Deadbolt

It happened again.

Keith frowned, his eyes glaring down at the phone he clenched in his hand. He had a job. Which, unfortunately, meant his days of solitude had come to an end. He was surprised people still needed him. It was 2025. Now, remotes mostly replaced keys, and an app could unlock home locks. People rarely needed a locksmith anymore. And those who did always seemed up to no good. Keith knew that life all too well.

But that was the old Keith. The retired part of him he kept locked away with the key long gone, but not forgotten. It was best he didn’t ponder on that, though.

He hoisted himself from his La-Z-Boy, grunting with the effort, and started toward his bedroom where he threw on his work overalls. He had only one pair, which he rarely washed. There was no need. He rarely worked anymore. Grabbing them from the foot of his bed, Keith pulled them on, already smelling the cigarette smoke, a habit he was unwilling to retire. He knew they were bad for him. What smoker didn’t? But people needed a little bad in their lives. They were lying to themselves if they thought they didn’t. Life demanded bad. Without bad, there couldn’t be good.

The bad just needed to be managed.

But for Keith, smoking was just about all the bad he allowed in his life these days. He fished into the large pocket at the front of his overalls for the pack of Marlboro’s he knew waited for him. Strangely, he felt like he was the bait, rather than the cigs, succumbing to his daily urge. He dug out of the pack, along with its lighter roommate, and lit one up. He inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar taste of tobacco as he finished getting ready and departed his home, already feeling better about the day ahead.

He’d burned through two bones during his drive over to the West Hills. He never enjoyed smoking on the job, but when he could, he’d sneak one from time to time. Just his way of managing the bad. Today, however, it would be difficult to sneak a drag, what with the rain drowning all of Portland. For the last few months, a day hadn’t passed without rain, a heavy, ceaseless shower. Keith never minded it. It helped him dissociate. The constant drumming against his truck was a soothing melody for the thunderous, dark thoughts in his head.

It was no surprise he’d found himself shocked he’d arrived at this destination so quickly. Or rather, it felt swift. Time always slipped by when Keith was in his head.

“Nothing kills a man faster than his own head.” His father’s words entered his mind unbidden, causing him to frown as he parked his truck in the driveway of his customer’s home.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Keith muttered.

He threw his truck into park, his eyes surveying the neighborhood he’d found himself in. This was Healy Heights, one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Portland, with bragging views of the Cascades and the Willamette, as well as an excess of diverse-looking homes that screamed, never in your wildest dreams, Keith. Just as this one had. The house was quite the stunner; multiple stories tall, with large panel windows to look down at the peasants below, and a surrounding ground filled with bountiful trees and plants, serving as a foliage curtain from prying eyes.

As a small, not well-known business, with only himself as an employee, Keith never got phone calls up here. Residents of Healy Heights looked at things like average ratings and number of reviews before hiring someone. Keith didn’t have either of those, let alone an online presence. Keith simply relied on word of mouth. Since retirement, he preferred his lifestyle as a recluse, only doing a job here and there. Being called up here set off the alarms in his head.

As he exited his truck, rain drenching him, he caught sight of Stonehenge Tower, a radio tower built in 1990. He’d never seen it this close, causing his head to rise as his eyes traced its utilitarian, Eiffel Tower-like structure. Painted red and white, it reminded Keith of the pack of Marlboro’s in his pocket. He wished he had time to burn another one, but his customer’s front door just opened, killing his shot. Too bad. Judging by the looks of her, Lord knew he was going to need it.

The woman waiting for him was reminiscent of his mother. Tall and thin, with a chin that was stuck in a raised position and a visage that was accustomed to scowling. An indicator she was above you, and could rarely be pleased. Great.

“You must be Mrs. Grimaldi?” Keith said as he approached the covered front porch, foliage from the plants brushing his shoulders.

“Indeed,” she replied. “Aster is waiting for you in his study. This way.”

Mrs. Grimaldi didn’t wait for Keith and immediately walked into her home, not looking back, as if she knew Keith would follow. He did.

Inside was just as loud as the outside. As he followed, his eyes bounced across the living room. The first thing he saw stealing his attention was the large panel windows. Rain splattered against them, but he could still see the gloom beyond, a mix of gray clouds and greenery. Next was the furniture, if that’s what you would call it. He wasn’t sure. The sight of them caused his eyebrows to furrow. Luxurious no doubt, they screamed at him not to sit, as if he weren’t permitted. Even if he were, he’d be timid to do so, afraid he’d mess up the design they had set up. Which apparently was all for show, he guessed.

Turning down a narrow hallway, his ears caught his footsteps squeaking against the hardwood. He looked back, seeing water trails, a pang of guilt and worry sinking in his stomach for not thinking to remove his boots before coming in. Then again, Mrs. Grimaldi not instructing him made him feel it wasn’t a big deal. Or maybe it was just another reason for her to scowl at him later.

