The Assistant

We, assistants, are an expendable breed. One fuck up and that’s it you’re gone. I chose this life because I didn’t know what else to do. Being an assistant made it easy, I got paid weekly, I was insured, and there was that feeling of security. Even if what separates you from getting fired is a thin piece of paper you could almost see through. 

Fresh out of high school I started my journey as an assistant. I’ve watched families divide, and businesses crumbled. I’ve seen and heard exchanges that would most likely get me killed but rest assured the many NDA’s I’ve signed protects me and those I’ve worked for. Plus my family never cares to ask about my business. I’ve hopped from family to family, but I stopped and stayed with my current employer. And for five years I’ve been adopted into their ways of life. I'd liked so much that I get invited to birthdays, thanksgiving dinners, weddings, and all the big shebangs. They keep me close, but not too close, which I have to respect, as they are my employers and give me money so I can survive. 

Yet with all the sweet deals I have, there are still moments of abuse. Moments where it doesn’t matter how long and how close I am to them. I’m not family, I’m just the assistant. Nothing more and nothing less. It’s as though sometimes they forget I’m human as well and treat me as if I’m nothing more than a tool for their use. 

The Lombardi’s is the family which I work for, a high-end Italian family living in Staten Island. We’ve come to the generalization in the past millennia that if the people you work for are A. Italian and B. rich, they’re most likely involved with the mob. It does hit the nail on the head for the Lombardi’s. I’ve been to parties that seem straight out of a gangster flick. It’s a strange line of work that I’m in, and we all know there are dangers. The guns and betrayal, it’s a life of passion and brutality. Even though I’ve seen more than an average person could handle, I stayed, I was loyal, and when they weren’t out killing they were lovely people to be around. Plus I get to live in their home rent-free. I’m off to the side in one of the guest rooms on the third floor. 

Like most stories go it all started on Christmas Eve. A knock on my door introduced me from my reading. I got up to go answer it opening the door to see head honcho Amadeus Lombardi, he wasn’t a very tall man, almost penguinesce with a cane in hand. He was past his prime but refused to hand the business to his sons. 

“Micky, I got a job for you,” he said in his comical New York accent.

“Yes, Mr. Lombardi what do need?” I said. 

“I need you ta come with me in the car, we gotta go on a little drive down to the Hamptons to check out how the house is going,” he smiled.

Recently the Lombardi’s tore down and are rebuilding their home in the Hamptons, I guess they had so much money they didn’t know what else to do with it. 

The hour drive was brisk and we go there just before the sun began to set. 

“These New York winters freeze your balls, I should probably move the entire operation down to Florida,” Mr. Lombardi joked as we got out of his 1985 lincoln town car. 

He pointed over to the trunk of the car to open it. As I walked to the rear I began to hear rapid tapping coming from inside. Lifting the trunk door I saw a man bloodied and battered with a gag in his mouth and his hands and legs bound together. 

“What the fuck,” I was on the verge of vomiting. I know I said I was aware of what they were doing but never was I ever involved with it. 

“Mickey I need you to calm down,” he put his meaty hand on my shoulder, “believe me the world doesn’t need a guy like that.” his eyes looked towards the man. 

I looked at him, he looked at me eyes wide trying to speak but couldn’t. All I could make out were grunts of distress. 

“Help me pull the schmuck out,” he said grabbing the man's legs. 

I held on to the part of the rope in his hands and pulled him out. Lombardi dragged him to a thin stretch of trees. The tall oaks towered above like a wooden skyscraper. At the foot of the tree, he slammed the man against its truck. The man slumped over and Lombardi sat on the man’s side and kept punching his head. After a certain point, it sounded like he was punching a pound of meat. 

He got up winded from his exercise, even in the cold I could see his sweat glistening in the winter sun. Blood on his fists, droplets of it dotted his fat face. He looked at me, and smiled, satisfied with what he did. I looked to the body of the man, the nameless face I watched die and did nothing about. His head, or what’s left of it was spilled on the fresh white snow staining the surrounding area with red and it fading to pink. I handed him a towel to wipe it off. 

“Thanks, Mickey, you’re a good kid,” he said between pants. 

“Who was he?” I couldn’t take my eyes off the body. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he threw the blood-stained towel on the body, opened up the insides of his jacket, and pulled out a cigar. He sucked on it like a baby sucking a pacifier. 

