Dante walked the hospital corridor with a small bottle of tequila under his arm. He entered a room at the far end and found a frail man on the bed connected to a mess of pipes and cables.

That man was Papa Leon.

"Ah," he said, "hello old friend."

"Hello." replied Dante.

Papa Leon scoffed, "I was talking to the tequila." he said. Dante laughed.

"I had it sent in from Mexico." he said, handing him the bottle.

"Reposado." noted Papa Leon, "you remember how I like it. You haven't seen me for so long since I retired, I thought you forgot all about me."

"Of course not." said Dante.

"How is my replacement doing? Is he good?"

"He's young. Sometimes his temper gets the better of him."

"It takes a man like you to call a fifty year old man young." said Papa Leon, "but I suppose we all seem like children to you."

He opened the bottle and lets it rest for a few minutes. Then he takes a big, indulgent gulp.

"Beautiful." he said.

Dante pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. Papa Leon handed him the bottle and Dante took a swig.

"You know, some years ago, I went to an auction." Papa Leon began, "for no reason. Just that I had more money than I knew what to do with so I thought, why not?"

"Of course."

"And you know, there was a painting that they were auctioning. Very old painting, from the 1500s, painted by someone called Agnolo Bronzino. It was of a young man wearing black, with pale hair under a cap. Do you know it? The painting?"

"Sure." said Dante, taking another swig from the bottle. He swallowed and smiled, knowing the question that was to come.

"I was wondering," said Papa Leon, "the man wearing black, was it you?"

"Yes." said Dante, and he passed the bottle back to Papa Leon.

"Dios mio." uttered the old man.

"Did you buy the painting?"

"It's hanging in my house right now. I wanted to have you come see it, but all this cancer business--" he paused. Papa Leon put the bottle of tequila to his lips and emptied it.

"It's too late for me. I have missed the chance for a miracle to happen." he said, "I will not beat this cancer. I'm too tired."

He lets out a long sigh.

"I should have let you kill me with that knife all those years ago." said Papa Leon, "at least that would have been better than this."

"Are you in pain?" asked Dante.

"Always in pain, Dante. Always, all the time." he said, his voice cracking.

He grabbed Dante's arm and pulled him close.

"Dante," he whimpered, "please, kill me."

"What?"

"Death is taking his time, I can't wait for him, Dante. I can't stand this pain anymore. I want to be done. I want to go."

He squeezed Dante's arm.

"Por favor." he said, almost in tears.

Dante took pity on the old man. They had wrung him dry in chemotherapy. He looked a million years old.

"Not here." said Dante, "I'll talk to the doctors and have you discharged."

Papa Leon came home from the hospital that night. He went on Dante's black Lamborghini, and Dante drove fast.

Otto, Papa Leon's butler, greeted them. As it always was with Otto, nothing needed to be explained. He always knows.

"I shall prepare the gun." he said.

Dante carried Papa Leon up the spiralling marble staircase in the center of the hall of his home. The old man barely weighed anything, chemo had devoured everything but his soul.

Dante went up the steps carefully, cradling the frail man as if he were an infant.

At the last step, Dante paused. A painting on the mezzanine stared back at him. It was like looking in the mirror.

"There you are." said Papa Leon, "and nothing has changed other than your hair."

"I look a little older now."

"Just the experience in your eyes. Everything else has remained the same." the old man smiled at the portrait, "please take it with you, as a parting gift."

They passed the painting and went inside the master bedroom where Dante laid him out on the bed. Papa Leon was still wearing a hospital gown.

"You can't go wearing this." said Dante. He went inside Papa Leon's closet and picked out his best suit. Armani, silk.

"I can dress myself." said Papa Leon. He did it with great difficulty, but he did it himself. His last show of pride.

Otto arrived carrying a silver tray. On it, was a fully loaded revolver with a carved ivory handle. Dante takes the gun. The butler turns to leave the room, but Papa Leon stops him.

"No, you stay." he said, "you are family to me." Otto obliged. He closed the doors and stood beside the bed.

"They will have a hero's welcome for me in hell." said Papa Leon, "the devil will ask me all about you."

"What will you tell him?" said Dante, cocking the gun.

"I'll tell him that he's gonna be out of a job once you get to hell." laughed Papa Leon. He closed his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Dante points the gun to Papa Leon's forehead. "See you there, Papa."

Bang.

Otto flinched as blood sprayed in all directions. Dante puts the gun down on the nightstand and sits on the floor. The two men left space for a moment of a silence.

"I'll help you clean up." Dante said to the butler.

They wrapped Papa Leon with the sheets he laid on and buried him in the back garden. Otto planted seeds of an orange tree in the mound.

"When the tree grows, it will be his tombstone." he said.

They went back into the house and wiped every bit of blood from everywhere in the master bedroom. They used a special solution so that no amount of luminol will reveal any traces. After an hour, everything was clean. As if nothing ever happened.

"Would you like some supper, sir?" asked Otto as they were finishing up.

"It's a lot closer to breakfast than it is to supper, Otto."

"Some breakfast, then?"

"Yeah okay."

Dante went with him to the kitchen and sat down at a small table by the window.

"Wouldn't you rather sit at the dining room, sir?" asked the butler.

"Nah," replied Dante, lighting a cigarette, "here is fine."

Otto prepared a full breakfast spread of toast, yogurt, granola, a massive fruit platter, and an intimidating amount of huevos rancheros as centerpiece.

"Otto, I am one person." Dante gasped upon seeing the spread.

"It is better to have leftovers than an unsatisfied guest." said Otto, pouring him some coffee.

With some trepidation, Dante began to eat.

"Master Dante," called Otto suddenly. Dante looked up.

"Forgive me for being so bold," he began, "but with Papa Leon's passing, I--I have no place to go and, well frankly, no one to turn to."

Dante nodded and thought for a bit. Then he shrugged. "I suppose I could use a butler."

And immediately, Otto's face lit up.

"But as my butler," Dante added, "please portion meals accordingly."

"Understood, sir."