“So, Marty, I was watching this program on the TV the other day… you know, one of those medical shows? They said the eardrum is one of the most painful places on the human body,” Big Phil said as he held a kidnapped man down and plunged a Philips screwdriver into the man’s ear. The screams were horrendous.

“Yeah, I think I saw part of that show,” said Martin, ignoring the screaming, grunting, and struggling in the back of the van.

“Isn’t it amazing how the human body works?” Big Phil said. “There’s all these nerves… and what they call ‘pain receptors’… and those tiny little bones way down deep in the ear.”

“Yup, pretty amazing,” Martin said. They had been driving for over an hour already, on their way to Vermont. Big Phil was with their latest grab. Yet another guy dressed in a suit Martin had never heard of. How did so many people tend to get on Vanducci’s bad side on such a regular basis? It had been months since he and Phil had a weekend off.

“I’ll tell you anything you want,” the guy in the suit pleaded. “I have money. Lots of it. I’ll give you whatever you want.” Tears and snot ran down the man’s face.

Big Phil consulted his partner. “Marty, I forget… can we be bought?”

Martin looked over his shoulder. “Do nice Catholic girls take it in the ass?”

Big Phil laughed. He turned to the guy he was holding tightly in his gargantuan hands. “I’m guessing the answer is no.”

“Whatever Mr. Vanducci is paying you guys, I’ll double it… I’ll triple it!”

Big Phil tsked. “As tempting as that may sound, we respectfully decline your offer. Marty and I—we’ve got something they call Employee Loyalty.”

“Besides, we get paid plenty. No need to get greedy,” Martin added.

“To be honest, Marty, I don’t think I could trust this guy as far as I could throw him.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could throw him pretty far,” said Martin.

“Point taken,” Big Phil said. “That was a bad analogy.”

A half hour later they pulled onto a narrow dirt driveway that led into the woods to an isolated cabin.

“Is this the cabin Mr. Vanducci told us about?”

“This be the one.”

“That sure was a long drive.”

“Phil?”

“Yes, Marty?”

“It’s awful quiet in here. How come our guy isn’t begging for his life anymore? Or at least screaming?”

“Cuz he’s dead,” Big Phil said. “I think I snapped his neck. It was an accident. He was struggling too much.”

“You were supposed to wait until we got here to finish him off,” Martin said, pulling the van up behind the cabin. The back yard was surrounded by woods. Perfect cover for their line of work, just like Vanducci had said.

“I’m sorry,” Big Phil said, sounding genuinely upset.

Martin stepped out of the van and opened the rear doors. He grabbed the shovel they brought and tossed it onto the grass. He turned to Big Phil. “Well, start digging. I’m going inside to see what’s in the fridge.”

The cabin was nice. Two bedrooms, a clean fireplace just waiting to be used, everything made of pine. Martin was continually amazed at the things Vanducci had at his disposal. Martin would like that someday. Once he and Big Phil saved up enough money, he wanted to break out on their own. Maybe hire a couple underlings to do their dirty work for them. M&P’s Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. Well, not that cheap. It was a business, after all.

The only thing in the fridge to eat was some bologna, mustard, and a couple bread heels. Martin threw together a sandwich and went out to see how Big Phil was coming along.

“Hey, where’d you get that?” Big Phil said, sweat already beading on his brow. The grave was a couple feet deep.

Martin looked at the hole. “You’re not done yet?” He continued to eat the sandwich, ignoring Big Phil’s eyeballing of it.

Big Phil sent the shovel into the dirt and hit a rock. “Fuck me. Fucking New England soil. You want to trade off?”

Martin held up his palms. “Can’t. Sensitive hands. I blister too easy.”

Big Phil laughed. “Fucking pansy.” He reached down and picked up the rock he’d struck with the shovel blade and tossed it into the woods like a shot-put.

“It doesn’t have to be that deep,” Martin said.

“I know,” said Big Phil.

“But it should probably be about a foot longer.” Martin cocked his head, using his mental measuring tape. “The guy’s at least six foot tall.”

“This is six feet. I know what six feet looks like.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Martin grinned as Big Phil stabbed the dirt in anger. Martin liked getting the big man riled up. It was one of his many sadistic pleasures. “You don’t think you ought to lay out the body first, just to see?”

Big Phil threw the shovel down. He stomped over to the van and grabbed the body of the man by his shirt collar and belt. The screwdriver was still in the man’s ear, driven to the hilt. The man’s head bobbed loosely on its broken neck. Ten feet from the grave Big Phil tossed the body forward onto the ground and it landed beside the hole. “Gee, I guess I could have trusted this guy after all,” he said with a chuckle.

The body confirmed what Martin had suspected. Big Phil’s fresh-dug grave was about six inches too short. “I told you.”

“Aw fuck.” Big Phil bent to pick up the shovel again.

