Short stories, Flash fiction, and Novel Excerpts

The Mark of Cain 2

In Writing on December 11, 2009 at 1:06 am

By:  Ben Pollard

He tapped his chest, wincing, “Kevlar,” he explained.  “No use against a high-powered rifle, but great for stopping small arms fire,” he said while struggling to his feet.  I grabbed his arm holding him steady.

“No good for head shots either,” I said

“This?  Nah, just a scratch.  Scalp wound always bleeds heavy,” he said. 

Hearing distant sirens I said, “We gotta get outta here.”

Cimare bobbed his head, “Yeah, cops’ll be here in a bit.”

“Umm, we can’t just walk out as we are.  And I don’t have a car,” I said.

Cimare thumbed toward the door, “I gotta car in the next alley down.  We’ll be seen, but it can’t be helped.” 

I ducked under his arm but he pulled away stumbling.

“No ma’am can’t be having that,” he said. 

Fists on hips I said, “Why?  You can barely stand.” 

He quirked an eyebrow at me, “Our blood can’t mingle, not that I’d mind, but your father’d kill me.” 

Suitably chastised I said nothing, just waved a hand signaling for him to lead.

We didn’t see anyone on the street as we made our way to the alley.  Cimare’s black Town car sat at the end of the alley.  Blood, dried black, flaked over the leather seats.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” I said.  The man had helped me out of a tight spot and now I ruin his upholstery. 

“Not the first time.  Gotta guy does a real good job.  No questions,” he said shrugging. 

Did nothing bother this guy? 

“You’re awfully nonchalant about all this aren’t you?”  I accused, trying to get more of a reaction than a shrug.  I failed as he shrugged again. 

“Don’t get me wrong, if this happened tomorrow, I’d be pissed.  That’s my day off.”  Cimare continued as he started the car and pulled out onto the street.  “Today though?  I’m getten paid.  Your dad’s libble to give me a hefty bonus for pull’n your chestnuts off the fire.  Maybe even gimme some extra PTO time.  You mind putt’n a good word in for me?” he asked. 

He had to be insane.

“Umm, I don’t think that’ll be a good idea,” I said looking at my reflection in the window.  “You know the guy I came in here with,” Cimare nodded, “Well, I was supposed to guard him, not kill him,” I looked back at Cimare’s blood encrusted face.  “Dad might not take it out on you, but any word from me wouldn’t be in your favor.”

“Ah, it might not be so bad,” he said.

Perking up I asked, “You really think so?”

I saw him glance at me from the corner of his eye. 

‘Nah, your dad’s gonna flip his shit.  Your probably right, forget I asked,” he said.

I slouched down in my seat and stared out the window.

What was I going to do now?

I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have. –Thomas Jefferson


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