Dragan Živković’s First Day On The Job by Jake Boyle

Dragan Živković’s First Day On The Job by Jake Boyle

The frustrated fly dodged a succession of swatting hands before safely landing undisturbed on the hulking frame of Dragan Živković. The fly waited apprehensively for its host to make some form of protest at its presence but, when none came, settled comfortably on the large man’s shoulder. The heat blaring down from the midday sun was as oppressive to flies as it was to the collection of travelers crowded together on the uncovered train platform. They fidgeted and fanned themselves and tried to beat the heat by complaining about it incessantly, but nothing could assuage the August heatwave. Dragan, however, neither complained nor moved. He was a head taller than anyone else in the crowd and wore a black polyester suit buttoned shut over a starch white shirt. He showed no sign of distress save the single bead of sweat traveling lazily down his red right cheek.

Dragan Živković’s eyes stared blankly forward, fixated on some distant point on the other side of the tracks. When the train arrived and everyone else on the platform, including the fly on his shoulder, surged desperately into one of the air-conditioned train cars, he stood statuesque. A handful of passengers exited the train but none of them were 5 foot 4 men weighing roughly 140 pounds with a long blonde mullet and wispy mustache. This had been the third train to stop through the station and yet no one matching that description had appeared. When the train finally streamed away, Dragan scanned the platform. It was empty besides a few discarded beverages and a scattering of flyers calling for solidarity with the hotel worker’s union. He cursed quietly in his native Serbian and began lumbering towards the exit. He could feel the gun resting in its holster against his chest and wondered if he would ever be forced to use it.

He ambled down the steel staircase and clomped through the station towards Milwaukee Avenue. The station attendant, a middle-aged woman wearing an ill-fitting weave, noted him walking towards the exit.

“Excuse me, sir,” she called after him. “Did you have trouble finding your train?”

Dragan didn’t break his stride. “None of them came in my size!”

The attendant furrowed her brow, shook her head and sat back down in her chair.

Dragan stepped out onto the street and tried to figure out what he was supposed to do next. The tracks above his head gave him a brief respite from the sun but the heat hung in the humid air and bounced off the asphalt. There was no escaping it. He thought about heading home to wait for further instructions from the comfort of his own couch when he heard a whistle. He looked across the street to see Vlado’s pock-marked rodent face staring at him through the open window of a beat up green sedan. Dragan jogged over.

“Our friend Tanner took the day off work,” Vlado explained. “We’ve been told to go visit him at home.”

Dragan nodded and walked around the car to let himself into the front passenger side door. He plopped into the stained cloth seat and kicked the trash on the floor around to make room for his size 16 shoes.

“Did anybody notice you?” Vlado asked.

Dragan thought about the station attendant. He decided not to mention her. He gestured at his giant body, instead. “Everyone notices me.”

Vlado looked Dragan up and down. “Why are you wearing that suit in this heat?”

“First day on the job,” Dragan explained. “Dress to impress!”

Vlado shook his head and started up the car. It took a second to sputter to life then zoomed up the block. They weaved their way up town, dodging mid-morning traffic and a litany of construction zones. They passed a gaggle of protesters banging drums and chanting around a giant inflatable rat and Vlado sneered and cursed at them. Dragan jerked a finger at the rat.

“That tall one looks like you,” he said with a smirk.

“Odjebi,” Vlado replied. Fuck off. Dragan laughed.

They parked on a street on the far north side just across from an elementary school. The rest of the street was lined with red brick apartment buildings and small single family homes. Dragan tried to give himself more leg room with the bar under the seat but it was stuck and would not budge.

“This is a shit car,” he remarked.

 Vlado got an uncomfortable look on his face. “This is my brother’s car. My girlfriend is borrowing my Range Rover.”

Dragan nodded and smiled inwardly. He knew Vlado had neither a Range Rover nor a girlfriend. He stared out the window and watched the school kids playing. They didn’t seem bothered by the heat in the slightest. Dragan thought that Vlado and he had been about the same age as these children when they first met back in Serbia. Vlado had changed very little in the intervening years years; he had remained as shifty and untrustworthy as he had been back then. Now he had found someone to pay him for being that way. Dragan did not care for him much, but when he’d been unexpectedly laid off from his job, Vlado had reached out and offered him work. Dragan hadn’t wanted to come work for Vlado’s bosses but had no other options. These were very dangerous people. He couldn’t imagine what would lead someone to steal money from them. Whoever this Tanner character was, he thought, he must be very stupid. Dragan adjusted the gun in his holster. It had begun to dig into his chest.

“There he is,” Vlado said, getting out of the car and walking down the block. Dragan followed. Tanner was standing fifty yards down the sidewalk looking pale and uncertain. He was a twig of a man in his mid-twenties with a wispy mustache and shaggy blond hair. He did not look like a thief. He looked like a scared little kid. He’s right to be scared, thought Dragan.

