The ringing of the phone cut through the stillness of Byrne’s office. He slowly put his paper down, took his feet of his desk, lifted the receiver to his ear and waited.

‘Good evening,’ said the sweet voice of the young lady at the other end. ‘I’m calling on behalf of G&R telesales and market research. I’m looking to speak to a Mister Byrne.”

‘Speaking.’

‘Good evening Mister Byrnes, one moment for the boss please.’

The phone clicked and went silent as the young lady transferred him to the boss. Byrne looked through the glass partition into his office waiting room where his men were waiting. Kelly was reclined on the sofa as usual, his light brown eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling with his head phones in listening to something calming in preparation for the night’s work. Meanwhile Mathews and Cartwright were playing cards, swilling back cans of coke and chatting as though what they were about to do was the same as any other man. Their calm attitude, clear consciences, unremarkable appearance in such as having short brown hair and brown eyes like Kelly, and willingness to do anything for a quick buck made them good at both their day and night jobs.  

‘Mister Byrne, I have a job for you,’ said the familiar Brooklyn accent of his boss. ‘The client wants a man by the name of Tyler Jenkins not to bother her anymore. He’s known to reside with his wife at 48 Lorrain Street. But the client informed me that he won’t be at home. The man’s a drunk and a druggy. Tonight he will be at his friend’s apartment above the Red hook bait shop on Van Brunt Street. The client assures me that he and his friends will be so off their faces after midnight that they wouldn’t even react if Santa Clause was to come in.’

‘Shame.’

‘Mister Byrne, the client wants it to look like an accident, like a druggy who took a stroll and though he’d go for a swim. So there is to be no collateral damage. Take him down to the wharf and do what you have to. He should be nice and compliant.’

‘It shall be done boss.’

‘Good.’

The phone clicked and went to the engaged tone. Byrne stood up from his desk, turned off his table light, took his black coat from the hanger and joined his men in the waiting room.

‘Get your tools boys, we have a job that need taken care of,’ he said as he locked his office door.

‘Will we be taking ours or someone else’s car?’ asked Kelly as he sat up.

‘Both, bring your all your tools. I doubt our mark remembered to lock the door, but you never know.’

‘Yes Boss.’

Mathews and Cartwright suspended their card game and set about holstering their guns in their jeans before hiding them under their black coats. Kelly too was similarly dressed except for his long winter coat that better concealed his specialised tools. They looked ordinary, like a group of mates going out for a drink. Nothing that looked out of place in today’s world. That was how Byrne like it, nothing out of place, an easy to maintain cover story, just like his business, Byrne investigations. A company of private investigators, the perfect cover job for a group of hit men.

Byrne ran his fingers through his black hair as he thought about the job in more detail. It would be a long night, he knew that. He turned on his sectary’s computer whilst the others readied themselves and left her a note on the screen. “Lucy, late surveillance job last night, will be in after midday.” His grey eyes looked up from the computer as he turned it off and smiled coldly at his men who now stood ready by the door.

“Come,’ he said coldly. ‘We have a man who needs to be shown the water.”  

(c) Nikki McLean 2010