There he was trying to explain to the police that he did nothing wrong. Fretting away at the concept that he would be put away for at least a good portion of his young life, the look on his face was to be savored as I stood there just outside the doors of his house peering inside-- the police walking past me as I took it all in. Was the man actually a murderer? Did it matter? All that mattered was the evidence was there and the law says that's all that does.

Seven Months Earlier

He was a loud man, a proud one too. When I accidentally bumped into him I could tell that it would be a problem, but to the extent I wasn't sure. I didn't say much, but he made up for that by saying plenty. Screaming into my face was one thing and something that is easily endured, but when he reached into my pocket and took the ten dollar bill and a few other random pieces of identification I knew that he was overstepping his boundaries. He didn't have the clout to pull off something like this, but I smiled all the same and in that smile his anger grew.

He walked off calling me every name that he could think of and that's when I knew that I couldn't let this slide. Not when he did it in full view of so many people, what would they say about me afterwards? I had somewhat of a reputation to uphold. So that's when I went straight to my bank and drained every last cent I had inside. Nearly ninety grand worth. He was a difficult man to track, but once he was found out and the police had been properly paid and the hitman given the hit, it was smooth sailing from there.

"Are you sure about this? Once you give me the money and I leave there's no turning back."

"Yes."

That was all I had to say and then just like that his own wife was murdered by him in their very own living room. You'd be surprised to know how many husbands murder their wives and vice versa, it was a simple sell. No one ever questioned any of it. Justice had been served. A bit harsh? Maybe. Or maybe sometimes to teach a lesson you need to go all out.

Honey patted the pockets of his jacket, feeling up and down for the familiar weight of his wallet but it simply wasn't there. He tucked and fiddled with every pocket, pulling off his hat and checking his pants just to make sure. He mentally retraced his steps and recalled that the last time he had seen it had been in the soda shop a few blocks back. He must have left it on the counter when he went to pay for his meal. With a sigh, he turned around and made his way back up the six blocks he'd walked since then. Sure the wallet wasn't worth much and there wasn't much more than a few dollars in it but it was the principal of the thing. 

He finally made his way back to the shop and stepped inside, the jerk at the counter was polishing soda cups and parfait glasses and didn't bother to acknowledge him. It took Honey a moment to garner any sort of attention to ask the kid if he'd seen a brown leather wallet. 

"No, don't think I did." The kid said, his voice unsteady as though he was hiding something, his eyes shifting off towards the door. Honey reached across the counter and grabbed at the kids collar, pulling him close enough to feel his panicked breathing on his own face.

"If you know, you should say something!" he growled, pushing the kid back hard enough to knock him into the counter. The glasses rattled and tinkled, one of them falling to the floor with a crash of broken glass. Honey knew who it was in a moment as he stormed out of the shop in a huff. The guy who owned the place was a rival of his, thinking he could take Honey's hard earned cash was going a step too far. 

"That low down cheat thinks he can one up me." He grumbled, knowing exactly what he was going to do. 

Honey grit his teeth, feeling the sodden toothpick he held in his teeth splinter under the pressure. He'd lost his patience playing this little game of cat and mouse and now the bastard had gone and actually stolen from him. Sure it was only $10 but that amount was good for a new Stetson and he'd had his eye on one for weeks now. Instead of a Stetson, however, Honey now had a much better idea. The shop across the street was vacant and had been for a while and it would be the perfect place to start up a new business. 

A few months later, he'd exhausted himself and all the funds in his bank account just to exact payback on that schlub who thought he could fleece him of a measly ten dollars. That $86,400 he'd had in his bank account had secured him the lease and everything else associated with running the cutest little ice cream parlor on the street. Moms and dads bringing in their begging tots were lined up round the block to get a scoop of the best ice cream in Detroit. At the end of the night as business was still trickling in and the soda jerk across the way was glowering at him as he swept the empty sidewalk in front of his shop was sweet sweet payback. He took a lick of ice cream, tipped his new Stetson, and sauntered back inside his new parlor to enjoy his sweet revenge.