A Cup of Kindness
by E. Lindberg

Vance "Dutch" Flowers wasn't seen in coffeehouses. He thought meeting the contact here was stupid. He'd never have set this up.
It was odd. Rattler had told him it was a fast, easy deal. Rattler knew the contact. Rattler would take fifteen per cent cut. A fast seventy-five hundred. Flowers would keep the rest; a little over thirty thousand.
A man like Flowers stood out in a Starbucks Coffee shop in the fanciest neighborhood in Atlanta. But three o'clock in the afternoon was slow time. That was ok. Anyway, straights would be too afraid to look at him. Not many outlaw biker types in fancy suburban coffee bars. A giant man, long hair, beard, in denim, greasy and unwashed, he'd put fright on them. They'd never remember his face; they wouldn't even want to try to.

Flowers got black coffee took an outside table, it was too hot to sit there at midday, but he needed to see things. He'd wait for the contact Rattler said demanded to meet here. Rattler said the contact's office was nearby and that the contact was pressed for time. One thing was, this place was near the interstate if he needed to run.
Rattler told him he'd recognize the guy. He couldn't think who it'd be. He owed Rattler ten yards large on their last deal. Rattler hadn't gotten paid; the deal had soured. It didn't make any difference; the Rattlesnake had to be fed, always. This deal would square plus thirty thousand clear. He'd quit his day gig.
He was a bouncer at a nude dancer bar on the south side. He liked bouncing. He was big, over three hundred fifty naked. He liked to fight; was good at it. He liked hurting people. Bouncing was good; a night job. Sleeping in the daytime left room for things.
He did ok. Made out on his meth business at the door; more than ten times his time clock. He sold the only meth available, his crank. It was easy keeping out competition. When he started, there was another neighborhood seller. Flowers took care of him. Flowers jumped him one night in a parking lot, snapped the guy's spine, word got around.
Soon, he bought a custom soft tail Harley out of Florida, with cash. Perfect golden flake metallic paint, tall forks, heavy chrome. Real good until the deal Rattler banked went down. This would clear that and leave some.
This guy, Rattler's man, a dentist and cycle fancier, that maybe he knew, wanted his wife dead, fast. It was a rush job. Rattler told that the mark was edgy, needed fast money, she had heavy insurance. Flowers thought killing split tail would be easy. He'd make it fun, slick.
He hadn't ridden his bike, lot of guys knew that ride, he'd driven his pick-up. He'd parked on the side of the lot, in easy sight where he sat.
He saw the Porsche Rattler said the contact would drive. It turned onto the lot from West Paces Ferry Road and parked side ways in the middle of the lot.
"He's a careful boy. Doesn't want his car dinged. Prissy. Maybe cheap" he told himself.
Flowers recognized this man. He knew him from the last gig at a bike shop. Rattler's place. He had tuned this guy's bike. This one was queer for big heavy European touring bikes, BMW. Seemed to live high, liked toys.
A short man walked to his table. The man wasn't nervous, smiled like a politician on television. The contact said, "Hi", nothing else.
"Hi yourself", Flowers said back.
The dentist looked thirty-five, maybe forty, weighed about one-fifty. Hair clipped short, had a thick black moustache. He was wearing sweet cologne and fancy sunglasses.
Flowers looked hard at the dentist, then said, "Don't talk. Listen. Nod 'yes or 'no'. Keep smilin'. Act like I'm buying some of your expensive overpriced north side real estate. Don't screw with me. I'll snap your neck like a baby chick's and be gone before anybody here knows you're dead. Answer my questions. You carrying cash?"
The contact nodded.
"All of it? On you? You can talk now. Be short."
"It's in the car...the glove box."
"OK, that's enough. Quiet. We're going to take a ride in your pretty little Porsche and you'll give me the money and tell me the play...where little wifey is."
"Fine by me" said the smiling man who had unusually white teeth. "I've got your money, less the Rattlesnake's part."
"Ok. Let's go. You drive."
"Look, sir, I've been working all morning, on my feet with back to back patients, so I could get away this afternoon and set this up. I'm hungry; I'd like a cup of coffee and a bun. I get jumpy if I don't eat. Low blood sugar. Just give me a minute to pee, and get a roll and coffee. Please."
"Yeah, ok. I could use one too. Black. You're buying."
"My pleasure. Just sit easy. I'll be right back."
The contact returned quickly with coffees and two large cinnamon rolls. "I'm sorry, I forgot you said black. I put cr¸me and sugar in both. I'll go get you another cup".
"No. Eat fast. Got things to do with little lady." Flowers stuffed most of one cinnamon roll into his mouth in one bite, swallowed. He took a deep swig of the heavily sugared coffee and gagged. His throat was scorched, burning. There was grinding pain. A generous dose of cyanide works extremely fast.
The huge man looked like he suffered a devastating heart attack. His body shook cruelly for perhaps twenty-five seconds; he drooled vomit, tried to reach out, and then sagged flabbily in his chair. He died in very little over a minute while the dentist was in the parking lot getting into a waiting gray sedan. The huge man had been alive scarcely long enough to hear the contact whisper "Rattler sends his regards.