Lovers, in Chains Pt. 2

Lovers,

in Chains

Pt. 2

Lovers, in Chains Pt 1

A visitor 

I woke up late in the night to see a pair of lights shining through our window. We had curtains covering the window but a little gap between the two curtains made a perfect spot for a peeping Tom. A couple of shady figures standing behind the flashlights peered through the window looking for anyone inside. They obviously saw my wife and I in bed but whether or not if they noticed that my eyes were open left me to wonder what their plan was. I looked over at my clock and its neon blue light read three o' clock. As I looked back over to the window the two figures were gone. 

Everything felt as if I was floating on a cloud as I struggled to keep my eyes open. The sounds of silence and the darkness of the room blended together to make it feel that everything was once sense of my body but that was rudely interrupted as I heard a noise further into the other room outside of our bedroom. I woke up almost instantly and jumped out of bed as quiet as I could without waking my wife. I walked into the next room and locked the bedroom door behind me so what I expected to be burglars wouldn’t get their hands on her. As I walked further into the next room I saw that they were trying to unlock the front door and with our cheap locks that came with the house, they were going to give in soon. I ran over to the closet on a opposing wall to the front door moved all the Christmas decorations that we were soon going to put up and I took out two long rugs that had an ugly shade of reddish purple and lined them up to the front door all the way across the room to the door to the basement. I then walked into the kitchen and looked through the drawers for my big butchers knife that I use to cut large sections of meat. I walked to the basement door walked down and turned on a light that was dangling from the ceiling, pushed at it so it would be swinging back and forth as I crouched around a corner up on an indent in the wall and waited until the burglars entered the house. 

It must have seemed like an invitation to the burglars to see a line of red rugs going to the basement with a light at the end of the tunnel. Because the light was still moving back and forth from its perspective position it appeared, as there was movement downstairs. The one who came down looked worried as I peeked around the corner to see his face but he was big and bulky. He walked under the light and grabbed it so it would stop moving and pointed his flashlight in my direction. He started walking my way until he saw another room beside this one and walked into the other room. Seconds after I heard him make a sound of disgust and a, "what the fuck?" as he looked in the other room. He must have seen the cage that once had something living in it for a day. We really roughed it up before we let it go and haven't gotten around to cleaning it up just yet. He must have seen the carnage that ensued. I looked around where I was crouched and saw several tools on the ledge I was on and threw them across the doorway and into the other half of the room. Instantly I saw the flashlight shine through the doorway and a haste of footsteps. He stopped in the doorway looking left then right to be sure that no one was going to attack him but with me being behind his line of vision there was no telling what I had in store for him. I stood up slowly now placing most of my body above his and I looked down at him subtly. As he took a slight step in he pointed his flashlight to his right trying to investigate the noise but didn't commit to investigating thoroughly making a large error in his position. 

His left hand was placed on the corner of the doorway in which placed his fingers in the room I was in as his palm stayed in the doorway in which he was standing. I looked down to his fingers and noticed he had a wedding ring on his wedding finger and some ring with a skull on his thumb. I leaned in towards him more and placed the cleaver in my right hand waiting for the right moment to strike. I waited patiently as his hand and fingers drifted in and out of position while raising the cleaver up above his body but the man never had the guts to enter. His hand began to move away when I took the chance as it left me cutting off his pinky and wedding finger as his middle finger held on slightly with a sliver of tissue and skin left unsevered from the rest of his hand. The cleaver cut cleanly through his fingers and into the wood of the doorframe leaving the cleaver stuck in the wood. He bent over in pain as he placed his hand in front of him in shock that he was now missing a few fingers but not even a second passed before I jumped down from the ledge and thrust my knee upward into his jaw pushing him square on his back on the concrete ground. I walked over and past him as he laid there in agony placing his cut hand up to his chest and I began to kick him in the ribs until he started yelling "stop". I did as he asked and stopped to stand over his head as he looked up towards me. I let out a big grin. 

