DIABLO
When April calls me, I am staring at the shoelaces of a dead man.
The strange thing about death is that it never sends a warning. One moment you are breathing, the next you are nothing more than a body cooling on the ground.
In my line of work, men go out in the morning and never come back. They sit on the edge of their bed, tying their laces, thinking about their plans for the day, never knowing that it will be their last sunrise. I have seen it too many times. The shoelaces stay tied forever.
It gets to me sometimes, more than I like to admit. I think about the men I have ordered killed, the ones who betrayed the family. Each one of them thought they had more time. I nod once to the right person and their fate is sealed. They never make it home to untie their shoes.
The body