I shivered in silence wanting to leave, but I knew we wouldn’t just leave the body here even if the property was secluded. 

“Go get two shovels they’re in the outhouse.”

I nodded as an answer and fetched the shovels. The show crunched beneath my feet while I walked back to him. From a distance, he still stood above the body admiring his work. This wasn’t his first tango, though it made me wonder how it felt to take a life. To smell the stench of fear, to see the life fade out of their eyes, or in this case beaten out. What force does it take to smash a skull in? How can you live with yourself after taking life too? Especially if it wasn’t in self-defense. 

“Good,” his voice said. 

I looked up and realized I was standing right next to him. I handed one of the shovels to him and he told me to start digging.

“Right here next to the house?” 

“Yea the trees could use a good fertilizer.”

His joke didn’t brighten the mood if that was what he was trying to do. Plus I’m pretty sure human bodies aren’t good fertilizers. 

We dug an eight-foot hole and threw the body in along with what was left of the skull. I think I saw an eye swimming around in the bloody pile. The sun now setting cooled the air even more, and there was also the hour drive back to the house in Staten Island. Thirty minutes passed and we finished filling up the hole with dirt. I was an accomplice to a murder that I didn’t try to stop. But what could have I done? I’m just the assistant, Lombardi wouldn’t listen to me. 

After the silent drive home, he asked me if I was okay, I lied and said I was. I was embraced by the warmth of my bedroom, and the icy numbness on my ears melted as I changed into my pajamas. I went into the bathroom to wash my face hoping it would wash the sin away though I knew it wouldn’t. No amount of confession would make up for what I did. I stared into the mirror and looked 10 years older compared to this morning. I threw up in the sink, the stench of half-digested pot roast caused me to vomit once more, and the after-taste didn’t help my queasy stomach. My eyes watered as I ran the sink to force the chunky bile down the drain. I wonder if I quit would they put a hit on me? I mean I know too much now, I saw Lombardi kill a man, I could tell the police. 

My restless mind didn’t allow me to sleep, I tossed and turned until I somehow managed to doze off. I woke up two hours later on Christmas Day. I didn’t leave my room, even though I was called to join the family I told them I wasn’t feeling too good. Seeing Mr. Lombardi may cause me to vomit again. 

Two weeks after the initial killing all went back to normal, well as normal as one can be. I went on my daily walk with the dogs. The Lombardi’s had two Dechsunds, the least intimidating dog for a crime family to own. Even in the New Year, I felt haunted by that Christmas Eve. I changed my focus to the two small wiener dogs, Chase and Emmi. Their slick brown coats glistened in the sun. I took them around the block, by the halfway mark I noticed a black Cadillac parked on the street, its windows tinted. I tried to make it not obvious that I was looking at the car by trying to make out a person using the side of my eye. When I turned the corner I looked back, the car wasn’t following me. It’s most likely nothing, just my mind being paranoid as usual. 

On the path up to the house, I fiddled in my pockets for the house key. I felt something now, a set of eyes on my back. I turned around and saw nothing, I looked left and right, up and down, and still saw nothing. I should probably go see a psychiatrist about this. I looked back at the mahogany door and shoved the key into the keyhole unlocking it and unleashing the dogs into the house. Their stubby legs whisked them away with the sound of their pitter-patter following behind. 

I felt a hand on my shoulder suddenly, I tried to turn but then another hand holding a rag shoved into my face. I struggled to try to shake it off but whoever it was had me in their grasp and not planning to let go. I  breathed in the rag and felt woozy. My eyes began to feel heavy until I lost consciousness. 

My eyes opened darkness, either the lights were off or there was a bag over my head. My hot breath bounces back to me.  As I regained sensation I could tell I was sitting on a surprisingly comfortable chair. Raising my arm I felt the burn of rope. I didn’t try to struggle because I knew it wouldn’t help. 

“He’s awake,” a voice called from in front of me. 

Suddenly a pair of footsteps echoed around me. I tried to speak up but my mouth was too dry. Most likely I was only out for a few hours. The footsteps stopped and I could hear the movement of a hand reaching out to be grabbing the top of my head and pulling off the rag. I winched at the artificial fluorescent light above. Closing my eyes I looked down and then opened them again waiting for the fuzziness to leave. I felt a hand on the bottom of my chin raising my head, my eyes met a shadow figure. 