"Pain is only temporary, I want it to last a lifetime." He turned onto his belly and scrambled to get on his feet again as I pushed him into the opposing wall and he tripped over a wheelbarrow. Stumbling to get back on his feet I heard movement above me on the main floor as the other man ran to the top of the stairs. 

"Hey! What's going on?" He said in a loud whisper as his friend stumbled up the stairs. 

"My fingers, he cut off my fingers!" I heard a click from the other man cocking his gun and I moved fast to turn off the light to the basement leaving him looking into the face of darkness as the other man ran away from it. "Let's go man, the guys crazy." There was silence for a few seconds and then I heard footsteps walk away from the basement and out the front door. I began to walk to the top of the stairs and watched the two men run in utter fear to their vehicles then drive away skidding in the street waking up all the neighbors. I walked beside the rug and sat down between the basement and the front door, I looked out the front door. Blood dripped from the doorway onto the concrete and onto the grass. I looked back to the rugs and began to roll them up and put them back into the closet. I closed the front door and walked towards the bedroom unlocking the door to see my wife still sound asleep. 

Therapist

"I know I haven't been able to talk to you quite yet but your wife has told me a lot of good things about you, you seem like a great husband."

"Well thank you Mister..."

"Doctor Williams."

"Right. What has my wife been telling you?" He glanced over to my wife who was sitting right next to me on the loveseat and then back to myself.

"She tells me a lot but that’s not what we’re here for."

"Ok."

"She tells me that there has been a death in the family and that in order for her to cope appropriately she wanted you to be here as well."

"Is that so?

"Yes. To start things I wanted to ask you how you personally felt about your fathers death, it must be exceptionally difficult for you." I turned to my wife and gave her a look that said, "Really? My father?" and then looked back to the therapist. 

"He was such a hard worker. Never had the time for himself but a lot was expected from him. He never let anyone down."

"Your wife tells me that you and him didn't have a very good relationship with each other."

"She did huh? Well my father and I got along just fine it was just when he couldn't admit he was wrong when everything blew up. Like one time when I was growing up he told me to not to eat very hot foods because it would burn my taste buds and it is biologically impossible to re-grow taste buds. That's why old people can eat almost anything because they burnt all their taste buds. Now that sounds very smart if you didn't know the truth but the truth is that your taste buds die and re-grow everyday! I told my dad after I found out and he says that science has changed through the years and theories get proven wrong everyday. He denies the fact he has been lying to me since I was born and says it’s the scientists we never even met, that's who I should blame! It's been the way I found since they first questioned it! He's not only calling me wrong but is saying everyone else is the liar, not him!"

"Seems very childish to have a grudge about that." Doctor Williams said. 

"That's just the tiny things he does everyday. He never takes personal accountability he blames the scientists, says its not in his job description and that's why people think he's the greatest because they don't know better but I do because I know how he does it. No wonder my mother divorced him."

"For someone who says he gets along just fine with his father, you really don't seem okay about it."

"You know what? I'm not here to talk about my feelings, I am here for my wife." I grabbed my wife's hand and looked at her. "I think it's time we focus on her." The therapist readjusted himself in his seat and wrote a few things down before he looked back to us and smiled at my wife. 

"Go ahead."

"Well I want you to know," looking at me. "That I loved your father regardless of your feelings. He was courteous and helped me out a whole hell of a lot because my father is no longer alive as well. He treated me like his own and he couldn't have made me feel more loved."

"Thank you," I said. 

"With that said I want to make something clear, I don't think he had a heart attack. I think he was murdered." The therapist’s eyes widened and I turned to face her. "He works for the government and he makes that very clear I think someone was out to get him." My father was a simple accountant like person for the state, nothing like a secret agent or spy so I wasn't quite sure what she was getting at. 

"What did he do at this government job?" Doctor Williams asked. 

"I don't know, he never said but sometimes he would come over and have bruises all around his body and cuts on his face."

"We'll if he was something like special ops then he obviously wasn't good at it." I laughed. 

"This isn't a joke!" She yelled. "I'm serious about this." We both looked at her in disbelief trying to make heads or tails of what she was talking about. 

"So you think he was involved in some wild conspiracy and it ended in his death?"

