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Easy Money

March 23, 2009

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.

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2 comments

  1. I remember reading the start of this. I like how it ended. You make the characters so cynical and human and oddly likeable.


  2. Always good to have human and likeable characters. Thanks. :)



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