Jack watched the sunset paint the Chicago skyline orange while Marcus begged for his life. The concrete around Marcus's feet was almost dry. In thirty minutes, it would be hard as rock.
"Please man, I got kids," Marcus said through tears.
Jack took a long drag from his cigarette. The warehouse they were in stank of fish and lake water. A rat scurried past, disappearing into a crack in the wall.
"Should've thought about them before you moved product in my territory," Jack said, flicking ash onto Marcus's face. "Now they gotta grow up without a daddy."
This was number eleven. Eleven rivals who thought they could muscle in on Jack's turf, eleven bodies feeding the fish at the bottom of Lake Michigan. The concrete shoes were his signature - a message to anyone else thinking about crossing him.
Marcus started praying. Jack had seen it before. They all found religion when death came knocking. He checked his watch - 8:47 PM. The concrete would be set enough by 9:15. Right on schedule.
"You know what the funny thing is?" Jack said, pulling up a metal folding chair. "I used to be scared of water as a kid. Wouldn't even get in the pool. Now look at me - practically a swimming instructor."
He laughed at his own joke. Marcus didn't appreciate the humor.
The warehouse door creaked open. Tommy, Jack's right-hand man, walked in carrying two cups of coffee. He handed one to Jack.
"Boats ready when you are, boss," Tommy said, eyeing Marcus. "Want me to take care of this one?"
Jack shook his head. "Nah, I always see it through myself. You know that."
He did know. Jack had a reputation for handling his own dirty work. No farming out the messy parts to underlings. If you're gonna run the streets, you better be willing to get your hands dirty.
"How's that concrete feeling, Marcus?" Jack asked, taking a sip of coffee. "Getting nice and snug?"
Marcus had stopped begging. His eyes were distant now, like he'd already checked out. Jack had seen that look before too. Some of them fought until the end, others just... gave up.
"You know what your mistake was?" Jack continued, more to himself than Marcus. "Thinking you could come up here from Detroit and just take over. Chicago ain't Detroit. We got rules here. Structure."
The coffee was terrible - gas station swill that Tommy always bought because it was closest. Jack made a mental note to tell him to find a better spot next time. Then he remembered there wouldn't be a next time. This was his last dance.
Word on the street was that the Italians were tired of his independent operation. They'd been patient, letting him build his empire, waiting to see if he'd fall in line. But Jack wasn't the falling-in-line type. Tomorrow, they'd make their move. But they weren't going to get the satisfaction.
"Time to go for a swim," Jack said, checking his watch again. 9:12 PM.
He nodded to Tommy, who helped him lift Marcus. They carried him to the door where the lake waited, black water lapping at the concrete pier. The night was cool for August, a breeze coming in off the water.
"Any last words?" Jack asked. It was part of his ritual.
Marcus finally looked at him, really looked at him. "Rot in hell."
Jack smiled. "After you."
They swung Marcus three times, then let go. There was a splash, some bubbles, then nothing. The lake swallowed another secret.
Tommy lit a cigarette. "That's the last one on the list, boss."
"Yeah," Jack said, staring at the water. "Last one."
They walked back to the car in silence. Jack knew Tommy was worried. He'd been acting different lately, distracted. Tommy probably thought it was about the Italians.
The truth was simpler: Jack was tired. Tired of the game, tired of looking over his shoulder, tired of counting bodies. Tomorrow, the Italians would come for him. But tonight, he had one last piece of business.
"Drop me at Murphy's," he told Tommy. "I need a drink."
Tommy looked like he wanted to argue but knew better. "Sure thing, boss."
The bar was mostly empty when Jack walked in. Old Murphy himself was behind the counter, polishing glasses like he had been for the past twenty years.
"Usual?" Murphy asked.
"Make it a double."
Jack sat at the bar, feeling the weight of his gun against his ribs. He wouldn't need it anymore after tonight. The whiskey burned going down, but it was a good burn. Clean.
The door opened behind him. He didn't need to turn around. He knew who it was from the footsteps. Tommy was supposed to be halfway home by now.
"Sorry, boss," Tommy's voice cracked a little. "They made me an offer."
Jack nodded, took another sip of whiskey. "I know."
The gun pressed against the back of his head was cold. Jack closed his eyes and smiled. At least he'd gone out on his own terms. One last body in the lake, one last loose end tied up.
"See you in the next life," he said.
The gunshot echoed off the bar's wooden walls. Jack's last thought before everything went dark was that he hoped the next life would be more interesting than this one.
He had no idea what he was in for.