“Who the fuck is this?” the figure said stepping away from me and into the light.

Two more came into the light. All three were looking at me, studying me, trying to figure out who I was. Then the door on the far side of the room opened and in came another man. A tall, fat man. His brown blazer added more weight to him than slimmed him down. He waddled over to the group and took one look at me. 

“You idiots, that’s not Lombardi’s son.”

“Where am I?” I finally said but was met with no answer. 

The four men huddled around together trading whispers. The same fat man who I pinned to be the leader of the group kept looking back at me. I watched as the fat man pulled out a phone and dialed a number. They broke away from the huddle as he waited for whoever he was calling to pick him up. 

“Don Lombardi,” he said, “yea this is Tommy Vince. I know what you did to our man on Christmas, and in Italian culture, we learn to take an eye for an eye, you would know that better than anyone.”

Ricky waited until it was his turn to speak. I still didn’t understand what was happening here. 

“Well we have your…” he stopped for a moment and looked at me, “what are you?”

“I’m the family's assistant.”

“Yea we go your assistant here, uh,” he looked at me again for clarification. 

“Mickey.”

“Mickey,” his voice hollered into the phone. 

In a flash, his hot-headedness subsided. For what I guess as a rival mob boss he did not come off as super threatening. He nodded his head a few times before holding out the phone. 

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Alright,” I watched as they brought the phone over to me and put it on speaker for us to hear. 

“Mickey,” Lombardi’s voice called, “kid I’m sorry but there’s nothing we can do.”

My heart dropped into my stomach, “But what about me?”

“It’s nothing personal kid, plus you were never were family.”

The line went dead. Pity filled the room as even the hoods were surprised by what they just heard. A ringing in my ear grew higher in pitch as I stared at the floor dumbfounded. Five years, five years of my life assistant that family and this is how I’m repaid. The rage and anger filled my mind. There was nothing I can do now. 

“Let him go,” Tommy said. 

I looked up at him surprised, but then again why would I be? Even the rival mob has no use for me in the end. They were at least nice enough to give me a ride out of Manhattan and left me a block away from the house on Staten Island. In the car ride over they tried to form an apology and like the pushover I am I forgave them. 

The full moon shined in the sky casting a spotlight on my walk of shame back to the house.  I stood before the mansion that I’ve known as my own home for the past five years and for the first time I felt like I didn’t belong there. This wasn’t my home, it was the home of my employer. The lights in the windows signaled life within, on the far right hand say the large row of windows revealed the entire Lombardi family having dinner. Their loud shouts of enjoyment and laughs at stories being told could be heard from the outside. They didn’t care that I was kidnapped, they never cared about me at all. 

In the pit of my stomach, I felt something break inside. I know I said assistants are expendable but not to this degree. I forced myself forward, each step felt like a century before it hit the ground. A ringing in my ear grew louder at every movement and eventually I couldn’t hear myself think until I found myself ringing the doorbell to the house. In the cold wind, I felt hot, pale yet red at the same time. 

“Coming,” a voice said from inside. 

I stared into the peephole until I felt the warm breeze from inside creep around my legs. I looked into the ajar gap of the door and could see the face of Mrs. Lombardi. She looked stunned and took a double-take before opening the door entirely. 

“Mickey,” her voice was embarrassed. 

She was a small woman, a nice woman, I never had an issue with her. I never had an issue with anyone, in what was left of my good nature I brushed past her into the house. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked into to foyer towards my room. She opened her mouth but stopped then closed the door. There was no point to talk. Even though I was hungry and the smell of her cooking drove me to salivate I ignored it. 

I locked myself in my room and took a needed shower, washing off the stress of the day. I drank the ice-cold water from the tap to quench my thirst and felt the sharp jab of my brain freeze. You were never really family, his voice echoed in my head. In a sense, he was right, at the end of the day all I am is hired help. I sat on my… no it’s not my bed, and it’s not my room. I outta just go home, end it here and leave, go to college and do something with my life. 

A light knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked at the door handle as it struggled to turn open before another knock.

“Yes?” I said to the door. 

“Mickey,” Lombardi’s voice called, “come on out and join for dinner please Mickey.”

“I’m not feeling well I’m just going to sleep.”

There was no response followed by the sound of steps fading into the hall. He didn’t care, it was just an empty comment. I turned off the lights in my room and fell into the bed covering the thick sheets over me. I managed to sleep, tomorrow is the first step to the rest of my life.

