YerDaSellsAvon was in Chicago, strolling down Little Italy over the river and down the hill towards South Loop, Michigan shining in the distance. He'd only landed an hour ago and was pleased he had planned his trip expertly; landed at the airport on schedule and now with time to spare before his meeting. No need to rush. Further down the street he walked; the smoky wind from the adjacent train yard filled his lungs as the sun was setting on a warm autumnal evening in the Windy City. He was from LA, but enjoyed his trips to Chicago to carry out his errands his boss Jimmy had been clear he needed to fulfil. He sighed heavily. Despite this upturn in mood, he hadn't had a good week. He wasn't the kind of person to reflect and look back on things too much, but since he was early and there was time, his mind cast him back to events from a few days previous.

Being around this business for some time, he was no stranger to clipping people. He carried out the work the boss asked of him without question through fierce loyalty to his family and to keep the business operating, ticking over. He didn't particularly enjoy pointing a gun at people if he was honest, but like a seasoned executioner he didn't let emotion play too much of a part. These people were degenerates, low-life scum who couldn't handle the responsibility of dirty money, people who robbed, people who made the wrong choices in life and ultimately had to pay the price. That's how things work in this business. No - he didn't dwell on the fact he was ending someone's life for more than a brief moment and he certainly didn't lose sleep over it. That was, anyway, until last week.

Monday afternoon, he was in LA, and briefly caught one of his associates from the Ligambi crime family literally bump in to him in the entrance to a notorious dive bar in Hollywood, not far from his house and not far from the HQ, basically home turf. The Capo was looking flustered, was visibly sweating and apologised to YerDa and sighed before embracing him formally. YerDa liked this guy and had known him for a long time, so he wasn't the least bit annoyed at being shoved sharply though accidentally, and instead asked him what was the matter. The capo quickly described how he had been out to do his usual rounds for collection, and that one business had given him some problems... He wasn't making much sense so YerDa ushered him into the lounge out of the doorway, where they sat down in an empty booth and were swiftly brought a whiskey each by the waiter. The staff here knew the score and didn't need to ask the men any questions - you sit in the booth you drink and get left alone, that's the way it is.

The Capo told him how he was finishing up his rounds, collecting his envelopes and going about his usual business. When on his last collection, he had arrived at a barber shop on vine street, not far from where they were now, and he had asked the boss, who was expecting him, for 'you know what'. The boss had looked at him and nodded, he said, and walked out of sight in to the back room, leaving the capo stood in the shop, looking round. The next thing he knew, someone had rushed him from the front door, side-swiped him with a baseball bat and hit him cleanly in his stomach with the blunt end of the bat, leaving him winded and on the floor of the shop doubled-over. The assailant then took off back out the front door he came from and onto the street - The Capo didn't get a look at the guy. He had limped out on to the street, forgetting the barbershop guy and his envelope and had walked back, stumbling to the bar before they had bumped in to each other. YerDa could sense his embarrassment and could tell he wasn't in a fit state to do anything about it, as he clutched his side, necking his whisky. 'Leave it to me' he grunted, and stood up and marched out on to the street.

One thing in his mind as stormed down the street - revenge - nobody did this to his family. This asshole barber was going to pay for this; the added bonus was that action would be taken swiftly in a broad daylight, on the floor of this shitty shop, cause a scene and send a message to any other smart fuck who thought it would be a good idea to disrespect the Hollywood family, once the shots rang out. He found the place, and stopped to check if the street was clear, before peering in through the window. It was an odd scene - the shop was closed as the sign was up, the lights off in the main area but lights on coming from the back store room, but before that he could see a guy sat in one of the barber chairs, reading the newspaper. This, he quickly assumed, was the owner. He had his feet up on the unit and was sat back in his chair, his face buried in the paper. 'Some balls on this guy, sat there not giving a fuck', he thought.

He didn't want to make a scene on the street at this point, so calm as you like, he crossed the threshold of the (thankfully) unlocked door and walked in to the shop. The man shouted 'we're closed' without lifting his head up from the paper. YerDa picked up a wooden chair from the shopfront by the window and launched it at the mirror facing the man in the chair, cracking it, snapping the chair legs causing enough noise to create the shock effect he was after, bits of splintered wood and the chair base collapsing on to the mans shins. He had jumped up with a fright, causing him to fall off his chair and look at horror at YerDa, his newspaper crumpled over him. YerDa stared at him calmly from across the shop.

