Ride

Every bump echoed in my bones as I bounced around the trunk of the car. I’d given up trying to keep track of where they might be taking me. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t matter. This wasn’t the kind of discussion that tended to end well.

Really, I should have known better then to try and skim off the top from them. Or at least done a better job of covering my tracks. Or maybe at least run a little faster when the scarry men in suits showed up to take me for a ride.

I pounded at the trunk lid and screamed a little more for good measure as the car slowed, but it jumped back up to speed without anyone seeming to notice.

Well, maybe it would at least be quick. I don’t know the guys driving, but they deffinetly had guns. Guns are pretty quick.

Whoa. What’s with the crazy driving all of the sudden? Maybe someone actually did hear me? Maybe the police are after them. I mean, I don’t hear any sirens, but we are really going awefully fast.

And there went my stomach. I don’t think we’re on the road anymore. The angle is all wrong. Oh god.

Everything hurts. I can’t move my right arm. But I can see a little light creeping in. Maybe if I shove a bit… yes! I’m out of the trunk. I’m bleeding quite a bit, but I’m out.

We drove off a cliff. Not a very big cliff maybe, but enough that I’m not quite sure how I’m even able to stand up. If I somehow live through this, I’m taking the money I’ve got and disapearing. I swear to god.

Now, what about the goons. Just lean in the window and… oh god. Oh wow. That… that isn’t pretty. Somebody shot them. While they were driving. And there are lights coming to the edge of the road.

I think maybe someone is outlined up there. But my head is feeling pretty fuzzy. Who would shoot them like that? Oh man. If I wasn’t dead before…

“Hang on down there, I’ve already called an ambulance,” shouts down the figure.

I blink and collapse, sitting back hard against the car. I think I’m going to have to join a church after tonight.

Off Night

Last song of the night closes with a bare smattering of applause and Suzy exits in a bit of a huff. Me? I tuck the lid closed on my piano and make my way for the bar to weasle one last free drink before everyone is tossed out for the night.

A whiskey sour in my gut and a handful of tips in my pocket, I need some fun before I need some sleep. Even at this hour, Carson Street has plenty of action. The first girl in my price range (cheap, for the record) takes me to the local pay-by-the-hour joint.

We both leave feeling unsatisfied with the transaction.

The last couple of dollars go for a new pack of smokes on the way home. I’m tucking the third to last cigerette from the back between my lips when I round last corner before my building. I pause at the steps and dig out my lighter and try to coax one last bit of flame from the cheap piece of plastic.

A couple dozen sprays of spark and I finally toss it off into the street and pull out keys and head inside, cigerette still tucked in my mouth, waiting for the book of matches upstairs. The apartment door itself is unlocked, which seems wrong, but I was running late so I don’t concern myself much.

But three steps in, a few things click. Suzy is framed in the neon glow creeping in my window, smoking. I can’t see her expression in the backlight, but I can see she isn’t wearing much. I close the door quickly and clear my throat.

“So. Been a long time since you stopped by,” I say.

“Do you really want to waste my time with talk?” she asks.

I don’t. I cross the room toward her, tossing aside my jacket and start unbuttoning my pants when the whole world seems to lurch sideways and I find myself on the ground. I try and say something, but my mouth doesn’t seem to work right. In fact, my whole body suddenly feels cold and numb.

Then I see the boot stepping over me and a vague dark figure leaning over me. His voice is rough and not one I recognize. “Tub filled?”

“Just like you asked,” she says.

He grunts a bit and my view tumbles as  I’m suddenly flung up onto his shoulder. I want to plead and beg and try to understand. The best I manage is a slight gurgling noise.

Suzy follows and pats my cheek once in the bathroom door before turning away. “Bye, Larry. Your music is shit.”

And I’m in the tub, my head under water. I can’t thrash or scream. I can’t even blink as the wavy figure of a man lifts tosses something toward me. I see him turning to leave before my muscles jerk back to life with one last searing jolt of pain.

Easy Money

Easy money, he said. But that’s Sammy for you. Everything was always easy. Easy money, easy girls, easy street. That was also probably the first indication that I should have stayed home and fixed that damn squeaking cabinet. Instead, I find myself standing on a ledge, fifteen stories up with Sammy’s brains dripping off my shirt.

Really, I like easy. In fact, I don’t generally take a job that doesn’t involve very simple instructions. Typically involving some guy’s knee-caps. I’m the best in the business at knee-caps. And this seemed simple enough. Kick down a door, shake the old-man down, deliver the money and get paid. I guess no-one told Sammy the old-man slept with a 12-gauge under his pillow.

Sirens. That’s just great. All I need, Sammy’s brains on my shirt and a trip to jail. Assuming the old-man stays inside. He looked like he might follow me out at first. And what the hell ever happened to buildings with fire-escapes? A window used to be a perfectly safe way to get out of a room with a shotgun wielding maniac. Now? A fifteen-story drop.

But maybe… maybe I could make it over to the building next door. I can look down on the roof from here. And that building has a proper god-damn fire escape.  Hell, Sammy’s dead enough to take the fall for this thing. Just brace myself back against the window, take a deep breath, and jump.

Holy shit! That, that is my feet on the very edge of the roof. Just shift my balance forward a bit. Steady. Steady.

Shit. I hope I at least land on the old bastard’s car.

Slow Leak

There is a particular quiet at night, when you are laying in bed alone. It’s the sort of quiet that really drives home the stupid mistakes of a day. The missed chances to fill the emptiness with the comforting sounds of a woman’s breath. Funny, how much this reminds me of it. Laying here, blood seeping through my fingers. A warm contrast to the cold .38 special in my right hand. I’m pretty sure that I am dieing, and all I can think is that I shouldn’t have snapped at her at lunch when she was worried about me. Worried I might be too old for this. Too slow. Well, the dead man across the ally would be pretty good evidence to the contrary, if I wasn’t slowly bleading out. A lucky shot, really. Snapped off as the guy fell. He was dead before he hit the ground. Not like this slow bleader I have. Shit. If I could just find the energy to stand, maybe I could find help.

But no, all I can do is sit here and think of the hurt in her eyes just before she turned to leave. That and wish for one last cigerette. A man should have the luxury of dieing with a good smoke. Especially since you can’t have a smoke anywhere else these days. My own damn office building is a no smoking zone these days. Who ever heard of a P.I. not smoking in his own office? Then, who ever heard of a P.I. getting himself shot to death over a nothing case. No big mystery. No master criminal. Just a bunch of stupid kids getting another stupid kid in over his head.

It’s getting harder to keep pressure on the wound. I try to focus my attention back to the moment and I hear sirens in the distance. Are they paramedic sirens? I might have a chance if they are. If they are even headed my way. Knowing my luck it’ll be some damn cop trying to make it to Burger King before it closes.

And there is her back, walking out the door. Another stupid mistake. Another chance, blown all to hell over my ego. “I’m sorry,” and my eyes fall closed. Nobody to hear it.

The sirens might be getting closer. It doesn’t matter anymore. Things are out of my hands now. I sigh and fall into that light reflecting off her earing just before the door closed.