"Yes! I think someone killed him to shut him up."

"This...someone. Who do you think killed him?

"It happened at his house so I don't think it was any form of military and if someone from the military was to kill him they would have shot him in the head to guarantee his death right? There were no bullet holes that I could see!"

"So you’re saying you think he was killed by someone whose profession was killing?"

"A hitman!"

"A hitman?" Doctor Williams questioned. 

"A hitman!" She yelled. "Maybe he used a poison to kill him. Something that looks like a heart attack!"

"So you do think he had a heart attack?"

"Well...yes. But it was induced by a poison or something!" Doctor Williams gave me a wild look and brushed his hair backwards contemplating what it all meant and how to approach my now crazy wife. 

"We'll I'm not a detective if that is what your hinting at." Doctor Williams said. 

"No, no, no! That's not why I'm telling you this. I just want to know...what compels a person to do such a thing?"

"Like?"

"Serial killers! I mean, that is what a hitman technically is right? I just want some closure. What compels a living human being to kill one of his own kind? It makes me sick just thinking about it." Now she’s getting to the point.

"Well. Serial killers have no remorse for anyone." Doctor Williams said. 

"How?" She asked. 

"It's a biological condition that affects their brains. They have no empathy for others which makes it easy for the killers to kill."

"If they don't care for anyone then how do they not get caught? Wouldn't it be obvious that they kill people?"

"We'll for some, it's easy to tell but others are able to hide easily. Most serial killers are also psychopaths and when you have a psychopathic brain you understand the inner workings of another's brain. You gain a heightened understanding of life and you take advantage of it. Psychopaths have charm and a high intelligence. They don't get tied down with feelings or emotions, which makes them have no empathy for others. Unlike most people, psychopaths always think rationally which means they rarely make mistakes and surprisingly enough people who are psychopaths and don't lead a life of crime, they get very successful."

"No emotions. Absence of irrational thinking. That's it?" She whispered under her breath. 

"What?" Doctor Williams asked. 

"Oh...nothing. It's nothing." If that's what she needed to know then I could have told her that. It's simple to think that blocking all emotions is all it takes to get over a murder but maybe it was more complicated than that. I don't know what I did but I can sure say that I felt no remorse. Maybe it was because the Rockwell's were slime and they deserved to die. Maybe its because I may be a psychopath myself. I let go of my wife's hand and I looked at my own hands palm up and wondered if these hands were those of a maniac killer who felt no remorse, had no feelings. Then what did I feel towards my wife? Is what I feel towards her just a feeling of understanding and not love? I wondered if that was true then what did love really feel like. I thought back to when I saw advertisements for beaten animals or starving children and wondered if I ever felt anything towards them. I'd imagine others have since that what the advertisement is geared to do but what about me? Did my wife ever feel anything? Maybe she was trying to make sense on what she was supposed to feel too.

"Is there anything else you needed?" Doctor Williams added.

"I don't think so. Did you babe?" She said while looking at me.

"No. I appreciate your help."

"No problem. Now could I talk to your husband privately? I had a few more questions for him," Doctor Williams asked.

"Umm, I guess so if that’s okay with you?" Looking towards me again. 

"Sure." My wife gave me a big hug then walked out of the room closing the door so soft that I couldn't even tell that she had left.

"With such a great deal of grandiosity I am worried about your wife." Doctor Williams addressed.

"I am sure she is just fine. She really gets into those conspiracy theories and doesn't leave room for anything else."

"Is that so? Through the whole time I have known her I would not have picked that up. Either way if this is something that she pursues further I need to know. Though it’s rare in people other than who is directly related to the diseased I fear that she may have had a mental break."

"Like what? She's become crazy or something? I highly doubt it. No one has a sounder mind than us." 

"Still. Please let me know if anything of that sort continues she could lose it like those psychopaths we were talking about."     

