Dead Harvest

  The walk across Battery Park seemed to take forever. My nerves were jangling, my knee was killing me, and despite the chill breeze that blew in across the harbor, my hands and neck were slick with sweat. Dumas and I were to meet at the entrance of the old fort. Designed to protect the harbor from the British navy in the War of 1812 but never once seeing battle, it now sat squat and lifeless beneath a starless sky. A little more exposed than I'd have liked to be, but I've since learned these things rarely go as smoothly as I'd like.

  Dumas was chomping on an unlit cigar when I arrived. "Evening, Sammy," he said, though the words were garbled by the fact that he never removed the cigar from his mouth. "I trust you got something for me?"

  "Yeah," I said. I thrust my hands into my pockets, producing the envelope from my left and handing it to him. My right hand stayed in my pocket, wrapping tight around the gun grip.

  "You all right? You don't look so hot."

  I laughed, cold and bitter. "Truth is, I don't feel so hot," I said. "But I think things are looking up."

  "Yeah? Why's that?"

  I wanted to have something cool to say to that. Something bad-ass. Something that let Dumas know that I was done playing the patsy for him. But when I opened my mouth, the words just wouldn't come.

  Dumas cocked his head, eyeing me with sudden suspicion. "Sammy, what the hell is going on?" Then I pulled the gun, and he knew exactly what was going on.

  I stepped in close. Grabbed him by the collar, shoved the gun into his gut. One, two, three, and it was done. His body muffled the reports, but still my ears rang. I didn't have long before the bulls arrived. I let go of him, then, watched him slump to the ground, eyes wide and blank and dead. Three blooms of red spread out across his chest. So much blood. I looked down at my hands, and they were spattered with it – that and gunpowder burns. The gun fell, forgotten from my hands. I stood trembling in the chill night air, tears stinging my cheeks. I thought that once the deed was done, I'd feel relief, but I didn't – I just felt sick. Sick and hollowed-out.

  It felt like an eternity, standing there, looking down at the body at my feet, but really, it couldn't have been more than a few moments. I was shaken from my reverie by the sound of sirens, distant but approaching. I should have thought to take the gun. I should have thought a lot of things. But the truth is, I didn't think anything at all. I just ran.