“Hey, don’t bother. I’ve got an idea.”

There was a stump with an ax in it not far from where they stood. Martin pried the ax out of the stump and stood over the body. “Step aside,” he said. First, he pulled the screwdriver out of the man’s ear and tossed it to Big Phil. Martin brought the ax up over his head, then down with a grunt. The man’s skull split in two. The skullcap skidded away on the grass then came to a stop, rocking like a bowl full of brain-flavored Jell-O. “Problem solved.”

“That was awesome. Can I try?”

“No, you might chop your foot off.” Martin put the ax back into the stump. “Now, bury the body and let’s get the hell out of here.”

#

Back in the city, Martin let Big Phil sleep on his couch. He was having a rough time with his girlfriend, Mona, and didn’t want to go home. Martin thought it funny. Big Phil was so big and intimidating, it was hard to believe that anyone could intimidate him. Especially a woman. Mona looked puny next to Big Phil.

“So how long you going to let her treat you like this?” Martin said.

Big Phil spread a blanket on the couch. When he laid down, his legs hung over the end. “We’ll work things out,” he said. “I’m just too tired to deal with her right now. That was one long-assed drive. I need some shut-eye.”

“What if I had plans tonight?” said Martin. “What if I wanted to go out and get some trim?”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Big Phil mumbled. Less than a minute later he was snoring.

Big dumb ox, Martin thought. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen and went to his bedroom.

#

When Martin woke up the next morning, Big Phil was already gone. The big guy had folded up the blankets and put the pillow on top like it was summer camp.

Martin had some errands to run, and then he was going to go get laid.

#

He was banging the Asian girl’s head into the headboard when his cell phone rang. He let go of her hair and grabbed the phone off the nightstand. She continued to moan beneath him.

“Yeah?”

“Marty is that you?”

“Of course it’s me. It’s my number, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think I can work things out with Mona.”

“Then tell her to hit the road. You’re not married, and she’s not paying the rent.”

“I can’t just throw her out into the street.”

“Listen, this ain’t a good time, okay?”

“But I don’t know what to do. She says she doesn’t have anyone else she can stay with.”

“They all say that. I’m sure she has some place she can go.”

“She says no.”

“Sorry, big guy, you’re gonna have to figure this one out for yourself. I’m in the middle of something.”

Martin ended the call and let the phone fall to the floor. The hooker writhed beneath him as he rammed his cock in her ass.

She was moaning something in Chinese and he put his hands around her neck and choked her a little bit as he came. When he let her breathe again, she kissed his fingertips.

#

Martin sat in his boxers watching the morning news while he ate a bowl of cereal. The hooker was gone and he’d showered the lotus flower stench of her off his skin. The newscaster was talking about some district attorney that had gone missing. They showed the guy’s picture. Martin cocked his head to the side. He pieced together the two halves of the guy’s face. Yup, it was him. The guy he and Big Phil took up to the cabin. Now the news was showing pictures of his wife and two kids. A reporter was standing outside the Rhode Island Supreme Court building where the guy worked. Martin smiled. One of the perks of his job was he got to make a difference in the world. Even if no one else knew it. That knowledge made his miserable life worth something, and kept him from eating his gun barrel.

His cell rang. It was Vanducci’s secretary. The boss wanted to meet in one hour. Martin called Big Phil.

“Vanducci wants to see us. I’m swinging by to pick you up in few. Be ready.”

“Okay.”

“What’s the matter? You’re not excited. Did you take care of your problem?”

“Yeah, I took care of it.”

“Good. So, the mooch is gone?”

“Can’t we talk about something else?”

“Well, excuse me. Just be ready when I get there.”

Martin got dressed and was out the door. It wasn’t wise to be late for an appointment with Mr. Vanducci.

#

When Martin swung by Big Phil’s apartment, he waited by the curb. He called but Big Phil wasn’t answering. He got out of the van and stomped up three flights of stairs and rapped on the big guy’s door. “Come on! Let’s go!”

The door opened and Big Phil stood there with a scared look on his face. Behind him, on the floor, was Mona, hogtied and gagged. If her eyes could have talked they would have said, “I’m going to cut your balls off if you don’t let me loose!”

Too bad that wasn’t going to happen.

Martin simply shook his head. He checked his watch. “Okay, wrap her up and put her in the van.”

“Okay.” Big Phil hung his head as if he’d just wet the bed. Which he still did from time to time.

#

The Boss seemed particularly pleased with himself when Martin and Big Phil arrived at the upstairs office of Citywide Cleaners. Martin did all the talking while Big Phil stared at the floor. They were dressed in their usual white laundry service uniforms, playing the role Vanducci demanded of them.

“It’s an easy one this time, gentlemen.” Vanducci handed Martin an envelope. “And here’s another one.” Vanducci handed Martin a second envelope. “For doing such a fine job last time. Consider it a bonus.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vanducci,” Martin said.

