General Lee's Revenge--Karma

Chapter Nine: "Au Revoir"

(A/N: ⚠TW⚠ Discussion of cancer and infertility + character death)

The tavern was quiet that early in the day. The normal, bustling ambiance usually didn't ensue until after four o'clock. One steady set of footsteps echoed through the stairwell of the back area of the building. Hughie took his time up the stairs, humming to himself, his cane held loosely in one hand. He wore a wide grin, happier than anything, victorious.

After he reached his door, digging in his pocket for his keys, his grin suddenly faltered, noticing that his door was open a crack, the lock turned.

The air around him suddenly felt oddly cold. He nervously glanced to the left down the stairwell, though, saw that there were no signs of anybody else being there. He turned back to his door, drawing in a shuddering breath, fidgeting with his hand as he reached for the handle. The door creaked open, swinging inside the office. It was dark, the lights off with the blinds having been drawn. Hughie anxiously felt his way to a light switch along the wall, hand shaking, breath hitched in his throat. When he finally switched on the lights, a large wave of relief washed over him, albeit that and a twinge of annoyance.

Sitting in his chair with his feet up on the desk was Clayton. The short-statured man grinned, shifty blue eyes turning on Hughie. His hands were folded on top of his chest. A silver handgun rested on Hughie's desk. Seeing him, Hughie scrunched his face up in disgust, as if he'd smelled something bad.

"Clayton," he scowled, "what d'you think you're doin'?"

"Turnin' in my revenue, cher," the devilish man replied in his outlandish accent, picking his gun up off the desk and examining it.

His face was badly bruised, shades of red, purple, and black coloring his pale skin across his cheekbone and the side of his mouth.

Hughie raised an eyebrow. "I told you I wanted it in cash, on my desk, where is it?"

Clayton smiled and cocked his gun, aiming it at Hughie, the other man flinching and backing away. "Oh, that, I spent it all."

"Why?" Hughie growled.

"'Cause it's rightfully mine, I earned it, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and you give half of it to me, that was our deal!"

Clayton laughed cynically, pulling his feet off the desk and standing up. "Didn't your preacher ever warn you 'bout makin' deals with the Devil? That deal expired the second I walked into that motel job you set up."

This time, Hughie laughed, almost sadistic in nature, studying Clayton's battered features. "Oh, I take it you don't like it when they play rough. What do you care, huh? You ain't nothin' but a cheap whore!"

Clayton scowled, finger twitching toward the trigger. Hughie's face immediately fell, watching the man get angry. He was moving out from behind the desk now, looking as if he might pounce at any moment.

"I'll be damned if I let you or any man humiliate me again; so help me God I'll drag you to Hell myself!" Clayton growled, advancing forward.

Hughie backed his way towards the door, eyes not leaving Clayton's scornful stare. His heart beat fast, panicked, watching as the man's gun lined up correctly with his forehead. Hughie backed himself back out to the stairwell, hoping to make a run for it, however, he stood there frozen on top of the stairs.

"I wish I could savor it more before killin' you, but I suppose," Clayton smiled wickedly, "there'll be plenty of time for that once you're in my neck of the woods."

At that, Hughie heard Clayton's cruel laugh and watched as his hand tightened around the gun, squeezing the trigger. A shockwave of fear ran through him, every hair on his body standing on end. What good was a bulletproof vest if they were aiming for his head?!