chapter 5

He settled back down in Seattle, in a smoky little club where he would play piano for a living. It was a nice living, he had another dingy place off of Washington Street, even more connections, he had lost track of how many times he had done this. The club itself was a dark place where smoke moved with the rhythm of his fingers, it seemed more like a lounge to him. He never really considered himself a musician, but every night people would compliment his intricacies, the way he moved effortlessly from melody to melody as if it were an extension of his own heart and soul.
He made a healthy sum for the musical accompaniment, about a thousand every two weeks. He didn’t really have anything to spend it on; the places he frequented didn’t need money. So mainly he just spent it on food which he gave to the homeless, you know, quid pro quo. He had connections in the strangest of places.
One day, while playing at the club, a man came up to him, he seemed to have something important to say so he halted his playing. “You play very well, Sid, I never knew” “thank you, and you are?” “The name is john smith. Let’s keep it at that” they shook hands. “I have a job for you, Sid, I know what you really are” Sid made an audible sigh “alright, who do you want dead” “a man named David Hastings” the man said plainly “any preferred methods?””No, just make him dead. You will be rewarded handsomely” “fine I’ll do it””meet me on the narrows when the deed is done” the man said then walked out of the door.
By the time work was over, it was pitch black outside and he thought of who he could inquire about his mark. He knew a guy who usually hung around the art museum at this hour. He was a giggling stoner sure, but he knew what’s what in this town. His name was Chris, him and Sid had been friends for a while, and was the reason he knew the goings on in town. Once he got over to the art museum he saw chris with a blunt in his mouth.