In the morning  I woke up and packed and managed to fit everything I owned in the same suitcase I first came with. I breathed in the air of what was my room and felt a tinge of sadness, which was quickly replaced by annoyance. I wasn’t looking forward to any confrontation if there would be one. 

What was I to do once I leave? Go home probably, back to where I belong. I’m sure my parents would be happy. As I opened the door and walked towards what would be the rest of my life I was stopped by Lombardi Junior, Junior for short. Unlike his father, he was tall and masculine, the exact opposite of my body type which made me wonder why those goons thought we were the same person. 

“Look we need to talk,” he said. 

“Junior, I want nothing to do with this, I quit,” I walked past him out the driveway.

“Let me at least drop you off wherever you’re going,” he followed after me. 

I agreed for him to take me to the airport so I could get out of here, he even offered to pay for my plane ticket, but I couldn’t tell if this was out of kindness or a way for me to be indebted to him. I agreed either way. 

On the car ride to Newark airport Junior began to fess up. It turns out he was going to stage his kidnapping, see for the longest time Junior wanted to create a name for himself among the Costas and disliked the fact he was overshadowed by his father’s former days of glory. Even if Junior were to take over he knew he would never get the same level of respect as his father. And that’s what this all boils down to, respect. 

At the airport, he walked me over still telling his tale of trial and error. Junior was 30 years old and in all that time he stuck close to his father because unlike the other Lombardi siblings he wanted to be a mafioso. That’s why he never left home, and even though he was five years older than me I felt a sense of immaturity. I thanked him for the ride and the plane ticket but he had to have the last word. 

“I’m going to kill him,” he said flatly. 

I didn’t believe him, why would you want to kill your father? And why is he telling me all this? 

“The man he killed, he was,” he paused for a moment and tried to make what came out of his mouth next sound meaningful, “a close friend to me.”

“You’re telling me this because?” 

“Because you can help, I know you were there when he died, I know you helped my father bury him. He won’t tell me where my friend is buried, but you can. Please, Mickey.”

I looked at him, longingly, all I wanted to do was go home and forget about all this. 

“I’ll pay you-”

I cut him off before he can make me another offer. Against my better judgment I agreed, it looked like home would have to wait a little longer.

We stood above the disrupted earth where the body had been buried. The show-covered ground curved upward from the uneven dirt. I could still picture the mutilated body. As we dug to the body a sour tang of decay crept into my nose. My head jolted back from the stench and my stomach turned bitter. I climbed out of the hole and threw up before me. The splatter of vomit pooled around my hands and I tried to crawl away from its hole, just to get further from the smell. Though Junior was just fine, maybe he was used to the smell. With myself now a few feet away I breathed in the cold air trying to refresh my senses. I swallowed but was met with an after-taste of stomach bile so I shoved a fist full of snow to wash it out. What am I doing? I thought to myself. 

With my shirt over my nose, I walked back to see if any progress had been made. Looking down I could make out the body with only a thin layer of dirt covering it. Junior bent down and brushed off the residuals and then stopped. A good look at the body revealed its greenish-grey skin, the body and what remained of the face looked thinner than before as if the body had been sucked dry, but given the cold weather it slowed down its decay. Was that on purpose? Did Lombardi kill him during the winter so that his son would find it? 

“Adrian,” Junior’s voice cracked. 

He embraced the body and held it tight, I watched in silent horror. 

“Help me bring him up,” Junior looked up to me. 

I met his bloodshot eyes full of tears, his face stained with streaks of teardrops. I got down with him and grabbed the body by its legs, with our combined strength we hefted it over to the side. Once on higher ground, I looked over at the body once more, I was drawn to it in a disgustingly way. I still had a worrying feeling, I assisted in this man’s death even though Junior told me he doesn’t care he must hold some resentment. He could have scolded me as to why I didn’t try to stop his father from carrying out the deed. Maybe this was his way of punishing me, I don’t know, and at this moment I have no right to ask. 

Junior instructed me to go to an address he would provide, there I will stay for the time being until this cold war with his father is over. Giving me the keys to the car that brought us here I asked how would be returning home. To which he replied cooly to not worry about it, he had more issues to take care of in the meantime. 

As I drove away in the side view mirror I could see Junior’s figure fading into the distance. It’s just the beginning of what feels like something big, I could spend my time wondering what will happen but it’ll all unfold as it should. 

