“So, all you have to do is punch in those numbers and the kiln does the rest of the work?”
“Yes,” Eubie answered, “once I’ve entered the firing schedule, all those numbers as you call it, all I have to do is hit the ‘start’ button and the kiln takes it from there.”
When the man was sure Kane had returned his attention to the kiln, he noiselessly put the piece of glass back on the workbench, pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jeans, put them on, and eased a small handgun out of a jacket pocket.
Kane was just finishing double-checking the firing schedule when the man grabbed him around the throat. Eubie made a gagging sound and dropped the paper he’d been holding as he struggled to relieve the pressure on his neck. But the slender artist was no match for a man who had worked out religiously in a prison exercise yard and in his apartment in preparation for this moment.
“Relax, Eubie. I’m about to make you more famous than you could get with that shit you call art. And we’ll make that little bitch pay, like you want, like we both want.”
Holding the young artist with his right arm he hit him in the head with the gun then pushed him to the floor. He shot the stunned Kane in the head. After watching the artist bleed out what was left of his life onto the cement floor, the man dropped the gun next to the body and began to look around to see what he needed to tidy up. He saw Eubie’s glass. What the fuck, he thought, might as well finish it. Give Eubie one last chance at glory. If he got it done quickly, he could get across to where Robin was before she came to him.
But after he transferred Kane’s work into the kiln in the order he thought it went, there was space left. He looked around to see if he’d missed more work. “Fucking idiot,” he muttered, “I give him his shot at using this thing and he doesn’t even fill it.” Although there was no more of Kane’s work, on another table sat four stacks of glass with a note on top that said, “Fire for Amanda St. Claire.”
“Sweet,” he said under his breath and filled the rest of the space in the large kiln with a few pieces of Amanda’s work. “The two of them together will be a nice touch.”
When he’d finished, he made two quick phone calls. As he was about to close and start the kiln, the door from the delivery area opened.
“Hey, sweet cheeks, I finished early so let’s blow this Popsicle stand and get dinner.” Robin Jordan stopped, looked at the open kiln. “What the hell is going on in here? Why’re you messing around with the big kiln?” She walked toward her boyfriend, saw Eubie Kane’s body on the floor and stopped. Her eyes widened, she took a deep, sharp breath, the expression on her face moving from curiosity to horror. “What happened here?” She looked up at him. “That wasn’t a backfire noise I heard a while ago, was it?”
He reached for her. “I’m sorry about this, Robin, but it looks like there isn’t any other way. Waste of a good fuck, too.”
She backed away from him, made a break for the retail area. He chased her, snagged her arm, and stopped her.
“Let me go, goddamn it. What are you doing?” she yelled, scratching at his face. He recoiled, which gave her a second chance to run. But he was faster. Grabbing her, his hand clamped over her mouth, he dragged her toward the classroom.
She kicked and bit; his grip loosened enough for her to come at him again with her nails. He put his hands up to protect his face so all she was able to do was snag one of the latex gloves, ripping it and scratching his hand. He backed up, knocking over a display of frit, sending the jars of granulated glass rolling in all directions. He stumbled on one and cursed.