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[b]some time ago[/b]
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The lake was flat on this Friday, its cerulean surface devoid of any gulls, flies or passing trout. The sky was empty as well, a cloudless barren expanse of steel blue that sliced into the frothy waters. The coasts could be barely seen over the waters horizon, swallowed by miles of churning water. The winds around him was silent like a person with bated breath. The world around him was frozen into a perfect mosaic, a canvas, and he had to be the damn painter to decide how it would look like in the next twenty minutes. But it was all according to plan. There was no living being in sight, other than him and the person he was planning to kill.

It should have been reassuring to Pike. Everything seemed to be cooperating with him today, some portent that the act he would commit was natural in line with the laws of the universe. If it was some immoral act, then, someone would have stopped him already. Sanchez should have spoken more about the risk of a storm, a flash flood, made him worry more. There should have been an accident as he drove down the I-82 up north. The .22 he was holding should have arrived rusted on arrival. The bullets would have been duds. Nothing in the universe would stop him now if he chose to continue on.

Pike bit his lip, thumbing the trigger of the Smith and Wesson. His reverie was broken by a sudden rocking of the canoe followed by the sound of something heavy crashing into water. Pike gingerly stood up, making sure his weight was balanced. The other occupant of the canoe was missing and judging by the sputtering he was hearing, not far away. Pike leaned over the side to see a soaked navy buckethead peeking out of the water and pale white limbs seizuring in and out of the water. Pike reached out his hand and a mud soaked palm snapped out to clutch onto his for dear life. He pulled and

" So, managed to catch it?," Pike raised his eyebrow. Muskie rolled his eyes and angled his shoulder upwards to reveal a brown freshwater muskellenge, its fanged maw writhing in the dim cloudlight.

" I'd say so," His brother panted, tired yet cheerful.

The waves were loud enough to quash out the dial-like clicks of the barrel as his fingers thumbed it, one bullet for each second that passed. Muskie's back was facing him, his brother busy gutting his catch. He could hear the loud scrapes of Muskie dragging his buck knife on a whetstone.  Some idiot fishermen chose to club their heads in with any rock they found by the riverside but Muskie considered a knife more humane, more quiet. It was anything but. Contrary to popular belief, fish didn't die silent. Pike could hear the twig-like snap of its spine being severed in two by Muskie's spine. The pitter patter of scales showering the deck of the boat as Muskie ran the back of his knife across the fish's belly. The dull thuds of the muskellenge's final paralyzing paroxysms of pain against the timber hull.

" Whaddya say, Pike? We can fry this bad boy up back at camp, crack open that case of Mccallaghans we been savin' since 69'. " Muskie said, one hand pulling up the gills to let the flat of the blade in." Today's some crait shit, believe me."

Pike let Muskie chat. Smalltalk came more naturally to his brother. It was the same verbal dance they had engaged in since they were ten: Muskie always chattering aimlessly about any topic that came to mind and he served terse answers in return. Most people would have found him dull but Muskie never did. Jagged daggers of purple sank their way through the noon sky just as Muskie was chattering about a deal they had made a week ago with some blacks from the southern districts of Minneenona. MMuskie continued to talk excitedly as he hooked a fat bobbing worm onto a glinting steel hook. It was getting near night now. The revolver in Pike's pocket was chaffing uncomfortably against his skin.

" - And for fuck's sake, I'm telling you, Pikey, man, we are never dealing with those two fucks ever again -  "

" Muskie." Pike breathed, hesitant and regretful. " We need to talk about something important. "

" Talk about what? The fact that you blew off that lady at the gas station?," Muskie wagged his finger playfully as he cast out his fishing line, letting the lure sail into the depths below. " Mom called me about a month ago and she's constantly asking when the hell you're gonna get a woman in your life.'

" Muskie. I know where you're going on Fridays." Muskie's smile froze on his face. Pike let his statement stew for a couple ofmmore seconds before continuing. "Santiago knows as well."

" Look, man, I can handle it," Pike knew enough of his brother tells to see the fear past his easy tone.

" Even with the baby coming?," Muskie's composure was now a shattered plate, his hands dropping the rod on the floor of the canoe. " I can work the books, try and sell more iron but he's eventually going to put two and two together, Muskie."

" Yeah." Muskie chuckled. " Yeah. Well, maybe, you can handle things without me from now on."

" What the fuck do you mean?"

" The shop. Loans gonna be fully paid off for it next year. I've been out doing all that shit while you've been handling most of the business." Pike couldn't understand the ease of which Musk spoke of it, as if he was discussing going out on a afternoon stroll through a park. " Way I see it, I need to move on.You've never really needed me in the grand scheme of things."

" Muskie, I can't accept this -," Pike's hand clasped Muskie's shoulder, only to find  his corpse staring back him, fly-bitten, cheeks sunken with rigor mortis. Pike backed up but whatever action he took only seemed to close the distance between him and the corpse that lurked behind him. The corpse wheezed, the long, swollen cut in its throat throbbing with each word it spoke next.

