#glasgov

he could run. try to disappear. but he wouldn't.

he could avoid it until they came to get him. it'd be past due by then, he'd have no chance for mercy.

so instead, brutus was going to walk up to the godfather of the mob directly, on the day his payment was due.

the waiting was torture. glasgov was a busy man. he sat in the foyer of a lovely little house, the walls baby blue and beautifully decorated. it smelled like fresh linen. No one else was there.

he thought about what he would say. he tried not to think about what it'd feel like if he failed. if it happens, it happens. it's not something you can be prepared for. his gaze moved to the trinkets on the shelves as he kept practicing what he would say. maybe he should've written it down and memorized it beforehand.

he was lost in thought when someone came to get him. brutus recognized him; he'd been beaten by him once. tied to a punching bag. he'd had a twisted front tooth.

"you look good," brutus said to him, quietly as if not to disturb the unnatural silence in the room. the kid squinted at him. it's not common etiquette to be polite to your executioner, after all.

glasgov spent much of his working hours in a concrete basement underground. it was cold and dark, the walls were bare. brutus was already playing the scenario in his mind as the kid, who felt nearly twice brutus' height, bent down to open a cellar door.

"watch your head," he said. brutus didn't need to watch his head.

there was a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. it was always funny to him, the way the lighting made you feel like you were in danger.

glasgov was seated in a perfectly manicured black leather chair, with heavy-soled boots to match. brutus stood in front of him like a peasant at the throne of a king, feeling bitterly amused by the image.

"i can't afford to pay you."

glasgov cocked an eyebrow.

"you know what i do next, yes?" he asked in his russian accent, which had come to be associated with nothing but fear.

"yes," brutus stated. "th-that's why i'm here. to beg for mercy."

"okay." he shifted his weight in his seat. "beg."

brutus fell to his knees, ignoring the pain from the impact, knowing it would be much worse if this failed.

"I've been loyal to you for years. You've invested money into me that I can keep paying back if you let me. I accept punishment without argument, I-I have a reputation for it. And I'll..." he took a breath, fear and stomach acid bubbling in his throat, "I'll accept this one too. But... if you give me another chance, I-I promise it'll be worth it. I'm good at my job, I'm loyal, I'm just... broke."

no sign of life.

glasgov kept staring. brutus fought the urge to keep talking.

finally, he shifted again, motioning someone over. he always had several people around him.

glasgov whispered something in russian. with the way the man perked, brutus knew it was over. he said something in turn to the kid behind him, who came toward him.

"no," he whispered to himself, as his arms were pulled behind him.

his body was pulled, almost lifted onto a folding chair, arms held firmly behind him. he jerked against the hold once, out of instinct, before looking up and seeing another man approaching with a metal bat.