Page 67 of Villains Never Die

I neared the bottom of my drink and debated asking the bartender to refill it. Two men sat at the table in front of me and lifted their heads as Rook passed by.

“He’s such a fucking boss,” the younger, thinner one admired.

The slightly older one, graying around the temples, with a beer gut that he’d probably been working on for a decade, laughed. “That’s why he runs the show and the rest of us peons are giving him all our money.”

“I’d kill for his job,” said the younger one.

The older one snorted. “He probably has. You don’t end up running a place like this without doing some fucked-up shit.”

Young One shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Beer Belly hummed. “You ever notice you don’t see him with a girlfriend?”

I straightened slowly, listening harder. I stroked my thumb up and down the condensation on my glass, then lifted the small amount that was left and sipped.

“That’s because Rook’s the kind of guy who can get any pussy he wants. Why settle for one when you can have them all?”

“I’m just saying, it would be funny if the big man is actually…” He made an exaggerated, limp-wristed gesture.

Young One shook his head. “No, there’s no fucking way Rook is taking it up the ass.”

“I didn’t say he was taking it up the ass. Maybe he’s the pitcher.” He let out another greasy laugh. “All I’m saying is it’s weird. Maybe he’s a faggot.”

My hand tightened on the glass, but I looked away, toward the bar, where anyone who saw me might interpret it as the desire for another drink rather than eavesdropping.

“Whatever you say, man. You’re delusional.”

Not delusional, but very much on my radar. When he rose to watch the next fight, I memorized his face. That fight took twenty minutes, after which Beer Belly declined another drink with his friend and stumbled out of the club, griping about the money he’d lost. I waited until he was halfway to the door, then rose from my seat. The bouncer nodded to me on the way out. There were two more fights scheduled that evening, so most of the crowd would be occupied for another hour or two.

The man trekked around the building to the back alley. His car was much too exquisite for the bag of pus driving it, and he was too drunk to do so, which I gathered from the way he dropped his keys twice trying to open the door.

I cast a spell that flattened him against the metal.

“What the fuck?”

I stood over his shoulder. “You know, I don’t actually like fighting. I was here as a personal favor to Rook, but you and your disgusting mouth just had to ruin my evening.”

“What the hell? Are you his boyfriend or something? Let me go!” He struggled, but his arms and legs refused to budge.

“I can’t do that. The world needs one less ugly stain, and I’m afraid I don’t have enough conscience to overlook you.”

For all the lives that Death gave me, she left other marks. The voices chased me everywhere, spying, prying, and haunting my steps. But there was another gift she gave me, either intentionally or inadvertently. It didn’t matter. Exhausting as using it had become, there was a time and place for it, and this man was more deserving of it than most.

I pressed my hand flat between his shoulder blades and channeled death into his putrid body. No last words. No dramatic exit. No blood. His skin rotted and his body went limp before I let it fall to the ground. I kicked his blackened corpse for no other reason than to satisfy my ire.

I pulled out my phone to text Rook.

There’s a dead body in your back alley.

Rook: What did you do?

Took out the trash.

Rook: Fine, I’ll send one of my guys to deal with it. There’s one more fight, but I’m in the office. Come up?

See you in a few minutes.

My shoulders sagged and it took me a moment to catch my breath. My limbs felt full of sand as I trudged back to the club,bypassed the bouncer, and made my way to the office. The door opened before I knocked.