By Seamus O’Leary

Jack’s slim form moved through the dancers on the night club floor, like a panther moving through a jungle of flashing lights. Nubs followed, and everyone got out of his way.

They entered a door in the back, which opened into a short hall lit by fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and white tile on the floor. The door shut behind them leaving the music and flashing lights on the other side.

They walked down the hall toward another door, and a bodyguard stationed outside opened it to let them inside.

There were 3 men and 2 girls. The women were dressed like strippers. There was a desk and a couple of nice chairs and couches where the people lounged.

“Hey guys, take a seat!” The man behind the desk said.

Jack and Nubs both took a seat in the chairs in front of the desk. The bodyguard shut the door behind them.

“You want a shot?” The guy behind the desk asked.

“Sure, Mr. Roper; That’d be great.” Jack said.

Nubs nodded his head.

Roper pulled two shot glasses out of an open desk drawer and set them in front of Jack and Nubs, on the edge of the desk.

He motioned to one of the other guys who handed him a bottle of bourbon.

Roper uncapped the bottle and poured the two shots, which Jack and Nubs, grabbed and downed.

“You did a good job with Tyrone.” Roper said.

He reached into the same drawer where he had pulled out the shot glasses and withdrew an envelope of cash. He tossed it on the desk.

Jack reached out and took the money.

“Thank you Mr. Roper.” Jack said. Nubs nodded.

“Thanks” he said.

“I want you to go see Costa. I want that fat fuck gone.” Roper said.

Jack looked around the room. He really didn’t like talking business around this many people; especially the girls. Girls are notorious for rolling over, when the chips are down.

Jack nodded, but said nothing.

“He thinks he can steal from me. That won’t fly with me. Don’t use that .38 you like. I want his head gone. Use a .45. Use something big like ol’ Nubs here with his .44 magnum.” Roper said.

“It’s not a .38. It’s a snub-nose, hammerless, .357 Magnum. I like revolvers because they are reliable and they don’t eject the shell. Lots of guys get caught because they leave too much evidence behind. A thumb print on a shell casing, a drop of blood, hair. The less evidence the cops get the better.” Jack said.

“Ok, Ok! Roper said, holding up his hands.

He laughed and spoke to the guys in the room.

“This is why I love these guys, they know what they are doing, and they are smooth. No nonsense.” Roper said.

Manny, one of the guys in the room took a shot of bourbon and said.

“That six-shooter doesn’t have enough bullets if you gotta shoot your way out.”  Manny said.

“I carry refills, but if I get into trouble like that, then I’m not doing my job. It means I didn’t prep. It means I didn’t use the right tool, or notice something I should have noticed.” Jack said.

“Ok, Ok” Roper said, before anything got outa hand. “Get Costa, and do it good.”

Jack stood up and put the envelope in his jackets inner pocket. Nubs stood and followed him out the door.

They walked out of Ropers club and got into the Lincoln. Jack handed Nubs the envelope.

“Divide it.” Jack said.

He started the car.

“Well go look for Costa and start our preps tomorrow. How does pizza and beer sound?” Jack said.

“Delightful.” Nubs answered.


It was early morning. Jack and Nubs sat in a stolen Malibu on the asphalt, at the Michigan Lake Golf Club.

“Costa will be here.” Jack said.

“I hope, I don’t wanna keep fucking with this jack off.” Nubs said. He took a drink of his coffee, and sucked air through his teeth like it was still a little too hot.

“Me either. This is his regular golf course. But, he hasn’t shown up.” Jack said.

“You ever play golf?” Nubs asked.

“A couple of times, but it’s not really my thing or my people.” Jack said.

“You hate golfers/” Nubs asked.  “Like Golfism? Racism for golf?”

“No. I’ve just never met a golfer who wasn’t a rich prick.” Jack said.

“Yeah, poor people don’t play golf.” Nubs said.

“Have you ever seen anyone playing golf with work boots on?” Jack asked.

“Just your mom.” Nubs said.

“They don’t play golf on the street corner.” Jack said.

“Wow, I’m telling her you said that.” Nubs said.

“She’d get a kick out of it.”  Jack answered.

They both laughed.

‘So, what’s the plan with Costa?” Nubs asked.

“We’re going to do it old school. Just walk up and pop him.” Jack said.

“Sounds simple” Nubs said.

“We’ll run it just like the Rollins Hit.” Jack said.

“Ok” Nubs said.


Costa pulled into the lot.

“There he is.” Jack said.

Nubs opened his car door and stepped out. He started walking toward Costs vehicle. Anticipating where Costa would park.

After a minute Jack started rolling forward in the Malibu. Staying close to Nubs, but also allowing for escape.

Costa had three other guys in the Cadillac with him. He was in the passenger seat.

The driver parked the car, and they all got out laughing.

Nubs reached the men drew his .44 and shot Costa in the chest. Costa fell against the Caddy in shock looking at Nubs.

The other three men were stunned. They sought cover and drew weapons as they moved.

Nubs shot Costa in the head, confirming the kill for sure.

Jack rolled out of the driver’s side door of the Malibu with an AR-15 and started raining bullets on the bodyguards, hitting one immediately and sending the other two diving behind cars, while Nubs made his escape to the Malibu.

Nubs climbed in and started firing out the window at the bodyguards, to keep their heads down while Jack hopped back into the vehicle and they took off.

A golfer recorded the whole thing with is camera on his phone.

Probably a rich prick golfer.

Seamus O’Leary is a writer from Chicago, Illinois. He has written several stories posted in The Yard. “That Money“, “Friends with Benefits“, “Protecting Ginger“, “Visiting Mom”, “Pole Dancer” among others.

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Publishing Editor for The Yard: Crime Blog.

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