Sending a message: Part one 

Mid afternoon while I was working in my office around town I was gazing out the window from our twenty something floor looking at the little people walking on the sidewalks and the cars driving by and I thought about jumping. I walked back and forth along the large glass panes that made up my corner office and I contemplated the meaning of death. I don't do this more than an average guy does but more so in the last several months. Could you imagine that? A newlywed man getting the girl of his dreams and after a few months, he wants to kill himself. Most men might imagine this as a joke to themselves that its because they are chained to one woman and one woman only. No more fantasizing about those models you see on the runway and definitely no more porn unless if your woman swings that way and a man can't help but feel tied down like a dog in the mud. 

I, of course, was not bummed about this fact nor was I bummed any other typical man might, I thought about where everything would take me. I have wealth and I have power but is that something I have to do again after I die? Or is it just nothing? Will my eyes just see the darkness that surrounds us for the rest of eternity? It's hard to think about myself but organizations of people believe this very fact. How can I think that everything is useless? Every breath a waste. Whether there is an actual figure on the other side to guide my way or it just comes naturally. Maybe I'll forget everything and start again and what if there is no karma or judging scales to determine how your life was. Maybe it's as random as everything else in this world if it is not created for a purpose. What of my wife? Would I never see her again or will she be with me forever? Some religions say till death till us part and another says for an eternity, who gets to decide that? I want to be with her forever doing what we do best. I want to grow old with her again and again rather to never see her again. She is the definition of beauty and as I looked down from more than a hundred feet I wanted to know if there is an end. There was no god to give me an immediate answer but someone else decided to talk to me to ease my burden. 

Moments after my thoughts I received a phone call but not through the company phone. I reached into my pocket took out my cell phone and looked at the number that was being displayed on the screen. It was not a number that I or my phone recognized. It was a local number so it couldn't have been a telemarketer and it couldn't have been related to business because they would have called the office instead. It rang a few more times then ended. I sat my cell phone on my desk and sat down rotating my office chair left then right trying to figure out who it was and what it was all about. After a few minutes I looked back down at my phone and the caller didn't leave a message. "Must have been nothing," I muttered. I moved the mouse to my computer and proceeded to work then my cell phone began to ring again. I stopped doing what I was doing and picked up my phone again to see it was the same number as before. I decided to answer it this time. 

"Hello?"

"It's a rather nice day today isn't it?"

"I guess."

"Not a single cloud in the sky."

"Uh huh."

"Weird, it being fall and all."

"Defiantly. Weird stuff."

"But it's colder than a mother fucker."

"Depends on where you’re from."

"Meaning cultures that accept mother fucking or how temperature affects people from different regions?"

"...both."

"You know, I like you."

"That's kind of weird."

"No. I mean I dig how you live and how you act in certain situations."

"Elaborate."

"You may be new at this but you know how to get out of a jam."

"I'm aggressive. You need to be aggressive to get things done."

"Well...you don't talk aggressively, you seem relaxed and collected when you talk."

"Well that’s because talking aggressively intimidates the other party and more times than not it intimidates people."

"Am I aggressive?" 

"Doesn't sound like it." 

"Good because I don't want you to feel threatened."

"By what?" The man on the other side didn't respond. "By what?" I asked more aggressively. 

"You see, I like that. Your raw aggression is so powerful and I want to use that."

"And you are?"

"The man whose associates and friends are dead." 

"I stole your money too." I grinned. 

"I know."

"We're those your men about a night ago?"

"I've been meaning to talk about that, the mans whose fingers you chopped off, he wants his wedding ring back."

"I'll see what I can do."

"So what do you say, will you help me?"

"About that guys fucking ring?" I asked in a little laugh. 

"No, I want to meet you, maybe use your talent."

"It's not just my talent you want, you’re talking about my wife too?"

"Right and what are her views on this?"

"On what? I don't even know who you are."

"You mean you have no idea who you've been messing with?"

"No...and I don't really care."

"You have been fucking with the Kazmir's." I started choking on the saliva that was in my throat and started gasping for air.

"You mean the actual Kazmir's?"