By the time I got to the address, Junior gave me the sun was right about to set. Shadows shrouded the crummy streets, this wasn’t the type of place to be out after dark. I pulled into a driveway that led to a warehouse. Come to think about it this place looked familiar, but I wasn’t exactly sure what it was. Easing foot on the brake peddles the headlights shone on a garage door. I waited for a movement until I heard the muffled sound of the door opening at a slow pace. I crept the car in turned it off and got out. Looking around the place it still felt so familiar to me but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I got my luggage out of the trunk. Now what? 

Suddenly the lights went on and that’s when it hit me. This was where I was taken when kidnapped yesterday. From the corner of my eye, I saw two people coming closer. I turned my neck and saw him, Tommy Vince. He was dressed differently now, in a laxer, and yet totally out-of-season Hawaiian t-shirt and white suit pants. 

“Hey kid,” he smiled. 

Though it was awkward in the beginning the boys treated me as if I was one of them. I knew there had to be something to them too, they were too nice to be some low-life thugs. Tommy gave me the same spiel as Junior, again still don’t understand how they mixed us up but I let it slide. 

They showed me around the warehouse, it wasn’t the biggest one but it was their base of operations. For the past year, Junior and these guys have been conspiring against Lombardi trying to find the right place to strike. Now that they had me on their side,  they were going to capitalize on the fact that I knew the ins and outs of Lombardi’s schedule. I did work closely with him for the past five years. Even his kids didn’t know him as well as I did. I and many other assistants before got to see a rawer version of Lombardi, even if there were those moments where I wished I hadn’t. 

Junior came in an hour later after I’d arrived, I asked about what he did with his friend’s body but was met with the vague answer of not worrying myself about it. We sat around the table eating the most quintessential Italian dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. The fluorescent lights above had an unflattered glow on the cast of characters before me, though it didn’t stop me from enjoying their company. Tommy and the other two named were Joe and Joe (how fitting) couldn’t stop reminiscing about the day before and our little game. As frightened as I was that day it helped to laugh at the oddity of it. It’s not every day that someone is kidnapped by mistake then politely apologized to and returned. 

I helped clean the table of abandoned plates of silverware, toppling them onto each other I shuffled slowly and lowered them into the sink on the other side of the room. Once that was done a box of cannoli sat pretty for the taking. In between bites of the ricotta cream, Junior played the plan for us. Spreading out a diagram on one side of the table I watched as the four of them plotted their scheme. 

The plan was set, I wasn’t to be involved with this plan which was for the best. They promised to handle all the heavy work since I did my part for them. The boys were going to kidnap the old man, it should be easy enough. In his old age, Lombardi had slowed down in the mafioso scene. He had too much power and was untouchable by any would-be crime boss, so there was no competition. I still mulled the idea over if Junior would go through with his plan of killing his father. I saw the hesitation in his eyes whenever he muttered the word. Though his pals hyped him up to do so, there will be a moment before he pulls the trigger where he’ll truly show his colors. 

I waited outside in the night sky, through the skyscrapers that covered the skyline light from the full moon shined through onto the streets below. I looked up at the crystal clear night, even in its beauty, it was still limited by light pollution. I heard the crack of a metal door open and I looked at Junior coming out. He wore all black and held a ski mask in hand. I didn’t say anything only observed as he fumbled in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes, he shook the box and pulled one out sticking it in his jittering mouth. Along that came a basic black Zippo lighter, his hand trembled as he lit it. Was he just cold or nervous about tonight?

“Are you-,” 

He jumped at the sound of my voice.

“Christ Mickey,” his voice was exhausted, “you scared me half to death. You sure you’re not a ninja or anything?”

“I’m just good at being unnoticeable,” I smiled. 

There was a brief moment of dead air between us. 

“Are you going to go through with this Junior,” I kept my eyes away from him, sometimes it can be easier to admit the truth without eye contact. 

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but it has to end tonight,” he kept his voice cool. 

I couldn’t help but wonder that there isn’t any point in killing his father, so much bloodshed, and for what? Power? Money? Or respect? Would someone go that far to be respected? Maybe there isn’t a fine line between fear and respect for some. 

