Thicker Than Coffee

This week’s new flash fiction is a final coffee break, with a twist.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Thicker Than Coffee

Sully stood in the small kitchen of his small apartment. Brewed his coffee. Wondered who they would send. He thought he knew them all. Except the new one. The girl. He didn’t know much about her other than he heard she was good at her job. He had heard some rumors about where she came from. About her mother. He did some rough math in his head.

And of course, who else but the girl rang his bell. Christ, she was young. Young enough to be his daughter. Pretty. At least they sent an Irishman. She had the same flaming red hair as Sully. The same hair that folks had cited as a source of his devilry since he first ran afoul of the nuns at St Mel’s.

She was just a messenger after all. He ushered her in, pointed her to a chair and sat passively on the sofa holding his fancy iced coffee. It was his one indulgence. Out of character for him he knew. She noticed as well. The high-end plastic tumbler. The interesting odor. The odd sheen.

He waited for her to lay out his offenses and his options, if any. Sully had slipped a bit with age, who hadn’t, but he suspected his main offense was his birth date. He was somewhat curious exactly how she’d put it.

Normally this job did not faze her at all. But she had no appetite for this one. Crossing off an old timer. She guessed she had daddy issues, never having met hers.

He knew what a meeting like this probably meant. He suspected they were about to take him out. If not here, then soon. He had earned at least this respect of a final sit down. Face to face. Not a bullet in the back of the head or a car bomb. They had a way of doing things. He got that. Why make it hard on them? Hard on the young girl. They’d been good to him. He knew the rules. His affairs were in order. Frankly he was tired of all this. This business. This life. Tired in general. Ready to go. He had dosed his fancy coffee with more than enough cyanide to do the job. His plan was to hear her out. If it turned out he was right, that this was the end of the line, he would shotgun the coffee. Solving their problem for all of them like a good soldier. Avoiding a bloodbath. A messy cleanup. Troublesome evidence. Team player to the last. Could he just run? Really nowhere to hide. And not his style. Plus, he kind of wanted to see who they sent. Especially if it was the girl.

She stared at his cup but with curiosity not suspicion. “You keep looking at your coffee. Don’t hold off on my account. It’s a pretty fancy looking drink for a guy like you.”

 He tried to explain away the appearance of his heavily dosed beverage.

“It’s that new stuff from Italy with the olive oil in it. Bet you’ve heard of it. I wanted to try it. It’s an acquired taste. Not for everybody.”

She nodded. Then she surprised him. She flashed a silenced snub nose and plugged him right there on his couch without so much as a how do you do.

She stood up slowly but before she left she reached over and drained his coffee. Had to see what the fuss was about. Made a face. Thought, the old man had been right about one thing at least.

At the coroner the lab results came back. Lethal dose of poison in the woman. Obviously a significant lead deposit in the old man. Then the ME had a surprise for the homicide police.

“I sent the case to domestic disputes.”

“Not organized crime?”

“DNA results also came back. On both bodies. He’s her father.”