It's Not Personal

The mood was expectedly somber. I stood at a corner of the living room, leaning against the wall, taking in the scene. The faces around me wore expressions that fell somewhere in between genuine sadness and pure discomfort. Their movements, languid. Dark colors were the attire du jour. It was a wake after all. 

         “How did you know Edward?”

         I turned in the direction of the voice. “From work," I said.

         “Nice of you to come,” said the man. “He kept to himself these last couple of years. Barely saw him.”  He stuck out a hand.  “I'm Robert Rinella. Edward's father.”

         I shook his hand. “I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Rinella.”

         “Thank you. And, please call me Robert.”

         I nodded.

         “What is it that you do again? As I said, Edward really was out of reach for a while.”

         “Consulting,” I answered, perhaps too quickly. “We help out organizations in trouble. Fix up their finances, rework processes. Things like that.”

         “Interesting,” said the older man, who sported a version of Eddie's face.

         “He was a good guy. My partner--”

         “In crime?”

         I chuckled. “Something like that.”

         The older man smiled and looked in the direction of the crowd. “Edward never had a mean bone in his body. At least, the Edward I knew did not.”

         I said nothing, and simply followed his gaze.

         “It's sad, you know,” he continued. “Parents shouldn't have to outlive their children. Pretty sure that's written somewhere.”

         I kept my eyes on the people milling about the cozy living space, and narrowed in on an older, but strikingly beautiful woman sitting on a wingback chair, her sorrow plainly evident. “I think you're right.”

         “His mother is not taking it well.”

         “It's hard on everybody.”

         “I doubt that.” Mr. Rinella said. “For some people, this-- death-- is normal. Just an everyday thing.”

         I tried not to react. The woman in the chair began sobbing. A young girl tentatively approached, and decided at the last second to just let the woman be. Parents are at their most inconsolable at these times.

         “I know who you are, what you do,” said the elder Rinella. “and, most importantly, for whom.”

         “I--”

         “Save it. Don't worry; I won't make a scene. It won't be in my best interest. Or that of the rest of my family's. Your boss's influence is too far-reaching for me to risk running my mouth.”          

         I faced Eddie's father. “It wasn't personal.”

         He smirked. “See, that's where you people are wrong. In the end, it's always personal. Regardless of how you believe you can compartmentalize things, it's always personal. Maybe not to Edward, because he knew the risks, but it's certainly very personal to those who knew him, those who loved him.”

         “Eddie broke the rules,” I said. “Some very important rules, and I was just doing my job. If I didn't do as I was told--”

         “We'd be having your funeral, too.”

         I said nothing.

         “It is what it is. Is that what you're going to say next? Like that's going to justify everything in the end?”

         He's right, of course. It was what it was when it came to the business I was in. Strange how it sounds like such a cop-out when someone else puts it so plainly.

         “I'm truly sorry,” I said. “Eddie was a good friend.”

         Mr. Rinella turned to look at his weeping wife. “Did Eddie know that when you pointed the gun at his head and pulled the trigger? That's an interesting way to be a friend.”

         “I should go.”

         “Yes, you should.”

         I offered my hand and was not surprised when he didn't offer me his own. I walked toward the door, and saw that it had started to rain. Typical. I headed to my car and thought about my conversation with Eddie's father. All of what he said truly should have bothered me, and it scared me to realize that I felt nothing about the whole situation. Oh, sure, I will miss palling around with Eddie as we went around conducting our business. He somehow made everything fun, despite the suffering we inflicted on our boss's charges who weren't keeping up their end of their respective bargains. We were the muscle, and we were really good at it.

         That was, until Eddie made a crucial mistake. One I couldn't help him fix.

         And now, he's dead.

         It was what it was.

         My phone buzzed, and I read the text from the dispatcher. I had a new task to complete in a few hours. Seemed easy. Well, easy for someone like me.

         “So long, Eddie,” I said, looking back at his parents' house. “See you in the next life.”