BIA Ch. 27

The other person seemed to recognize Isaiah only after approaching him. This was evident because his enthusiastic singing abruptly ceased, replaced by a sneer.

“What, are you working here?”

Gilman chuckled, shoving one hand into his pants pocket.

“How much for a blowjob? Twenty dollars? Thirty dollars? Surely not fifty. I doubt it would be that much even for backdoor action. Hell, I should be the one getting paid, sticking it in that worn-out hole of yours.”

Isaiah pretended not to hear and resumed walking. He deliberately veered slightly to avoid Gilman but Gilman pursued him, grabbing his shoulder and starting an argument.

“Where do you think you’re going, you arrogant prick? Being a whore doesn’t give you the right to be picky about your clients.”

“Let go of me.”

“You filthy whore. I knew you would crawl back to Chester.”

Perhaps due to intoxication, Gilman’s voice grew increasingly louder. He had lost all reason. His eyes were half-glazed, as if insulting Isaiah was his sole purpose in life.

“Don’t make me laugh. Even if Bran becomes the boss, you’re finished. Get ready to become pig feed with Chester, you faggot.”

“Are you a Protestant, by any chance?”

“What?”

Gilman frowned, as if questioning the nonsensical remark.

“What the hell are you talking about, faggot?”

Unfazed, Isaiah removed Gilman’s hand from his shoulder and said,

“Chester’s aunt is waiting for you at the gates of heaven. Hurry up and get there, instead of staying in hell, swarming with homos.”

“You little…”

Thwack! With a dull thud, Gilman’s fist connected with Isaiah’s left cheek. It was a punch as unimpressive as its deliverer but, caught off guard, Isaiah momentarily lost his balance and fell sideways.

“Come here, you whore.”

Gilman grabbed the back of Isaiah’s neck and began dragging him away.

“This faggot thinks he’s a hot shit because his hole sells well. But you know what, asshole? If you’re going to peddle your ass in our territory, you have to pay rent.”

“Fuck… let go of me…”

Isaiah tried to pry Gilman’s arm away but his hand was weak. The moment Gilman seized his neck, a strange dizziness washed over him, followed by a sudden draining of strength and a cold sweat.

“Every other whore pays their dues. Why the hell are you keeping your mouth shut? If you don’t have money, pay with your mouth like the others. I need to taste that worn-out hole of yours first…”

“Gilman.”

A low voice called out from the darkness, followed by footsteps. Despite the considerable distance, the voice carried with a distinct resonance, as if spoken from right beside them.

“You’ve had too much to drink.”

Recognizing the voice, Gilman immediately released Isaiah’s clothes and straightened up.

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re in mourning.”

Bran, having approached them, ignored Isaiah completely and took a step closer to Gilman.

“I’m sorry, Bran. I was…”

“It’s alright.”

Bran nodded as if he understood, draping one arm over Gilman’s shoulder. His other hand slipped inside his jacket. The moment Gilman realized this and tried to pull away, Bran pressed a gun to his chest and fired. Whoosh! With the sound of air rushing out, Gilman collapsed right there, falling to the ground.

“…!”

Isaiah recoiled with a scream as Gilman’s body landed at his feet. Bran, still ignoring Isaiah, spoke softly to Samuel, who stood behind him.

“I told you to keep his mouth shut.”

“… I’m sorry.”

Samuel answered briefly and lifted Gilman, who had collapsed on the floor. As Samuel, carrying Gilman’s body, disappeared into the darkness, Bran finally spoke to Isaiah, who was sitting on the floor, trembling.

“I forgot to explain it earlier but this is a silencer. When you’re shooting a gun in places where you mustn’t be seen, like now, you must use this.”

Bran’s tone of voice was the same as usual as he explained, pointing to the piece of metal attached to his gun barrel. He was as kind and gentle as always. But Isaiah heard nothing. Only the image of Gilman collapsing before his eyes, and his final expression as he lay at Isaiah’s feet with his eyes open, remained seared into his memory.

It was the first time he had seen someone die before his eyes. He had seen people already dead, and he had seen videos of himself killing people, but this was the first time he had actually witnessed someone die in front of him. Of course, it was also the first time he had seen someone kill someone.

But that wasn’t the truly shocking part.

“Isaiah.”

Bran held out a hand. Isaiah flinched a moment later and recoiled.

“Ah…”

Seeing Isaiah’s startled reaction, Bran withdrew his hand. Instead of trying to comfort Isaiah with empty words, he holstered the gun he held in his other hand inside his jacket and said,

“Come back when you’ve calmed down.”

Bran turned away without waiting for Isaiah’s reply. The darkness quickly swallowed the sound of his footsteps, and a deathly silence descended upon the garden. Every gust of wind carried a cloying floral scent. When Isaiah realized the scent was actually the smell of blood clinging to his senses, he shuddered and stood up.

“Where have you been?”

Chester asked, pouring a drink into a glass with ice. His speech was even more slurred than before.

“The garden restroom.”

Isaiah mumbled his reply and slumped into a chair. He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. Chester, about to take a sip of his drink, paused and frowned.

“What’s the matter?”

“Chester.”

Instead of answering, Isaiah spoke softly, his face still hidden in his palms.

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“What?”

Chester laughed, as if Isaiah had said something absurd.

“No, just… While I was practicing shooting, I started thinking about it. Whether I would actually be able to kill someone.”

Isaiah belatedly raised his head and rambled. It was a hastily concocted excuse but fortunately, Chester didn’t seem to find it strange. Instead, he patted Isaiah on the back, speaking in a forgiving tone, as if he understood.

“It’s always like that. Anything is hard the first time. You must have been the same way before you lost your memory. But in the end, you became such a skilled killer, didn’t you?”

It’s okay, killing people is easy, it’s no big deal, you’ll be good at it too. Isaiah sighed and rubbed his forehead at Chester’s earnest encouragement to kill.

“How many people have I killed…?”

“I don’t know. Maybe around a hundred?”

“Chester, I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Chester blinked. As Isaiah stared at him, momentarily speechless, Chester set his glass down on the console table and said.

“I told you. More people have probably died from your gun than from the drugs I’ve sold. So, what difference would a few more make at this point? Don’t think about useless things.”

Isaiah ran both hands over his face. He no longer knew what was more shocking or which was more horrifying. He wondered if there was even any point in trying to rank them anymore.

Suddenly, Isaiah remembered something Chester had said that he wanted to clarify.

“Have you ever killed anyone directly? I mean, not with drugs, but directly, with a gun or a knife yourself?”

“No.”

Chester answered before Isaiah had even finished his question. Then, picking up his glass from the console table, he said casually,

“Isn’t that obvious? Why would I do something so stupid? There are plenty of ways to get away with ordering a hit, but not with doing it yourself. It’s a headache if you get caught. There are tons of guys who will do it for me if I just pay them. Why would I kill someone myself?”

Even if Isaiah couldn’t remember things properly, this was too much. He found himself admiring Chester’s indifference as he confidently said such a thing in front of someone he was paying to carry out his orders.

As if he finally realized his slip-up, Chester quickly swallowed the remaining alcohol in his mouth and said,

“Don’t misunderstand. You’re not like that. You… we’re lovers, and you’re helping me because you love me and want what’s best for me. You know what I mean? Isaiah, so this is…”

“I know what you mean.”

Isaiah cut Chester off.