“Hello there, Tanner,” Vlado called out when they were a few paces away. Tanner, startled, took one look at the two men approaching him and bolted the other way. Vlado cursed and reached for his gun but Dragan grabbed his arm. He nodded over at the kids playing in the school yard and Vlado reluctantly pulled his hand away. Dragan turned and took off running after the scared, skinny man.

Dragan Živković walked slowly but ran fast. His long legs moved with fluidity and assurance, while Tanner sped along like a jittery vole. The smaller man cut down an alley and Dragan followed, loping closer with each step. They emerged onto an empty residential street. Tanner looked back and tripped over his feet. He collapsed onto the pavement with a yelp. Dragan caught up to him and picked him up. Tanner was red cheeked and panting, his face beaded with sweat.

“Please,” Tanner begged, “please just let me go.”

Dragan smiled and shook his head. “My boss just wants to talk to you.”

Snot began to pour down Tanner’s face as he started to weep. “Please, if you’re not going to let me go then just shoot me.”

Dragan took out a tissue from his inner pocket and wiped the other man’s face clean. “No one is going to shoot anyone. My boss is a very nice man, he just wants to talk to you.”

“If you believe that, then you don’t know your boss very well.”

“You know this about my boss and still you take money from him?” Dragan shook his head. “You are a very bad thief.”

Tanner looked at him in disbelief. “They told you I was a thief?” He shook his head. “I’m not a thief. I’m a union organizer and journalist. Your boss is a silent partner in a bunch of downtown hotels. They’ve been on strike for a month and it’s cost him a lot of money.”

Despite the heat, Dragan suddenly felt very cold. He had been told that this kid had taken a bunch of money from the organization. No one had said anything about unions or strikes or hotels. Vlado’s car rounded the street and headed their way.

“Please, just let me go,” Tanner cried. “I’ll quit the union, I won’t publish another article, I’ll leave town, please, I’ll do anything.”

Vlado pulled up alongside them. “Get him in the car,” he barked at Dragan in Serbian. Dragan stood unmoving. He felt his grip on Tanner’s arm slowly loosening. “Now!” Vlado growled. Dragan sighed and forced Tanner into the backseat of the car. He sat down beside him, the front passenger seat smashing his legs into his body. Vlado slowly drove them all away.

They drove cautiously through the city, the car’s air-conditioning unit doing a poor job of keeping them all cool. They traveled mostly in silence. At one point they came to a stop and Tanner began to weep.

“Please, just shoot me,” he begged.

“I was going to shoot you,” Vlado answered. “But my friend here would not let me. Whatever happens to you next, you can thank him for that.”

Tanner burst into tears. Vlado put on music and sang loudly in Serbian to drown out Tanner’s crying. Dragan stared out the window and wished he were anywhere else.

They parked the car in the alley behind a nightclub. Vlado stepped out of the car and motioned for Dragan to follow. He stepped out first and then gently helped Tanner out of the car. Vlado led them through a backdoor that was guarded by a man nearly as large as Dragan and down a long hallway out onto the club floor. It was empty besides an old fat man in a maroon velour jumpsuit smoking a cigar in one of the booths and two muscular men in black t-shirts standing next to the table.

“Well look what we have here,” the old man remarked when he saw them. “If it isn’t the great friend of the working man. Bring him to me, I want to see him.”

Dragan obediently led Tanner over to the booth. The old man reached out to shake his hand. When Tanner didn’t offer his hand in return, the old man grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him closer. He began to touch and examine Tanner’s hand.

“Such soft hands,” he observed. “Why is it that these union people have such soft hands? It’s almost like they know nothing of what it means to actually work?” He laughed and then turned his attention to Dragan and Vlado. “Unlike you two. This was very good work. Vlado, I assume this is our new worker?”

Vlado nodded. “Dragan is the reason we could bring this creature to you alive.”

The old man nodded approvingly. “Very impressive. And he knows how to dress himself. He puts even me to shame! Next time you see me, Dragan, we will both have on brand new suits. My treat. Now, you boys take the rest of the day off. We will take care of our soft-handed friend from here.”

Vlado turned to leave but Dragan hovered for a moment in uncertainty. He looked down at Tanner whose head had slumped down all the way to his chest. He had stopped crying and was instead shuddering uncontrollably. Dragan looked up and opened his mouth to say something to the old man but felt a tug at his arm. He turned to look and saw Vlado urging him to leave with his eyes. Reluctantly, he followed.

Dragan Živković stepped out into the back alley and felt the summer heat consume him and the gun digging into his chest. A fly flew from a nearby dumpster and began to hover in front of his face. He gently brushed it out of the way, sending it flying towards Vlado. Vlado reached his two hands into the air and slapped them together over the fly. It fell to the ground, dead.

* * * * THE END * * * * *
Copyright Jake Boyle 2025