Princess on the Pillow

by Armand Rosamilia

Gabriel was going to be so surprised and so happy when I got home. I smiled at the small dog next to me, sleeping under a blanket on a pillow in the front seat of my Cadillac.

Despite what my wife said about not having pets, I knew my son would treat a dog well. He’d walk her, feed her, and give her love.

As a kid my father had never let us have pets. Even when he was eventually killed by someone in the Philly mob, our mother would never let us get a dog or a cat.

Your father said no, and even though he’s dead, we still obey his rules. That’s how we survive, my mother used to say.

“I wonder what Gabe is going to name you. Maybe a real name like Alice or a cool name like Duke, although you don’t look like a Duke,” I said to the sleeping dog.

My phone rang and I groaned. I knew who was calling and why he was calling, and I wasn’t too happy.

“Merry Christmas,” I said when I answered. Trying to be nice but also letting Harry know it was Christmas Eve, and I was off the clock.

As if in my line of work there was a clock to punch in and out of.

“Sending you a name and address. I need this done tonight.”

I was furious but knew not to say something stupid. “Tonight? Won’t this guy be with his family? I could do it in the morning, after everyone’s done with their presents. He won’t be expecting it and there wouldn’t be any witnesses.”

“Tonight, and no witnesses. You got it? Get it done now and then you can enjoy your Feast of The Seven Fishes with your wife and kid. Tell them I said Merry Christmas.” Harry disconnected and I wanted to smash my phone against the dashboard but knew better. Then I’d need to buy a new phone, and it might wake and startle the dog.

Plus, I needed to see the name and address on my phone.

A block later, as I edged closer to home, the information came to me, and I wanted to scream.

I’d have to turn around and take Route 9 in holiday traffic and go clear across the city.

The dog whined under the blanket, as if she could feel my anger and distress.

I called my wife and told her I’d be late. I didn’t bother telling her what I’d gotten Gabriel. It would be a surprise for both of them.

She was not happy. I didn’t blame her, but she knew my line of business and what it entailed.

No holidays, no vacations. No days off on the weekend.

Nearly an hour later I arrived, parking down the block. I needed to walk the dog first, which I knew might be a dumb idea, but it had to be done. No sense in the dog going to the bathroom on my seats.

I cracked the windows and put the dog back under the blanket. It was warm enough and I’d be done quickly.

“Be right back, and then we’ll go to your new home,” I said. I felt guilty leaving the dog in the car alone, but I had work to do.

I walked to the address and when the guy opened the door, I shot him twice in the head. I walked in and smelled the seafood, and my mouth watered. I took care of his family and found a takeout container and filled it with food for the drive home.

By the time I got home, Gabriel was happy about his new dog and my wife wasn’t as mad as I thought she’d be, we sat down to eat.

I was halfway through saying Grace when the doorbell rang.

“You messed up. Someone saw you walking a dog near the job,” Harry said. He never came out unless it was important.

Killing me and my family was important enough, I guess.

I wondered what he’d do to the new dog, which Gabriel had named Princess.

Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, where he writes when he's not sleeping. He's happily married to a woman who helps his career and is supportive, which is all he ever wanted in life . . . .

He's written over 200 stories that are currently available, including crime thrillers, supernatural thrillers, horror, zombies, contemporary fiction, nonfiction, and more. His goal is to write a good story and not worry about genre labels.