the door.

"I have- there's ten thousand here. It's all I have, I swear."

Harv snatched the bills away and did a hasty count then stuffed them in his shirt. "Half means you can add . . ." He paused to try and calculate an amount in percent and gave up. "You can add another three grand for being late."

Parish just nodded.

"And that only covers until tomorrow at ten in the morning. After that it's another three." He stuck out his chest, figuring if Bobby DeLong could demand a big vig, so could he.

About to protest, Parish watched the gun come up to aim at his face and nodded again . . . dejectedly.

DAY 2

Harv paid the cabbie a hundred bucks to get him to Bobby's place on time and he arrived with twenty minutes to spare.

"Well, I honestly didn't think you'd make it, Harv."

"I told you I was good for it. Here's ten the rest'll be here before noon tomorrow. I'll even make it twenty-three hundred, that's more than your thirty percent."

'Uh uh. The loan was for twelve and so was the vig. You only paid back ten, the interest is still four . . . you owe me six."

"Wait a sec, that's not fair."

Bobby's eyebrows rose and he looked at his men and laughed.

"That's not fair," he mimicked in a whiny voice. "I'll tell you what isn't fair, Harv. The hair around my ass. It's six and generous guy that I am, before noon tomorrow."

A quick calculation left Harv with a measly seven for all his skill disposing of the target. He could see that Bobby wasn't going to change anything no matter what argument he made.

"Fine. Six tomorrow before noon." He turned to leave and found the two men blocking his path.

"Now what, Bobby?"

Bobby raised his feet up onto the desk and worked at his nails with a file."It's a client, payment program we introduce into every transaction. It's just of the many services we offer, Harv. We provide each client who is delinquent with a souvenir incentive." He smiled and nodded to his men. "Left hand."

"Huh! What? Wait!" With swift, practised move, the four fingers of his left hand were bent back until they snapped. Harv let out a scream and fell to his knees holding the useless limbs.

DAY 3

The following morning at eight sharp, as the doors opened, a furious Harv announced himself to the receptionist and she immediately called up to the executive floor. Seconds later, Harv was in the office of Parish, counting the twenty-three hundred dollars, with some difficulty."

"What happened to your hand?" Parish asked, trying to appear at ease and hopefully, honest.

"It was a present from the people I owe this to." He snarled. He stuffed the money in his jacket and then pulled out his gun."

"Hey! What's this? I paid you what you asked and on time."

"Put your hand on the desk."

"What? No!."

"You want me to shoot you right in the balls, get your hand on the desk."

Trembling, Parish placed his hand on the edge of his desk and looked pleadingly at Harv,

"This is part of my service for delinquent clients."

Before Parish could move, Harv smashed the hand with the butt of the gun. He shrieked and spun away holding it cradled under his arm.

"Next time we do business, keep that in mind." Harv wrenched his shoulders back and strutted out of the office past the dumbfounded secretary.

DAY 4

Jordy popped the tab on the beer and slurped down half the can. He looked at Harv and shook his head.

"I warned you, Harv. Bobby DeLong is one mean bastard."

"Yeah, well he didn't scare me. Prick thought this would put the fear of God into me." He held up the hand with the cast and made a sucking sound with his teeth.

"Woulda scared the shit outta me."

"Yeah, well you ain't me, Jordy."

The phone on the table between them rang and Jordy set his empty can down and grabbed up the receive.

"Yo." Silence. "Yo, hey, you there? H-e-l-l-o? Screw it." He slammed it down and sat back, reaching for another can.

"What?"

"Aah, one of them robot calls I guess. Nobody there."

Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door and Harv told Jordy to get it. He dragged himself out of the chair and styled across the room, complacent. When he opened the door it flew back into his face. Unfortunately, Jordy was swigging from the can at the time and it smashed the front uppers out of his mouth and sent him flying back on his ass in the corner.

"What the hell!" Harv reach for his pistol on the table but was too late as the man kicked the table away and jammed his silenced gun tight against Harv's cheek.

"Whatta you guys want? I paid Bobby. Got this for my trouble, remember?"

The second man came and stood in front of Harv, looked down and gave him a weary smile.

"Your client, a Mister Parish, looked us up after you smashed his hand to pieces. He requested one of our other services and Mister DeLong is obliging, for a handsome fee I might add. You should be flattered."

"What the hell you talkin' about? Parish? How did he find Bobby?"

"That is academic, Harv. What is important is that you know it was Mister Parish that made this request."

It felt like a burn, then his mouth filled with warm liquid and in horror, he grabbed at his throat and his finger slipped into the gaping slash left by the knife blade. They let him go and he lurched from the chair, stumbling over the upturned table and crashed to the floor. On the way out the door, the man leaned to Jordy and whispered advice that Jordy nearly broke his neck nodding at.

DAY 5

Parish met with Bobby, paid him the full amount and left with the knowledge that for the rest of his days he would be answering Bobby's calls and following his instructions in all things financial. Celebrating his new acquisition, a financial officer in one of the city's largest banks, around his condominium's private pool, Bobby slipped on a wet tile and cracked his head on the flagstone. He would survive but essentially he was brain dead, living through tubes and medicine.

Parish, ecstatic over hearing the news on his car radio, did a fist pump, banged the ceiling of his car, lost control and turned into the path of an oncoming tractor-trailer. Jordy turned state's evidence against Bobby's thugs and received government paid dental surgery in trade.