The door opened once more and out came Tommy, Joe, and Joe, all wearing the same black attire as Junior. They loaded up their blue minivan with an unnecessary amount of firepower. My guess is they’re being precautious, but I had a feeling no shot will be fired over there. After all, it’s Junior’s home too. 

Waving them off they went into the night to capture Lombardi. Man, it’s going to be awkward when I see him. The thought brought a twisted chuckle, at the very least this story sounds so unbelievable that nobody would think it happened. A side of me knew I could leave, my job was done and I was paid, I’m not needed anymore, yet I couldn’t go without seeing the climax of this. As much as I am disappointed in how Lombardi treated me he shouldn’t be killed, I’m sure Junior will know what to do. 

It wasn’t very long until they all came back. I looked at the clock in the warehouse, it had only been two hours since they last left. The garage door opened and the van slid in stinking the surrounding area with the scent of exhaust. Its highlights shut off and one by one they slipped out of the van. It was Joe, or maybe other Joe that drew open the door of the van revealing a knocked-out Lombardi. So that’s what it looks like. Then they carefully placed Lombardi in the same chair I was in. 

“You were quick,” I looked to Junior. 

“Well it was in my home, so there wasn’t that much hassle,” he smiled. 

It was true, but if that was the case why would he need me in the picture? 

“We didn’t need you, Mickey,” as if he heard what I was thinking, “I just thought I could make it up to you by letting you see this.”

“I don’t think watching a man I worked for getting killed is a good way of making up for what happened,” I said with some enthusiasm. 

Groans echoed in the warehouse, we looked over to see Lombardi coming back from the land of dreams. I could tell his eyes had just opened since he had the same reaction as I did when I was in the same position. He looked around with the sack still on his head, even though it covered his mouth I could still feel his hot breath from this distance. 

Junior stepped closer to Lombardi, each step he took made Lombardi recoil in fear. 

“Where am I? Where are you?” his voice was hoarse. 

Junior was close to him, face to face close. It didn’t seem like a form of intimidation. Junior swiftly grabbed the sack and revealed himself to Lombardi. 

“Junior?” Lombardi exclaimed. 

“Dad,” his voice was smooth as silk. 

I could see he had a gun in his right hand, still shaking, still thinking whether to use it or not. The weight of the black metal thing began to take a toll on Junior who let it slip out from his hand. A loud thunk rang adding to the tension. I kept my distance not wanting to the worse of it if it came to that. 

Junior fell to his knees and planted his face into his father’s chest weeping. He looked up to Lombardi tears streaking down his face, pain, anguish, and frustration. I was only the spectator of this tragic story. Raw human emotions filled in the gap as father and saw shared a moment. A moment of death, a moment of life, a moment of victory, and a moment of failure. I soon entered a trance where I could see the two’s life passing by. From birth to now. There was a sort of bittersweetness to it. 

I looked away at what happened next. Even if I plugged my ears I couldn’t stop the sound from traveling to me. I couldn’t ignore the scent of a smoking gun, and I couldn’t unhear the screams of Junior as he realized what he’d done. He did what he thought was right, in the end, I had no right to judge him for that. 

I stared out the window at the airport as I waited to board the flight back home. I haven’t had a home in a long time, all these years have been spent tangled in the lives of others. Others didn’t know or care one bit about me. I was a tool to be used up and eventually replaced. 

“Now boarding flight 476 to Atlanta,” a stuffy voice said over the microphone. 

I tried not to think about the events of last night, but I knew I’d live with what Junior said to me after it. 

“I’m just like him now,” he looked at the body then at me. 

We are never meant to witness the more intimate moments between families, though they do tend to slip into the cracks and the line of boundaries becomes blurred after so long. I looked down at the envelope resting on my lap, opening it once more to get a good look at it. Junior ended up giving me 200,000 dollars. It was shut-up money, it was dirty money, but it’s still money. My thumb flipped through the bills as I thought of what to do it with. I could finally afford to go to college now. I wonder if they take cash? 

Junior also treated me to a first-class seat with a window to look out of. 1,000 dollars for a two-and-a-half-hour flight. Money isn’t an object for some people. Something I learned working for the rich. There was a side of me that regretted ending it, I could have continued being an assistant for Junior but there was too big a mess for me to be involved in. 

A subtle hum of jet engines sparking to life shook me back to reality. In just a few moments we were up in the air, out the window I watched as the New York skyline crept away into the distance. It was time to go back to a place where I belonged. 

Nahai 2022