Stories I Never Finished

Daddy's Gun

ONE

┬┴┬┴┤┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈├┬┴┬┴

Sitting in the garage of Michael's simplistic home on a bland street, houses all lined the same and locked under government rental, Ashton lazed back within the wooden kitchen chair he'd been provided.

A sleek black charger of a car sat in the middle of the garage, one Ashton knew was Michael's hobby to fix and race, and along the walls were shelves of tools—from hammers stained oddly red to wrenches dented on the sides.
Michael was a man with violent anger issues, a problem Ashton himself had once suffered from. He wasn't that man anymore.

Michael sat in his chair near the cluttered workbench he had, facing Ashton a few steps away. He was hunched slightly, a cigarette dwindling between tattooed fingers.

"You like my place? Nice, huh?" Michael grinned a halfwit smile, lifting his cigarette to his lips.

"Rookie decision bringing me here." Ashton loosely commented, eyes travelling the expanse before him.

"Yeah right, I've been inside you, cunt. You're not doing shit to me."

Uninterested in the topic of conversation, hazel eyes fell to the open engine of Michael's hobby car and the older man chuckled, waving his cigarette toward it.

"S'nice, right? Almost four hundred horsepower, fast but not illegal." Michael explained, smug by his choices.

"I don't care about cars." Ashton slipped his buzzing phone from his pocket, a tang of guilt piercing his heart when he caught a glimpse of a pink caller ID flash on screen.
He dismissed the call, sending it to voice mail, and tucked his smartphone away once more; returning his eyes to Michael.
"Just talk this business of yours, will you?"

Michael clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, unimpressed eyes trailing up over Ashton's tattooed self—arms bare for ink to be seen from the white button-up t-shirt he wore.

"Payment will be easy-" Michael decided to agree with the subject change.

"You the one who set me up?"

"Call it lucky coincidence." Michael flicked his thumb against his smoke, ash falling by his boots. "Wouldn't catch me dead workin' with Mother Mary. So fate had a gold coin for the both of us."

Ashton quirked a brow in response and Michael sat up straighter as he continued.

"I got a hit I want taken care of. You're gonna do it for me."

"And, what, get my ass thrown back into the clink?" Ashton scoffed with a slight dismiss of his hand, "Fuck off."

"I get you a fuckn janitor then." Michael grumbled.

"No dice. Not happening. I'm done with that life."

"No one's ever done-"

"Well I am." Ashton spat, standing from his seat as footsteps grew closer to the garage door—an entrance to the home's kitchen.

"Sit the fuck down, Irwin. We're not done here." Michael gestured his cigarette toward the abandoned chair as the door was pushed open.

"I think we are." Ashton shot and Michael rolled his eyes with a shake of his head.

"Listen mate, I don't wanna get your pretty boy involved, so I suggest you sit your ass back down."

Ashton grit his teeth, jaw clenched tight as he sat back down; pointedly ignoring the new arrival who had moved toward Michael with a charming smile.