Page 41 of Money Shot

“Neverfuckingmind,” I said.

My level of respect for Jimmy Weed diminished slightly as I placed the phone on the table beside me. For anyone to trust such an idiot to return any amount of money did nothing in my opinion but clearly show their desperation of hope for another dollar earned. As the sound of a vehicle in the drive became apparent, I stood from the chair.

“Move your skinny ass over toward the couch and remember what I said,” I said as I waved the gun in his direction.

I walked to the hinge side of the front door and stood. Three sharp knocks were met by the scab covered fool’s authorization to enter.

“It’s open,” he said.

The door opened, and who appeared to be the walking skeleton’s brother entered holding a small cardboard box.

“Don’t move or I’ll blow your fucking brains all over the wall,” I said as I stepped from behind the door and pressed the pistol into his temple.

“Oh fuck, Dude. Don’t shoot me. You can have it all,” he said as he tried to hand the box to me.

“Put it on the floor,” I demanded.

He dropped the box at his feet. It hit the floor with a solid thud. I shifted my eyes to dumbass number one, and back to number two. They appeared to be twins.

“Brothers?” I asked.

“Twins,” dumbass number one responded.

Just what the world needs, two of these dumb fucks.

“Go stand by your brother,” I said. “Don’t reach in your pockets or do anything stupid, or I’ll shoot both of you, understand?

“Yeah…I uhhm. Fuck…Don’t shoot me. Yeah…I understand,” he murmured as he walked toward the couch.

I picked up the box, opened it, and looked inside. To describe it as being full of money would be an understatement.

“How much is in here?” I asked.

“Uhhm, money or meth?” Lamar asked.

“Money,” I responded as I peered into the cash filled box.

“It’s uhhm. It’s…there’s…there’s twenty-two grand…uhhm…in bills, and about thirty grand worth of…in there…uhhm, in meth,” he responded.

I shifted my eyes toward dumbass number one. “You dipshit. So you had enough to pay your debt and keep your word, and you didn’t?”

“Huh?” number two asked. “What debt?”

I shook my head in frustration as I alternated glances between the box and the two idiots. “Jimmy Weed.”

“You didn’t pay The Weed?” number one asked number two.

Number two shrugged his shoulders. “Dude, I was gonna pay him after we got the shit sold.”

I waved the pistol toward the kitchen. “Both of you just shut the fuck up. Go sit in the kitchen in the middle of the floor.”

Dumbass number one led the way, and number two followed close behind. After they were both sitting in the middle of the floor picking at their faces, I turned, locked the front door, and walked to my seat. I dumped the contents of the box in the middle of the table, and began to count the money, doing my best to stick with hundred dollar bills. The box was filled with every denomination of bill, including countless well-weathered one dollar bills. A few minutes later, I had two piles of cash.

One with thirteen thousand and one with three thousand nine hundred.

“We can do this one of two ways. You owe Mr. Weed thirteen grand. That’s not negotiable. My cut is thirty percent. So, I can take the thirteen, leave the rest, and you’ll be seeing Mr. Weed – or quite possibly me – again, for the thirty-nine hundred dollar fee I’m charging him, because that comes off the top of his thirteen grand. Or, you can pay the thirteen and pay me my cut now, and it’ll be the last you see of either of us. So, do you two want to discuss it?” I asked.

“Take all you want,” Lamar said.