She pushed open a pair of glass French doors and gestured for Keith to enter. Aster’s study felt like entering a historic library. Bookshelves kissing the ceiling filled the walls, all filled with an assortment of books that looked beyond Keith’s reading comprehension. There was a bay window with plush seating, oddly the most comfortable and inviting seating he’d seen yet. Across from the window was a fireplace housing logs aflame, the occasional crackle filling the room.

“Ah yes, you must be Keith,” Aster said, pulling Keith’s attention toward him. At the end of the study was a handsome-looking man, with an athletic frame that hugged the zip neck sweater he wore. Aster removed his glasses as he stood from the leather chair behind his fancy mahogany desk and started toward Keith, hand stretched forward. “We spoke on the phone earlier. I’m Aster.”

Keith grunted, gesturing his head downward as he shook Aster’s hand. “Want to show me the lock you need unlocked?”

“Right down to business, I like it,” Aster said. “Emma, dear, two iced teas.”

Emma departed without a word, closing the French doors behind her.

“I’m actually all right on the iced tea,” Keith said, suddenly feeling like there was more to his being here than just a simple unlocking. “Normally, people just show me to the lock.”

“That won’t be necessary. Please, take a seat.” Aster gestured his hand toward the empty chair across his desk as he made his way back around, taking a seat in the leather seat. “You’re here today because a previous client of yours referred you to me. You see, I’ve got this certain … deadbolt that needs taken care of.”

Keith didn’t sit. Instead, he stood stock-still, realizing his old life, the part of him he retired long ago and kept locked away, appeared to have found him.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he said, starting toward the exit.

“Price will not be an issue.”

“Money no longer motivates me,” Keith said, not breaking his stride.

“Cam said you’d be difficult to persuade.”

Keith’s boots halted at the foot of the French doors. Deep down, he knew he shouldn’t have stopped. If he’d kept on walking, he’d be halfway to his truck already, where he had locked away the retired part of him. But sometimes, even the most impenetrable locks could be opened with enough force. And unfortunately for Keith, Cam was one of those forces. A force that left Keith feeling like he didn’t have a choice. Keith owed Cam a debt. And nobody refused to pay their debts to Cam.

Sadly, the retired part of him was going to be released.

“Cam also added that, should you help me, your debt would be considered paid. I will also throw in an additional $100,000. A retirement gift. Cam said you’d been looking forward to it. He also said you knew the importance of privacy.”

“Must be quite the deadbolt you need taken care of. I owe Cam quite a sum.”

“I’ve taken over your debt with Cam. You do this job, your debt is gone, and you’ll be $100,000 richer. What do you say?”

“Sounds like I have little choice in the matter.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Keith turned from the door, seeing a smiling Aster as he took a seat across from him. He sank into its cushions, finding it more comfortable than his La-Z-Boy he had at home. Good, because at this moment, inside, he was far from comfortable.

Emma strolled in, two glasses of iced tea in her hands, which she placed on the desk in front of them but not before placing down coasters.

“Thank you, dear,” Aster said.

“You boys need anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

Emma took that as her sign to leave, not making ill time of it. Keith grunted as he reached forward for his glass of tea and sipped. It was good. Damn good. Enough to take his mind off the cigarette he so desperately desired at the moment.

“Tell me about your deadbolt,” Keith said.

“It’s one of my students,” Aster said, reclining in his chair. “I slept with her. Among others … But this one.” He clenched his teeth and fists. “She’s like a magnet. I can’t seem to get rid of her. And now she’s blackmailing me.”

“So just pay her. No doubt her payment is less than my debt with Cam and your payment combined.”

Aster chuckled. “Sometimes, the least expensive payment doesn’t always lead to the best savings. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Ah, there it is. Aster’s worried about his reputation. Funny how men like him can feel invincible. Like they can do anything their tiny hearts’ desire. That is, until shit hits the fan. Then they panic. Playtime’s suddenly over. Reality hits like a sucker punch to the gut. Aster apparently didn’t know how to manage the bad in his life.

“You sure about this?” Keith asked. “If she’s a student, then I’m guessing she’s young. She’s got her whole life ahead of her.”

Aster took a drink of his tea, his eyes going elsewhere, as if he had the decency to ponder the magnitude of what Keith was asking. “I’m sure,” he said, placing his tea back on the coaster.

“Then I’ll need a name and a description.”

“Her name is Harper Tolman. You’ll find her on the PSU website. Portland State University, that is. She’s got a work-study as a library assistant. Her picture will be there. She also lives on campus.”

“OK, give me a few days.”

Aster nodded. “Make it sooner if you can.”