'My guy came around here earlier'
'Y-y-y-your.. your g-guy?'
'You know what I'm talking about you ignorant fuck.'
'He-he.. he was gone.. I-I came in from the store room and he w-was g-gone..'
He nodded towards the envelope on the counter near the registered to his right. YerDa hadn't spotted this when he walked in. 
'Y-your moneys here.. I-I-I...'
YerDa didn't speak for a second.
'You attacked him. You hit him.' 
'N-no.. No! I didnt.. w-what are you t-talking about?'
'You went in to the back room. Then one of your guys jumped him with a bat when you were out of sight. Do you think I don't know what's going on?'

The look on the mans face gave YerDa an uneasy feeling he wasn't familiar with. Something wasn't right. Instinctively he still raised his gun and pointed it at the man still lay on the floor. He looked him directly in the eye... the man whimpered 'Th-this had n-nothing to do with me.. I know your g-guy.. he comes by here all the time.. p-please.. you got this wrong.. you gotta believe me' YerDa hesitated for a second. Could this have just been a robbery? Did what this guy say check out? The uneasy feeling wasn't shifting, and he was very aware that this was going on for too long, every second that passed only compounded his doubt. He would normally be out of the place and down the street by now, but there was something in the guys' tone of voice that didn't sit right with him. His every instinct was screaming at him that this guy was telling the truth. He pondered for a further second... the guy leapt across on his side towards the trolley that had his barber scissors on a couple of feet away.. then without hesitation he pulled the trigger before the man could reach out to drag it towards him and arm himself. He had shot him, he rolled on his back, and he shot again. No time for pondering when someone is about to kill you. He grabbed the envelope and ran from from the shop.

The doubt and the guilt had followed him round ever since - He'd only ever shot people he was certain needed to go, he reminded himself. But he wasn't certain about this at all. Part of him regretted offering to help his associate in the first place - guy should have took care of it himself. The trip to Chicago was a welcome distraction, to be honest. 

He took a moment, and stopped to lean on the bridge and look out across the yard from the sidewalk, and spent the next minute or so reflecting on his task for the night. He was there to meet his guy from the police, hand over a couple of envelops, receive a couple of envelopes himself and gauge some understanding of whatever it was his cop had to tell him about the state of business, what he knew, who was in the crosshair from his circles, that kind of thing.

He found the spot shortly after, the usual big, sliding door of the warehouse at the back of the street and the small room in the far corner of the unit down the corridor with the rickety door, beaten table and low ceiling light. A chill caught him and he shivered, out of the warmth of the sun and into this dusty, dirty workshop. A shitty plastic table in the corner was lined with whisky, beers and other types of cheap liquor that he quite liked the look of but never asked to sample. He had never been offered a drink each time he'd been here, and he often wondered who else this guy brought here and did offer a drink to. His cop was stood there behind one of the two chairs, with his new apprentice, who looked scrawny, pale and gave off a kind of aurora that he knew he really shouldn't be there. He shook hands with his cop firmly, smiled and ignored the newbie. He liked to give the cop the impression he was the one calling the shots, he was the guy in charge. He never bothered to introduce the newbie, YerDa had the impression the cop was just showing off.. 'watch and learn' kind of thing.. the newbie looked like he'd rather be anywhere else and was practically shivering, out of the spotlight in the darkness. Sitting down, YerDa listened with a fixed smile he'd perfected from previous visits and was putting on a purposeful performance to try and look as engaged as possible as the cop started to brag about some stake-out he'd been on that week.. all the while thinking to himself how much of a complete asshole this guy was. He got the sense of satisfaction from seeing the cop in full belief that he was leading the conversation; YerDa laughing at the right moments and nodding to show he was listening - truth is he couldn't give a fuck.

When they got around to business, YerDa recognised that to the cop's credit he knew when to change the subject and get on with it, and keeping up with his same demeanour, began to talk about the state of his department, the job cuts, the names of mobsters from the Ligambi family plus others from the across the country who were on the cops hitlist but the department didn't have the resource to chase... With that, he had got what he came for. Nothing to fear, nothing to see here, the wheel keeps on turning. Barely even needed to speak he thought to himself. YerDa sensed the cop found the whole thing amusing based on the fact the fucking stupid smile on his face never faded once - he was basically loving this. Loving bragging, loving saying how fucked things were, and this all played into the mobs hands. How stupid can you get.
He stood up, shook hands and swiftly left, back through the same corridor and back into the cramped yard where the loading bay was. It was much darker now. 

He returned back to his hotel, swigged from his hip flask and took a moment to lie on the bed, reflecting back on the weeks events. He thought to himself: just another day in the life.. I wonder if other people in this line of work feel like this? He shut his eyes and dozed off to sleep within seconds.