" But, maybe, you always knew that in your heart," The thing wearing Muskie's face croaked as it plunged the knife into his chest. Pike felt the water hit his back, tendrils of red peeling out in the grimy riverwater as -


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He woke up to a burning headache, one that pounded in his skull like a jackhammer. Pike's eyes blearily opened, kneading a fist into his bloodshot eyes with a yawn. He blinked to look at the right side of the storefront, right above the shelf with the canvas bags of dried cod, and tried to make out the clock. It looked like they were past six and the streets outside reeked of night, blotted out by blackness. He hiccuped, head queasy with loathing and liquor, and nearly knocked the empty bottle of scotch that was on the counter. He looked around and the last ergs of pride in him began to gnaw viciously like a trapped rat. The unmopped floors, rust-red fish blood deep in each groove, irritated him.  The cobwebs drooped overhead from the incandescent lights and he could feel them stroking his skin the more he looked at them. Was that mold creeping on the windows?

Pike moved to the cupboard before the photo stopped him in his path. He ran a hand over the glass, wiping off the carpet of grey dust  that had grown on it. Muskie's smile mocked him with the illusion of solace that only living people could provide. Without thinking, Pike silently ripped it off the hangnail and sent the picture spinning across the room. The frame smashed apart against a shelf in a spray of broken glass and wooden splinters. Pike's arms felt like lead as he looked at the now glittering floor. Another mess for him to clean up. He grabbed a dustpan and a broom and began sweeping up the remannts of that trip to the north, one shard at a time. The store bell then rang followed by the squeak of rusty hinges.

" We're closed," Pike automatically said, not even bothering to look up.

" Not to us." Pike paused in the middle of his sweeping and looked up to see a pair of men he was all too familiar with. One of them was a lean mountain of hurt, chewing something that smelt of tar in his mouth, and hands stuffed in his jeans. The other, thin as a fire hydrant and with blocky aviators glued to his eyes, stood in front of his enormous friend and spoke first in a lazy drawl. " Fine evening, Pike. Where's my fucking money?"

" Due this Friday. And it's not your money. It's Santiago's -  " Pike barely had time to stand up before man behind Matt grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and tossed him roughly against the counter. His spine hit the edge roughly, a sharp ache of pain lancing down his back. A cage of meaty fingers encrusted his throat and Pike was on his tiptoes, wheezing for breath. Dark spots danced in his vision as he heard the thunder of boots crunching against broken glass. The grip on his throat relaxed and Piek found himself face to face with the ugliest fucking pair of shades he ever saw this side of Mineenoona. Cold, hazel eyes stared from behind the caramel shades as Matt began speaking once more, conversationally.

" We come whenever we want, irishman." Matt stabbeds thumb into his breast, pushing and twisting it around. " You think just cuz you move Santiago's iron, you're hot shit. You're lucky we didn't off you two months ago for that shit your brother pulled against us, you two-bit paddy fuck."

" Say that again, spic - ," Pike's tongue turned numb as Matt's friend turned his throat into a pipe, solid and inflexible.

" When did this fuckin' fuck become so mouthy? Learnt that from your brother, eh? Maybe, that's why your brother ended up dying the way he did. "

" I don't understand. I didn't do anything wrong. "

" Didn't do anything wrong. ," Matt repeated back playfully. " You're late, Pike. You missed your payments last week and hell, Santiago gave you time. Said that you were dependable. But, then, you had to have your brother's broad over at your apartment."

" Wasn't my choice, " Pike grounded out. " I know what I promised him. "

" Then, you better keep it that way. Otherwise, we're gonna clean their houses. Get me? "

" Eat shit. "

Matt's eyebrow quirked up, unimpressed. He nodded to his friend and Pike let down on his feet, gasping for air.

"Okay. " Matt said. Before Pike could reply, Matt looked away like he was going to sneeze. " Rico, teach him some manners."

Rico leapt upon him, one palm wrenching his head back like a spring and the other locking his two arms behind his back. He spun Pike around so that he was facing the counter. An three day old pike was staring blankly up at him
on the other side with wide lifeless eyes. The counter rushed up to meet him and his head kissed in the glass with a crack. His vision swam with starbursts of pain, flecks of blood drooling from his lip, before Fred slammed his head against the counter again. And again. And again. By the time Pike woke up, he was punch-drunk, cheeks puffed and swollen, face feeling wrapped up behind layers of wool. He was leaning against the side of the counter, a spiderweb of cracks sprouting across it. He felt a hand pick underneath his jaw and he had no energy to complain as a white pebble was plucked out of his jaw. Matt's voice echoed in his ringing ear whilst he lamely curled up on the ground.

" Take it this way, you Irish fuck. Ten grand end of this week or ten teeth by tomorrow. Your choice."

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