"Yes!" He yelled. The Kazmir's are thee and only prominent crime syndicate in the area. With the lack of a better word they are essentially a mafia but they are much more powerful than just any ordinary mafia or gang. People know they exist, they talk about it from time to time but no one has really had proof of their crime-ridden existence. People who talk about them disappear, police who investigate their activity disappear, and people who look at one of them funny disappear. It has become a running joke for people that if someone is not with you, the Kazmir's must have gotten ahold of them as sick as it may sound and the Kazmir's breed off of that power. They were something me and my wife had worried about while doing what we do but have never taken seriously because she does it so well, until now. We have rustled the hornet’s nest and there is no turning back from what we have done but I felt fearless, like I was walking on water, invincible. 

"Ok, so you're one of the Kazmir's. Now what?"

"You move your body to our restaurant sometime in the future and we will consider your application. Don't keep me waiting."

"And if I say no?"

"We wouldn't want that, we would make such a mess of you."

"Right." I ended the call and let out a great big sigh. I may or may not be joining their ranks to save my wife and me but one thing I did know, I was going to fuck with them first.

Something stupid

I went down to the gas station to fill up my car. I felt into my pocket and noticed I forgot my wallet as I clicked the debit option on the keypad to the pumps. I instantly remembered the cash that we took from the Rockwell's that I stored in my trunk. I canceled the transaction and then I cautiously walked towards my trunk thinking that I was being followed by someone bigger than me wanting to settle a score. I opened the trunk and looked at the mess that filled the void that would normally be their, if it wasn't for our incident that my wife and I had. I moved my hand through all the trash to find a blood spattered garbage bag and reached inside taking out a wad of cash and took out the first crisp hundred-dollar bill and threw the rest of the wad into the trunk. 

"That’s a load of money ye have there kid." I looked over to see an old man leaning on his old truck wearing his old clothes of ripped flannel and a dusty trucker cap that belonged to a towing service. "Seems like that’s what the world revolve around ever since we put you youngens in charge. Killing, stealing doing whatever your hearts desire" The old man stunk of sweat and oil and I felt disgusted to the core.

"It's always been like that. People have always stolen. People have always been killing."

"Yeah, that may be true but there is no longer a reason. People stole from em banks because they had nothing, they wanted a better life, they wanted a chance to do something. It’s a shame to see a very bright kid born into poverty and they are unable to do anything with their talents. People now lie and steal and murder another man just because they feel like it. It seems like the rich get richer and the poor stay in the gutters all because of one mans greed."

"It's always been like that. People don't change, the times do. You can’t tell me that criminals did crime for the greater good."

"Alphonse Capone was told to be a modern day Robin Hood. Other Depression era outlaws destroyed credit records leaving innocent people debt free, they were focused on the greater good."

"Alright." I waved to the old man telling him that I was done talking but he continued.

"What kind of outlaw are you huh? Are you the kind who does it fer the money or the glory?" I stood there thinking with the hundred-dollar bill in hand shaking it through the air. I walked back a couple of steps and reached back further into the bag of cash and went down to the very bottom where blood had settled from the former Rockwell's. I took out another wad of cash but this one was covered in blood and I shut the trunk behind me as I walked to the old man.

"Me? I do it because I get to see a live man die before my eyes sucking in his soul with my breath as it leaves his body. I do it because its fun." Then placed the bloody wad of cash in his old wrinkly fingers and closed his hand around it. Fear appeared to me as I looked into his eyes and he took a few steps back holding the money tight within his hands. I smiled then headed towards the gas station. I heard him slam his door shut and start the engine then drive away as fast as his car would let him. 

The door to the gas station dinged as I entered and I saw the gas attendant was preoccupied with his paper that he was reading so I went into the back and grabbed a few snacks and a drink. As I approached the cash register I saw a television behind the gas attendant showing a picture of what I assumed to resemble me. 

"Can you turn that up?" I asked the gas attendant and he turned around to un-mute the television. The now news reporter on the screen talked about a teenager who was kidnapped for a day then let free after being beaten brutally. The news reporter stated that a sketch of her assailant has been made then flashed on the screen again. 

"That’s ten fifteen mister."

"What?"

"The things you got. Ten fifteen," the gas attendant repeated.

