I drove my rental up Columbus Avenue and, after several tries, found a parking spot on a side street a block away. I rechecked my phone for his picture, then deleted it. It would be hard to miss a three-hundred-fifty-pound guy who wasn’t that tall.
He was in a corner with a much younger woman. They were arguing. Her beauty was stunning, made more so by her emotion. She raised a hand as if to slap him. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it, causing her pain. He released her, and she stepped back and headed my way, head down, probably crying. As she passed, her heat and scent touched every nerve.
I went to him and stood there, staring. He knew who I was and said, “Let’s go outside.” He nodded toward the door and waddled through the crowd with his fat ass rolling from side to side like ocean swells.
We sat in a new Tesla. “Nice car.”
He looked at me as if to say, ‘What did you expect.’ My dislike was growing exponentially.
“Who’s the woman?” I already knew the answer.
“That’s it. That’s why I hired you.”
“I told you I didn’t do women or children. You lied to me.”
“Everyone has a price.” I felt his smirk in the darkness.
“I’ll give you half now. Half when it’s done.”
He reached under the seat and withdrew a zippered banker’s bag. Opened it, sounding like a band-aid being ripped off a hairy arm, and handed me two packs of C-notes. “Count it.”
“I trust you.”
“So, we're good?”
“Not quite.” I reached inside my jacket and pulled the gun stuffing it hard between his fat rolls that would snuff the noise like a silencer. His breath sucked in, and his eyes bugged out.
I leaned closer, “Listen carefully. "I have friends out here. They’ll keep watch. If anything happens to that woman, they will cut you into fish bait. Capeesh?"
He nodded. What else could he do?
I left him there, sitting in his own stain. I left San Francisco with my heart intact.