Taking out the trash
I park my car in front of the building around 11pm and check the envelope in my glove box. It has my fee, a key and an apartment number.
I don't need anything else. I know what to do. I've done it before. Many times.
I used to be a bounty hunter, back when I had a license and a reputation. But things went south after a botched job left me with a bullet in my leg and a warrant on my head. I try to lay low now.
I get out of the car and walk towards the entrance. The building is a dump. A nine-story pile of bricks and concrete that should have been demolished years ago. But it's still standing, barely, housing the lowest of the low. The ones who can't afford anything better. The ones who have nowhere else to go.
I enter the lobby and see a sign that says "Welcome to Paradise". It's a joke. A cruel one. The walls are stained and peeling, the floor is sticky and dirty, the air is stale and foul. There's a vending machine in the corner, but it's empty. A locked door reads "MGMT". There's a mail slot where the tenants drop their rent checks. If they have any.
The elevator reeks of piss and mold as it takes me up to the fourth floor. I wonder how anyone can live here. I guess they don't have a choice.
I walk down the hallway and look for the door marked 412. That's where he lives.
His name is Nate. Young guy, maybe in his early twenties. He seemed like a good tenant at first. Quiet, polite, paid on time. But then things changed. He started playing loud music at all hours, inviting shady people over, leaving notes on the office door demanding repairs. A pain in the ass, in so many words.
The manager tried to evict him. He refused to leave. He threatened to sue. He claimed he had rights. He said he paid his rent on time. He said he wasn't going anywhere.
The manager didn't like that. So he called me.
He said he wanted it done quickly and quietly. He said he didn't want to know the details.
Our usual arrangement.
I see him. Nate. He's sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He looks harmless. He looks like a kid.
He sees me and smiles. Oblivious.
"Hey, are you the maintenance guy? My AC is busted. It's hot as hell in here."
He gets up and walks towards me. He sees the gun in my holster. He sees the cuffs on my belt. He sees the knife in my boot.
His smile fades. His eyes widen. His voice trembles.
"Who are you?"
"You can call me Sir. I'm here to take out the trash," I say.
I size him up. He's not much of a threat.
He drops his phone. "What? What do you mean? What trash?"
I lunge at him and grab him by the collar. He tries to fight back, but he's no match for me. I've been doing this for a long time. I know how to handle guys like him. I pin him to the floor and cover his mouth. I tell him to calm down and stop struggling. He looks at me with fear and confusion in his eyes.
He struggles and tries to scream. He says, "Mmmph! Mmmph! Help! Help!"
I tighten my grip over his mouth say, "No one can hear you, Nate. No one cares about you. You're a problem. And the money says you have to go."
He says, "Mmmph! Mmmph! Who? Who paid you? Who wants me gone?"
I take out a pair of handcuffs and snap them on his wrists. "I'm going to have to tie you up now, Nate. You need to cooperate. It'll be easier for both of us."
At this point, Nate goes full panic attack. He starts sobbing. I'll be honest, I've heard it all and I'm pretty numb to the hysterics, but the kid was starting to get to me. I realized I needed to shut him up quick.
"Please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry for whatever I did!"
"I'm not the one you should apologize to," I say, looking at him coldly. "If anything, I like guys like you. You're job security for me."
He looks at me with horror. He realizes I'm not joking. I'm not here to scare him or teach him a lesson. I'm here to get rid of him.
I pull out a roll of duct tape and start wrapping it over his mouth and around his head. I keep going until his sobs are reduced to muffled moans.
There. That's better.
This is the point where I reach for my big old bag o'tricks. Chains, padlocks, yards and yards of rope. I don't kill people, I make them disappear - there's a difference. The manager's a good client, and he doesn't want to see Nate ever again. He needs to be sufficiently restrained.
When I finish, I hoist Nate over my shoulder and carry him out of the apartment. He's not heavy. I walk down the hallway and take the elevator down to the parking garage, where they keep the dumpsters. I lean him up against the side of one of the heavy metal bins. I rummage through his pant pockets, finding his wallet and his keys. He blinks rapidly through tears as he watches me kneel over the storm drain between us.
"Wallet," I chuckle, as I let it slip through my fingers and down into the city sewer below.
"Handcuff keys," they drop with a clink, braising the metal grating as they slip through into the abyss.
"And you, kid..." I point over his shoulder to the looming dumpster he's resting against, "you're going in there."
I lift him up by the arms. He flops against me like a fish on dry land. I can tell he's exhausted. With a final heave, he disappears over the edge of the bin, landing among the other garbage and unwanted refuse inside. He moans and cries meekly as I slam the lid shut, but I think he's beginning to accept his new life.
Tomorrow morning is garbage pickup. This bin will be emptied into the back of the truck and halfway to the city dump before sunrise - delivering Nate to his new home.
I head back to my car, rifling through my envelope of cash as I walk.
$35k...
Not bad for a trash collector.