“I trust you found the cabin okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Vanducci said. “We’ll be cleaning our dirty laundry there from now on.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Vanducci.”

“You may go now.”

“Thank you, sir.” Martin turned Big Phil toward the door and the two of them left the room.

#

There was only one name on the sheet of paper inside the first envelope Vanducci had given them. A low-level snitch who was so predictable, there was an address on the paper (in parenthesis next to the name) that told them where he could be found: Harry’s Tavern. Martin and Big Phil went in for a drink. They got the snitch outside with the promise of money for information.

In the back of the van, the snitch was wriggling next to Mona, who was doing the same.

“Like a couple of night crawlers after a rain storm,” said Big Phil with a grin, looking on from the shotgun seat.

The wriggling had long since stopped by the time they got to Vanducci’s cabin. Martin backed the van up alongside the stump with the ax sticking out, poised like a trigger finger wanting to feel that release. Martin’s heart was already beating in anticipation of using the ax again. It reminded him of when he was little, growing up on Grandpa’s chicken farm and how Grandpa used to hack the chickens’ heads off with a hatchet, except sometimes he only chopped half their heads off, and they’d run around like a chicken with half its head cut off. It was hilarious. Breaking eggs, his grandpa used to call it. From now on it will be my signature, Martin thought. He remembered to bring a butcher’s apron this time. “Okay, time to clean the laundry.”

When Big Phil opened the van doors, he was kicked in the face, kicked in the gut, then kicked in the face again in rapid succession. This left him woozy enough so that the next blow—a kick to the balls—sent him to the ground. By the time Martin had raced around to help, Mona had Big Phil’s Glock pointed at the big guy’s head. “One move and I pop his head like a zit.” Mona stared Martin down. “Toss your gun. Do it! Now!”

Martin reached inside his jacket and gingerly pulled his weapon out of its holster and tossed it onto the grass.

“You know, I ought to blow you two away. I have never been so humiliated in my life!”

“But sweety—”

“Don’t sweety me you shit for brains.” She rapped Big Phil on the head with the butt of the gun to emphasize her disappointment. “The only reason I dated you was I’d heard you had a big cock.” She threw Martin another glance. “You—shortcake—get those ropes and tie up this asshole.”

Martin had another gun in his boot. He was just biding his time until the moment was right to use it. He grabbed the ropes Mona had freed herself from and set about tying up Big Phil. She made Big Phil get on his knees and told Martin to tie his ankles first, then his wrists, cinching them tightly behind his back. She knew what she was doing.

“Today’s your lucky day fellas.”

“Why’s that?” said Martin.

“Because if it were up to me, you two would be worm food. But Vanducci’s bad side is something I don’t want to be on.”

For a moment Martin had his back to her and thought now was as good a time as any to make his move. But when he reached for his boot, he heard a loud clang and the lights went out.

He awoke later with a splitting headache and Big Phil repeating on a nervous loop: “Marty… you awake?” He was tied back-to-back to the big dope and could barely move. The first thing he noticed was the snitch they’d grabbed at Harry’s Tavern was lying on the grass, the ax buried in his chest.

The second thing he noticed was the van was gone.

“So where’d you say you met this girl?” he asked Big Phil.

“Marty, you’re okay! You had me worried there for a minute.”

“The girl… where’d you meet her?”

“At my cousin Vito’s wedding.”

“The one from Jersey?”

“Yeah, why?”

“What’s Mona’s last name?”

“Her last name? Carlucci. Mona Carlucci. I thought it sounded like a race car.”

“Carlucci. Kind of sounds like a Carlucci Family Carlucci to me.”

“You think so?”

If Martin could have reached around and slapped Big Phil in the head he would have. Big Phil would be the death of him yet. “Okay, on three we crab crawl over to that body. One… two… three.” Big Phil didn’t budge. “What’s the problem now?”

“I don’t want to go over there.”

“Why not?”

“There’s an ax over there.”

“Exactly.”

“Marty, I’m sorry, I’ll be more careful who I date. Why you want to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you. I want to cut these damn ropes.”

“Oh. Okay. One… two… three…”

Martin actually did want to kill Big Phil, but who would have kept him company on the long walk back home?

Kurt Newton’s stories have appeared in wide variety of magazines and
anthologies, including Flash Fiction Offensive, Out of the Gutter, and
Crooked Holster. His collections include The Music of Murder, and Bruises.

https://www.facebook.com/kurt.newton.56
https://twitter.com/kurtdnewton
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L.L. Soares is a Bram Stoker Award-winning writer. His novels include
Life Rage, Teach Them How to Bleed, Hard, Rock ‘N Roll, and the novella
Breaking Eggs (co-written with Kurt Newton).

llsoares.com