Keith rose from his chair and started toward the French doors. “I won’t make any promises,” he said. It had been a long time since he’d been tasked with taking care of a deadbolt. He didn’t much like entering the headspace required for the job.

“Before you go,” Aster said, halting Keith’s stride. “Got a joke for ya.”

Keith turned his head and eyed Aster over his shoulder, fighting the urge to curl his lip. A joke? Seriously? The man had just asked Keith to kill someone, and he had a joke?

“What do you call a locksmith with a lisp?”

Keith didn’t respond and instead simply waited for the punch line he knew wouldn’t hit.

“Keyth,” Aster said, suppressing a chuckle. “Get it? Cause your name has a key in it? And you’re a locksmith.”

Keith’s only response was a grunt as he turned his head and exited the study. Emma was sitting rather uncomfortably in the living room, so it seemed, sipping her own glass of iced tea as Keith departed. Stepping outside, the rain assaulted him. He still didn’t care. He considered it a temporary punishment for what he’d just agreed to do. Entering his truck, Keith inhaled a deep breath and sat frozen for just a moment.

One more job, he told himself. Then you’re done. No more debts.

He dug into his side pocket, pulled out his phone, and sent a text message to Cam. My debt paid? he asked.

While he waited for Cam’s response, he fired up a bone while he took a visit to PSU’s website. It took a few clicks before he found the “Meet our Team” page for the library. Keith found Harper at the bottom of the page, no doubt where they’d place a work-study student. She was beautiful indeed. Young, light brown skin tone, and a natural lock of brown hair with pink streaks that brushed her shoulders. Edgy is what he believed the kids called it these days.

He frowned, feeling a powerful wave of hatred for himself. Deep down, he knew it was only inevitable Cam would come knocking. Over the years, he could really only hope the mark was someone who deserved it. But this Harper? She looked as innocent as they come into the world. Which made this job the hardest he’d ever taken on.

Taking a long drag of his cigarette, Keith dug deeper. He needed a reason more than just his debt being paid. He followed the link to her LinkedIn page below her picture and unfortunately, found little. Just more reasons to show she was doing her best to make a name for herself in the world. Instagram profile came next. He found her username in her LinkedIn bio. Luckily, her profile wasn’t private.

The first photo he saw made his stomach plummet.

Harper stood in the middle of a row of women, most likely her closest friends, whose hands rested on her tiny belly bump. Behind them, an assortment of pink balloons was taped to the wall around the message, “It’s a girl!” in silver lettered balloons.

Harper was pregnant.

And there wasn’t a man in the photo. In fact, as Keith frantically scrolled through every photo on Harper’s profile, he couldn’t find a man captured in any of them.

This was it. The real reason Aster wanted her gone. Sometimes, the least expensive route doesn’t always offer the best savings. Aster’s words echoed in Keith’s head. I have a reputation to uphold …

Suddenly, a ding from his phone shot through his chest, startling his nerves. Cam had replied. He clicked on the text notification. The message read: All settled. Enjoy retirement.

Keith’s eyes drifted shut. Aster had indeed paid Keith’s debt, making him feel trapped once again. Sure, he was now free of Cam’s debt, but unfortunately, found himself in Aster’s grip. And the only way out was to kill an innocent woman. And an innocent life to be. He bit the inside of his cheeks. He didn’t want to do this. And, most importantly, he knew if he did, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself afterward.

Because, just like his father always said, nothing kills a man faster than his own head.

He unzipped the tiny pocket at the front of his overalls and dug for what he knew already awaited him. A key. The key he kept hidden but not forgotten, locking away the retired part of him. Grabbing the key, he inserted it into the glove box of his truck and twisted it. The compartment fell open, revealing his black Glock 19 with an attached suppressor.

He grabbed it, pulled the slide back, loading a bullet in the chamber, and exited his truck. Water splashed against his jeans as he clomped toward the Grimaldi residence. The rain streaked his face like silent tears. The front door was still unlocked.

Emma shot to her feet as he crossed the threshold, surprised by his entrance. “Excuse me.”

Keith ignored her, turned down the narrow hallway, and started toward the study. Emma continued to bark at him as she towed behind him, the squeaking of his boots drowning her out. They were louder this time, a warning to Aster of what was coming.

Keith burst into the study, French doors parting at his entrance. Aster jumped out of his chair, panic flashing across his face. Keith leveled his aim toward Aster whose eyes bulged ever so slightly before Keith fired, sending a bullet through Aster’s head. Blood painted the books behind him as Aster’s face froze in a shock of horror before his knees collapsed and he crumpled back into his chair.

Emma screamed, a primal cry bursting from her throat. “What did you do?” she cried, falling to her knees. “Why?”

Keith grunted, pulled a cigarette from the box, and lit it. He inhaled, blowing smoke through the study, Emma’s cries piercing his ears.

“Just my way of managing the bad.”