I would usually head home around midnight on school nights, took my shower in the basement, and went to my bed, I nodded off when the phone rang and my mom hollered down to the basement and said it was Joe, I answered, and Joe was upset, rattled, and unsettled, but he told me to come up earlier to clean up the place, and said that some poor guy was murdered in his place with a gun, was shot in the head, and the place was quite messy, I said, “yes Joe, I'll be there at 5:00, no problem.” Joe hung up the phone but by then I was too upset to fall back to sleep, I tossed and turned all night until the alarm clock went off at 5:00.
I lived less than two miles from Joe’s but that ride that morning seemed to take forever, I was scared to enter, I thought blood and brains would be scattered all over the walls, bar, tables, and floor. I always parked in front very close to the door, I got out of the car shaking but gathered myself because I've killed deer, squirrels, and rabbits, so I can handle a little splattered blood, I opened the door with my key and turned on all the lights, and by some miracle, the place was spotless except for the bathrooms and behind the bar, and a few tables, I was immediately relieved and all my stress was over. I cleaned up the rest of the place, mopped the floors, cleaned the urinals, and took out the trash. I double-checked everything and locked the door and headed to school.
I usually checked in at Joe's during the weekdays, but I didn't want to bother because he had too much on his plate to have any loose talk; it's not an everyday event that someone gets shot and killed at your local bar. I cleaned up the bar and met up on Saturday nights and settled up with my pay from Joe and always spent most of my wages there too.
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