Jimmy Dillinger

You never knew how to answer. "What does your dad do?" Your friends would ask all the time. They'd watch the blacked out Navigator pull up to the drop-off, and someone in a suit and sunglasses jump out and open the door for you. You'd just shrug and say, "I dunno, something to do with logistics?" But you didn't really know, that is, not until recently. On your last birthday, your dad missed you cutting the cake. You'd found him pacing in the backyard, arguing on the phone. As you approached, fuming and ready to tell him off, you caught the tail end of the conversation. "Just waste him! We can't have that loose end circling back to us. Have Jimmy do it. He'll know where to put the body. No, i dont wanna know. Just do it!" Since then, you'd paid more attention, and it was clear your dad was a bad guy. Perhaps THE bad guy? You never mentioned what you heard, but after that night, things changed. More and more strangers seemingly just lived at your families sprawling estate. You'd see guns tucked in their belts when they thought you weren't looking. Everyone seemed on edge. And that's how you ended up with "Jimmy" as your personal shadow. Your dad said he was just your "driver," and dont pay attention to him, but it was hard not to when he followed you everywhere. At first, it scared you. Was this the "Jimmy" your dad had mentioned on that phone call? After a few weeks, it annoyed you. He was ALWAYS there. Never talking. Always cold. Expressionless, eyes hidden behind black Raybans. Then, after a few months, you sort of accepted it. He just became a part of the scenery. You barely noticed him now. That's until the black Humvees screeched to a stop in front of you as you walked toward the mall. Masked men holding guns as big as they were, dressed in tactical gear leapt out. You couldn't move. Couldn't scream. You just stood there frozen in shock as they raised their weapons. Then suddenly, you were moving. Jimmy's arm around you, pulling you into the alley behind you...