| Mystery and Crime Flash Fiction posted May 13, 2015 |
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flash fiction 487 words
Honoring Commitments
by michaelcahill
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
I know I'm a target. My wife may be a target as well. Such is the life of a rat. But, I'll ask you, a lifetime in a Federal Prison or a Joe-Smuck-free-to-live-as-a-nobody life in downtown Smucksville?
It was no movie-of-the-week prison either. The Feds hate the inmates. They don't like rats any more than crooks do. Sure, I gave them big cases to feather their caps. But there's a long line of worthy replacements for every stooge I fingered.
I'm Johnny Edwards now. I do construction and my wife Mary's a secretary at the firm. Hell, it's been so long, the suits look enticing to her with their fifty-K-private-office-with-a-view positions. I can't blame her. I'm an overall-wearin', sweaty laborer covered in dry wall dust.
I see a glint up on the ridge. My neck hairs confirm my hunch.
"Honey, I think we've been made. There's a sniper layin' up on Sullivan's Ridge with a bead on our house. The mob ain't stupid. I'm not sayin' the Feds are, but there's an assassin up there and I'll bet he isn't worried about his pension".
"You sure it isn't just a local hunting moose?"
My wife sounds more local every day. "You let a moose lounge on our front porch?"
"Look, you got us here. I'm no happier than you. You're nuthin' but a laborer now, so I'd lose that mobster tone … it don't suit you."
"Yeah, well those suits are catchin' your eye. I used to have those suits in my back pocket. You best be …. "
"Don't threaten me Johnny. They wouldn't bother me except to get to you. No you and I'm home free."
"Sure, sure … abandon me now. Don't forget where you came from, Delores, or should I say Candy Cane. Too bad there ain't no stripper pole down at the Soused Sow, the locals would love to get a look. But I expect it wouldn't have the same effect now you're forty-six."
"You bastard, I'm no forty-six. You best believe I'd get more play than you can imagine. These hicks haven't seen a real woman since Loretta Lynn sang at the county chili cook off."
Johnny instinctively hit the ground. He heard a plaintive groan in the distance. It wasn't human, but close enough to give him the creeps.
"Told you … hunting moose."
Delores froze. A look of confusion shot across her face. The bullet through her neck caused her hand to futilely tend to the wound. She managed to mouth, "Why?" as she slumped to the floor.
"You don't think I know things? What a man will do for ten thousand leaves him open to twenty. What were you gonna do, waltz back to Philly free as a bird? That's rich. Who'd want an old stripper anyway? This was the best you were ever gonna …. "
Johnny reached for his chest. "Bitch".
Delores died smiling.
Assassinate Me A Thriller! writing prompt entry
I know I'm a target. My wife may be a target as well. Such is the life of a rat. But, I'll ask you, a lifetime in a Federal Prison or a Joe-Smuck-free-to-live-as-a-nobody life in downtown Smucksville?
It was no movie-of-the-week prison either. The Feds hate the inmates. They don't like rats any more than crooks do. Sure, I gave them big cases to feather their caps. But there's a long line of worthy replacements for every stooge I fingered.
I'm Johnny Edwards now. I do construction and my wife Mary's a secretary at the firm. Hell, it's been so long, the suits look enticing to her with their fifty-K-private-office-with-a-view positions. I can't blame her. I'm an overall-wearin', sweaty laborer covered in dry wall dust.
I see a glint up on the ridge. My neck hairs confirm my hunch.
"Honey, I think we've been made. There's a sniper layin' up on Sullivan's Ridge with a bead on our house. The mob ain't stupid. I'm not sayin' the Feds are, but there's an assassin up there and I'll bet he isn't worried about his pension".
"You sure it isn't just a local hunting moose?"
My wife sounds more local every day. "You let a moose lounge on our front porch?"
"Look, you got us here. I'm no happier than you. You're nuthin' but a laborer now, so I'd lose that mobster tone … it don't suit you."
"Yeah, well those suits are catchin' your eye. I used to have those suits in my back pocket. You best be …. "
"Don't threaten me Johnny. They wouldn't bother me except to get to you. No you and I'm home free."
"Sure, sure … abandon me now. Don't forget where you came from, Delores, or should I say Candy Cane. Too bad there ain't no stripper pole down at the Soused Sow, the locals would love to get a look. But I expect it wouldn't have the same effect now you're forty-six."
"You bastard, I'm no forty-six. You best believe I'd get more play than you can imagine. These hicks haven't seen a real woman since Loretta Lynn sang at the county chili cook off."
Johnny instinctively hit the ground. He heard a plaintive groan in the distance. It wasn't human, but close enough to give him the creeps.
"Told you … hunting moose."
Delores froze. A look of confusion shot across her face. The bullet through her neck caused her hand to futilely tend to the wound. She managed to mouth, "Why?" as she slumped to the floor.
"You don't think I know things? What a man will do for ten thousand leaves him open to twenty. What were you gonna do, waltz back to Philly free as a bird? That's rich. Who'd want an old stripper anyway? This was the best you were ever gonna …. "
Johnny reached for his chest. "Bitch".
Delores died smiling.
It was no movie-of-the-week prison either. The Feds hate the inmates. They don't like rats any more than crooks do. Sure, I gave them big cases to feather their caps. But there's a long line of worthy replacements for every stooge I fingered.
I'm Johnny Edwards now. I do construction and my wife Mary's a secretary at the firm. Hell, it's been so long, the suits look enticing to her with their fifty-K-private-office-with-a-view positions. I can't blame her. I'm an overall-wearin', sweaty laborer covered in dry wall dust.
I see a glint up on the ridge. My neck hairs confirm my hunch.
"Honey, I think we've been made. There's a sniper layin' up on Sullivan's Ridge with a bead on our house. The mob ain't stupid. I'm not sayin' the Feds are, but there's an assassin up there and I'll bet he isn't worried about his pension".
"You sure it isn't just a local hunting moose?"
My wife sounds more local every day. "You let a moose lounge on our front porch?"
"Look, you got us here. I'm no happier than you. You're nuthin' but a laborer now, so I'd lose that mobster tone … it don't suit you."
"Yeah, well those suits are catchin' your eye. I used to have those suits in my back pocket. You best be …. "
"Don't threaten me Johnny. They wouldn't bother me except to get to you. No you and I'm home free."
"Sure, sure … abandon me now. Don't forget where you came from, Delores, or should I say Candy Cane. Too bad there ain't no stripper pole down at the Soused Sow, the locals would love to get a look. But I expect it wouldn't have the same effect now you're forty-six."
"You bastard, I'm no forty-six. You best believe I'd get more play than you can imagine. These hicks haven't seen a real woman since Loretta Lynn sang at the county chili cook off."
Johnny instinctively hit the ground. He heard a plaintive groan in the distance. It wasn't human, but close enough to give him the creeps.
"Told you … hunting moose."
Delores froze. A look of confusion shot across her face. The bullet through her neck caused her hand to futilely tend to the wound. She managed to mouth, "Why?" as she slumped to the floor.
"You don't think I know things? What a man will do for ten thousand leaves him open to twenty. What were you gonna do, waltz back to Philly free as a bird? That's rich. Who'd want an old stripper anyway? This was the best you were ever gonna …. "
Johnny reached for his chest. "Bitch".
Delores died smiling.
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Writing Prompt In 500 words or less, write a thriller (or/and horror) prose involving an assassin/assassination or hitman/hitwoman. No poetry or script, please. Be creative and have fun! :) |
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