What happens but twenty minutes before the shut off for getting my story in, I have a glimpse of a tale involving crime and guns. I decided to write it and even though I won't be considered for the book, I would have challenged myself to write something I normally wouldn't. We'll call it an exercise in crime, or futility. Whatever.
The story follows, and I hope you enjoy. It's short and to the point, and it just may be a little too predictable, but please take it for what it is: a fun little foray into crime and guns on a Friday afternoon.
Who's Got the Money?
“For fuck’s sake, you could have gotten us killed!”
Bob used the butt of his gun to whack Toby up the side of his head. A dull thud resulted.
“B-buh ma gun jambed,” said Toby, holding his head.
“Ma gun jambed,” Bob mocked. “You’re a fucking idiot. You’re lucky I don’t use the other end on you.” Bob panted his words out in choppy syllables as they sat in the darkened room.
“Th-thorry, d-don fweak out.”
“Freak out? FREAK OUT???” Again with the gun and thud. This time Toby cried out and started to whimper. “Where’s Angel? She should have been here by now.”
Their backs were pressed up against a metal shelving unit, which dug into their flesh with each movement. This didn’t really matter. What did matter was that the duffel bag was beside them, cash in hand, so to speak.
“You th-th, th-think we’re thafe?” asked Toby softly.
“What are they going to do? Run after us on their bloody stubs?” Bob snorted.
“Angel was going to take care of anybody that was left. You do remember the plan, right shithead? And I don’t doubt that she had a bit of fun while doing it.” Bob sniffed.
“What now, you stupid twit. Now we wait. Angel will be back soon. When she gets here, the plan sticks. We leave. That’s it,” he continued. “We’re done. No one left to come after us, and we celebrate. “
Bob hopped up and walked to the end of the shelves, ducking down and looking around the corner.
After a moment’s pause, he shuffled back, low to the ground.
Toby rubbed his aching head.
Bob sat down next to Toby, closer this time, and started fidgeting. “Listen, there’s something you and me need to talk about. It’s Angel. I don’t think we can trust her.”
Toby stopped rubbing and looked straight ahead.
“Sal said she was dirty. I’m talking real bad. Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my days wondering if she’s going to come and get me, do you?”
Toby sat still.
Bob was fidgeting more, shifting, and making a small sniffing sound, messing with his nose.
“The way I see it, we need to take care of this problem. Tonight.”
Bob pulled another gun from his pocket and handed it to Toby.
“Here, use this. Just make sure you get a clear shot, and don’t let her suffer. She may be a bad egg, but she was good to us once.”
The gun sat in Toby’s limp hand. He could feel the sweat from Bob’s hand on it. It felt greasy.
“Don’t say a word, and I will try to get her so you can have a clear shot. Just don’t hit me, ok?”
“OK?” Bob nearly yelled, his voice echoing in the empty room.
A moment passed with nothing, and Toby still sat with the gun in his hand.
Bob lifted his hand to strike Toby in the head again, when there was the small sound of a bullet passing through a silencer.
Bob made a stifled grunt and fell sideways onto Toby, his blood and brains oozing from the hole in his forehead. Some of the mess was on Toby’s legs.
Angel slid around the corner, putting her gun away as she walked.
Toby shoved him away, and stood shaking his legs to rid himself of the gore.
“You did good, Toby,” she purred as she walked up to him and ran her hands through his hair. “Now it’s just me and you. I will take care of you.”
Angel bent down to grab the duffel bag.
“We need to get out of here before the cops come. I took care of the leftovers. The DeLoache’s are all gone.”
Angel stepped forward to Toby, running her fingertips over his cheek. She pulled his face to hers and started to kiss him.
The shot was loud, ringing off the walls.
Toby pulled the duffel bag from her hand.
“No, bitch, the DeLoache’s are still here.”