"Twenty for gas too." The gas attendant pushed a few more buttons and I handed him the crisp hundred-dollar bill. He gave me the change and I saw that there was a jar on the table for a family in need for Christmas. I put the rest of the change in the jar and the gas attendant gave me a look of confusion as I walked away. I took a few steps outside to see a police officer with several flyers of my face he looked at me in shock as I tried to speed past him.

"Sir!" He put his hand on me stopping me to pass by quickly while dropping the fliers on the ground and I tried to look away. "Sir you’re bleeding!" I looked down to my hand that carried the wad of cash. 

"Yeah. I need to get home."

"I got bandages in my cruiser."

"It's ok. I'll treat it when I get home."

"Are you sure? I can treat you right now."

"I'm sure." I walked away as quick as I could and started my car to drive away without even thinking to fill my empty tank. 

Sending a message: Part two

Placing some packing tape on the small cardboard box sealing the box shut my wife walked in the front door with bags of clothes and useless trinkets for our house. I wanted to hide the package from her but as I looked back and forth in the kitchen my wife walked up to the table and placed the bags on the ground. 

"What do you got there?"

"A box."

"A empty box?"

"A box, with stuff in it."

"What do you have in said box?" I rolled my eyes at her because her personality was to know every little thing I was doing while myself, likes to do things freely without consent of another person. 

"It's for work." Which it was not. 

"Oh? Then why be so secretive about it?"

"Because you're getting in my business. I don't like that."

"I know. Just sometimes you get too emotional about your pride and yourself and you do stupid things. You mail papers for work, what's in the box?"

"You're never going to know," I said firmly. 

"Babe...why won't you tell me?"

"It's none of you're business. It's for work and that's it." I put more tape on the box making sure it would remain closed and walked out the front door box in hand.  

The routine

The routine starts just as any other. You need to get the confidence and integrity to follow through the whole way. This, of course, is one of the hardest steps. You always fantasize about it, dream about it too but its that moment when a thought becomes a reality. You need to be smarter than everything that comes into play. There is no room for mistake yet we are human, we frequently make mistakes and that's what gets us killed or caught. You need to be perfect and make no excuse for mistakes. You've got to treat it with a certain degree of professionalism it will appear to be your job, like you have done it thousands of times when you have not. Enjoy it while in the moment but don't treat it like a game, you make mistakes if you believe it's just a game and some mistakes can be your last one. It could have been my last but it led no traces to me. 

My wife and I sat at a small round table in the restaurant facing each other as we sat on separate sides. I looked at her and she at me and I knew almost instantly what we were going to celebrate. Almost instantly our waiter walked up to us with his slicked black hair and his suit and bowtie. He placed a wine list between us and asked what we wanted to drink. 

"Wine. Give us your most expensive bottle."

"Yes mam." He left us be as my wife reached across the table and grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes. 

"So...its been a stressful year and I'm surprised to say that we made it."

"The police call off the search?" I asked. 

"No, but it is now no longer on the top of their list. Majority of their funds are now being designated to other cases, at least that’s what John tells me." Our crime happened towards the end of summer, it was now spring. The times sure did get hard but we made it. 

"How did you feel about the whole situation?"

"It was hard to deal with after the adrenaline wore off but when I realized that after you do something like that you need to have a certain attitude. You need to change how you view things." This was most certainly true you may look at it as a crime before but after you do it you try to justify it saying that you were in the right and this was how things were supposed to be done but without acknowledging what you have actually done. I imagine serial killers have no problem with this because it is said that they have no empathy towards another person but when your just a normal person the guilt could very well just drive you mad. You need to look at the crime as a thing that just happens and that everyone does it--even your Grandmother, I bet she has at least in her mind. Everything needs to become a thing. It is not a creature with a name but a random thing like plastic or metal or even paper. No regret, no remorse. 

"Yeah. It was harder than I thought it was going to be."

"Here's your wine." The waiter said as he walked up to us. He opened it up and poured each of us a glass very professional like. "Are you two ready to order?" I looked at my wife. 

"You're buying." I said. The waiter looked towards my wife with a pen and pad in hand.

