You’ve ever been shot in the leg? It’s not very fun. Working my job, you realize at some point you will get shot, but you think you’ll get a bullet to the head and no one will miss you. My boss just shot me in my leg, and I have lost a lot of blood at this point. I’ve got a piece of duct tape over my mouth which really hurts and my wrists and ankles are strapped to this chair with handcuffs. I assume I’m in the old warehouse down on 39th. That’s where mom said dad used to have his “meetings” and where he eventually had his last one.

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 I think I hear a creak coming through the wood panels on the floor. I really hope this is gonna be the person to end it. “Wake up Jimmy.” The voice is rough and coarse, he rips the tape from my mouth, “you gonna talk?” I finally recognize the voice it’s my dad old “Co-worker”, Tommy. He’s the one who picked him up for his last talk with the boss. Tommy is the guy you call when you have a “rat problem”. “Screw you, Tommy,” I spit at him immediately after I say this, not my best idea, but with the light now showing, I think I know where I am. I was right about being in a warehouse, just the wrong one. I remember the smell of this place, it’s hard to concentrate, after I spit on Tommy he hit me in the face a few times, “Talk you little weasel.” He’s pulling the hair on the top of my head, then I realize I saw him do this before, in Paulie’s Meat Warehouse, down on 79th just west of my old neighborhood, in Chicago. Paulie used to watch over me when my dad was too busy, which he always was. I remember the smell from all the times I would come home after spending the day here and smell like the place. My mom really hated it, I didn’t care. It reminded me of the times I spent hanging out with Paulie and laughing about all the dumb stories he told me. I know knowing this won’t save me, it doesn’t have to. As he takes these next few swings at me I know I just have to wait a while longer till his boss gets here and gives him the go-ahead, but at this point being scared doesn’t matter, not when you know you are already dead. I hear a horn as he throws the last punch, and now know this might be my last moment.

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If this were to be my last moment I would hope that it wouldn’t have been this bad. I know I never lived a perfect life, but as the boss takes each step closer and closer to me the thump of his foot on the ground is almost deafening, probably from the ringing in my ears. Damn, Tommy’s got a hell of a right cross. The ringing makes me think of the time I first heard a gunshot, I was probably about 6 years old. I was scared of guns then. My dad had originally told me only adults used guns. By the time I had turned 11, I learned that was not the case. I was given my first gun the day after my dad had died, by Tommy no less, ain’t that something. Never thought the guy who was the one to get you into a life of bad crap would be the one who finally takes you out. You would assume it’d be poetic. In the movies, you kill a man his son kills you… But life isn’t very poetic, it usually ends with you pissing off your boss to the point where he sends his head thug to your house to kill your dog John Wick style then drags you off for torture.

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I’m bleeding from my tear ducts now, I can actually tell if it's blood or if I’m to the point of crying but I’m internally bleeding so bad to the point I can’t really cry tears anymore. “I think Tommy got your old man to cry tears too.” I had never heard the boss talk before, always thought he just didn’t like people hearing his voice, I can see why. If I looked like Tony Soprano and sounded like Kermit the Frog, I would have other people speak for me too. I begin to laugh, which of course hurts like hell, but I can’t help myself. I’m about to be shot in the face by a guy who sounds like Kermit the frog, I think you would laugh too. I think all the blood I have lost at this point is stopping me from really feeling anything, cause Tommy just gave me 3 hits to the jaw and I just can’t stop laughing. All I hear them say is “Shut up” repeatedly, but each time the phrase raises more concern from their voices. Even though the blood in my eyes makes things blurry I can see the terrified looks on the faces of Tommy and the Boss. I think they are scared. I don’t think I really am anymore. I know I am dying close to home. I’m not really afraid of being shot anymore because let’s face it, I’ve been shot once and, well yeah it hurts, but I’m to the point where whatever information they want from me is just gonna be useless since I’m going to die anyway. They thought that they were gonna get me to talk. They didn’t. They thought they could scare me. Well, they did a little. But, knowing you’re about to die really shows you that being afraid isn’t really important. I don’t care at this point, they are both reaching in their jackets.

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Time is moving slower now. Maybe I am already dead. Maybe I am about to die. Maybe I was already dead at this point and this is my hell. Eh, what do I know. I don’t think there is much comfort at this point, I think when you are about to get shot in the face you can’t really find it. You know somebody once told me I was gonna get killed because of my father, his lifestyle, the things he taught me. That’s not true and as I see these two barrels pointed at my face I know that I screwed up. I said something to the wrong guy and didn’t trust the people I should have, but guess what? That doesn’t matter. I now listen to the trigger going back. I hear one last thing: “Good night.” And you know what, in my last moment I never thought I’d be thinking about Kermit the Frog, but what the hell this wasn’t the way I wanted to go anyway.