It was dark.
Raining.
Cold.
And I was getting mores pissed off by the second.

Johnny was supposed to have been here 20 minutes ago. I snapped open my watch, checked the time...again..closed it and put it back in my vest pocket.
Watching down the street I finally saw his old Model T come around the corner. I knew it was him because of that damn blinking headlight. Been after him for 8 years to get that short fixed.
I step out of my car and head towards the front door of his office.
He pulls to a stop, turns off the T, steps out, hesitates slightly, then walks towards me.
"Hey Harvey, " he mumbles in his low soft voice. "Sorry I'm late, lost track of the time."
"Well, you're here now, can we get inside to some heat?"
He unlocks the door, and opens it. Motioning for him to enter, I glance both ways down the street and follow.
"Don't turn the lights on," I say, locking the door behind us. "Wait til we get back to your office."
Working thru the front office area, we get to his personal office in the rear. Waiting til I close the door, he clicks on the lamp that sits on his partner's desk.
Glancing nervously at me he asks, "So Harv, whats so important that it couldn't wait til morning?"
"Sit down Johnny, we need to talk. We've been hearing some rumors, disturbing rumors."
I take off my overcoat and suit jacket and hang them on the coatrack, leaving my shoulder holster and .45 in plain view.
Staring at my piece, telltale beads of sweat form on Johnny's generous forehead.

"I ddon't have any idea of wwhat you're ttalking about, Harvey." he stutters.

Not a good sign, I've known him long enough to know that he stutters when he's lying.
"How long we been friends, Johnny? What...since Bull D'Antonio used to kick your ass on the playground at St. Mary's? Second, third grade?"

"Yyeah, Harv, bout then. Good times we've had, eh?" He manages a weak smile, still glancing back and forth from my gun to my face, tongue wetting his lips.

"Yeah, John, we've had some good times, really good times. You've been like a brother to me over the years, which makes these rumors even harder to take." I stare at him, catching his gaze, forcing him to look me in the eyes.

Breaking down, he sobs, "I'm sorry Harvey, I didn't want to do it, they're forcing me." Burying his face in his hands I can see his shoulders jolt as he sobs quietly.

Dammit, I didn't want it to be true. I wanted it to be the wrong guy, I wanted options. Now...there are no more options.
"Why Johnny?" I ask, "Why?"
"I got caught embezzling money from some of my legit clients. FBI got involved and said they could keep me out of jail if I turned over the family's books and testified. You'd have been ok, Harv, it was the bosses they wanted. What could I do, Harv? I'm an accountant, I can't go to prison." He looks at me with pleading eyes, looking for hope, some sign.

"Son of a bitch, Johnny! This firm was your front, a cover. We're paying you more than enough money to keep your nose clean here." I could already feel the headache forming.

"I know, but it's the ponies, Harv. I got in real deep with a bookie over in New York. They were gonna hurt me, hurt Ma. I had to have the money." He looks up at me,his old friend, pleading in his eyes. "Let me run Harvey, I'll head to Canada, I'll disappear. The Feds have to have me decode the books and testify, if I run it's over, they can't get you. The Boss doesn't have to know, tell him you dumped my body in the river. Please Harvey!"

Looking down at my hands, I whisper, loud enough for him to hear, "I can't do that Johny, you know that. They want a body, they want a message sent to the Feds, and to every other guy out there thinking about making a deal. Damn it, why didn't you come to me. You know I'd have taken care of your debts. Now it has to end this way."

I pull my .45 from its holster. For the first time in my life, my hands are sweating. At least they aren't shaking.

I look over at Johnny, he brushes back what little hair he has left, smiles, and says, " Take care of Ma for me Harvey...and don't forget the good times we had."

Huge balls for a numbers guy. I return his smile, "Forgive me, Johnny."

I pull the trigger and watch as the slug knocks him backwards out of his chair and coats the wall with his brains.
I walk over to his body, squat down, close his eyes and place a silver dollar over each. My calling card.

"Goodbye Johnny."

Placing my gun back into it's holster, I gather my jacket and overcoat and turn off the little lamp.
As I let myself out, I sigh. Never had to off a friend before. Some days this job sucks.