"We will have two of your specials."

"Four or five course?"

"What's in a five course?" I asked. You need to pick your applicant wisely. If you are weak then don't choose someone who will be stronger than you, man or woman alike humans are unpredictable. No matter how much you think about your plan and how to go about things, when you have the upper hand anyone can act in a way you never expected. You can find them anywhere. At your local grocery store, at a doctors office or even simply on the street. Whoever it may be you must figure out what you’re getting into before you jump head first. Do they have family? Do they own any animals? Who lives with them? Are they early to rise or a late nightwalker? These questions and many more need to be addressed to be sure that nothing wrong will happen. Several people don't do this and most of the time they are successful but that doesn't always mean you will. A simple dose of caution never went too far. 

"We start with a salad, then soup, an appetizer, main course, and finally a desert."

"What's in a four course then?" My wife asked. The waiter laughed to himself because he knew we weren't used to going to fancy restaurants. 

"Same thing but you get to choose between a soup or salad."

"I want that," I looked at my wife then at the waiter. "I want that." The waiter then looked back to my wife and she rolled her eyes. 

"You're eating a salad. Meat and potatoes aren’t going to cut it. We will have the five." Looking at me then the waiter. Soon as you figure out who and where it will happen its time to address how it will happen. Will you attack while they are sleeping or when they are focused on work? Best time ideally is to do it is when they are alone but it could be done at any time as long as you know your escape. Will you use a knife or a gun? A blunt object or something around the house? All depends on how quiet you want it versus how clean or messy. Do you want to feel them bleed or do you want to see them die. 

"Garden or caeser?" The waiter said looking at my wife. My phone began to ring and my wife gave me a look like she was disgusted. Everyone turned to look at me and the man playing the piano stopped playing in the background. I hit my fists on the table being angry at myself then a feeling of dread pulsed through my veins. I had an idea who it was and that gave me grief like no other. I took the phone out of my pocket and saw who it was, was who I expected. I picked up the glass of wine, chugged it, and then stood up having the phone in hand. 

"I have to take this." I walked away from the table weaving in between tables and fellow patrons trying to get outside. I answered the phone. "Yes?"

"You have some fucking nerve doing what you did I hope you realize that."

"Hey! Mister Kazmir, how are you doing?" Some people in the restaurant heard me and nearly choked on their food. 

"I was doing great. I was spending my time with my family until it was addressed to me that I have received a box of bloody fingers. Rotten out and the smell! I couldn't believe the smell."

"Just treat it as a thank you present from me to you," I said. 

"Thank you for what? I am considering killing you now?"

"Aww Albion! After all we have been through. You said your man needed his ring back and I gave it to you." The last thing is the clean up and the alibi if you were ever questioned, that's why you are better off offing someone you don't know. If you do that correctly then you need no alibi. A clean up is dependent on how trusting you are of your own skills or if you want to make people think they simply disappeared. If you think you made a mess and your DNA is all around the epicenter then you better clean your mess up. Sometimes people hide the bodies. It can vary between a hidden grave or a wood chipper just make sure no one is watching. 

"There's a ring in there? Hey, look through that disgusting box for a ring!" He talked away from the phone. "If I would have found any evidence at our associates place, mark my words! I would guarantee to you that it would go straight to the authorities."

"I don't know what you’re talking about." I wasn't sure if he was trying to get me to confess over the phone. 

"You're cute. Just you wait!" He screamed. 

"No. You wait. You wait until I stand right before you and kill you with my bare hands!" I ended the call and stomped back inside giving everyone a forceful scare down their spines, walked up to my wife and sat down. She was eating her salad and gave me a steady look of caution. 

"Babe?" She asked. 

"Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"Are you ready?" I asked again. Her look changed and she sat up in her seat and put down her fork. 

"I...I don't know, we just avoided the police by a feather and you want to do it again?" She whispered. 

"There is no doubt in my mind that we are ready."

"Well...who is it?" I poured myself another glass of wine and raised it up to her and she did the same. I let out a big grin and even though she didn't know who it was, she didn't detest to the thought as our glasses dinged together.