Bullet

“What’s the time?”

“About 20 seconds until midnight,” I yell back.  “You packin’?”

“Yeah, my nine,” He says, “one clip.”

“Christ!  I got my .45.  How far back are they?”

“Last time I checked they were right on our asses.  That was a ways back.  We may have lost them back in that alley.”

“God, we could really use some wheels about now.  Common, I know a place just a few blocks up.”

“I’m really tired man, can we just rest for one sec.”

“We don’t have one sec!  We stop, we die!  Keep running!” 

We run down a couple more blocks and I turn the corner, he follows close behind.  The door at the end of this alley has always been open for our kind, the heart and soul of this city. 

We reach the door and I bang on it furiously.  From behind the metal barrier of the only place I consider home as of now, a voice answers, “Hello?”

“Marty!  You got to let us in!  We’re in real big!  Open the door, please!”

“Andy?  That you?”

“Marty!  For God’s sake, open the door!” 

The door swings open and me and the shadow following rush in.  “Who’s the kid?”  Marty asks.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Hm, looks like a real shrimp,” Marty says.

“Yeah, well this shrimp just made a lot of motion in the ocean tonight.  Can I get a scotch, and, uh, whatever the kid wants.”  The kid says he’s fine.  “Carrie off tonight?”

"Called in sick, said somethin' about monthly cramps,"  Marty replies from behind the bar.

We head for a booth in the back.  There’s not many people here tonight, in fact, there’s no one.  Strange, this place is never packed but it’s never looked so dead before either.  I then spot a few people out of the corner of my eye sitting with their backs to us.

I try to strike up a conversation with the kid sitting across from me.  “So, what’s your name?”

“Jason.”

“Well, Jason, you look pretty young to be in this line of work.  How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

Marty walks up to our booth.  “Here ya go, Andy.  Enjoy.”
I thank him and he walks back to the bar. “So what, about twenty?  Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two,” he replies.

“Well, Jason.  I don’t know if you know this, but a lot of people want us dead and I don’t know what the hell for.”  I take a few sips of my drink, which is the best thing I’ve tasted since Carrie's lips in this very same spot only the night before.  “So if you have any ideas, why don’t you just go ahead and spit them out, and while you’re at it, tell me why I’ve been plugged into the equation.”  I lounge back in my seat and stretch out my arms.  I’ve got to get a better shampoo.  The one I'm using is making my scalp too dry, I’ve been itching my head all day, it really gets annoying.

I’m feeling kind of drowsy.  Maybe it’s the alcohol.  Or maybe it’s cause this kid’s not spilling any words, and it’s boring me.  I’m fixing to ditch this kid.  He’s old enough to look after himself.  Whatever happens to him, well, that’s not my problem. 

Something feels wrong, I’m too tired, and I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingers.  I hear two sets of footsteps come up behind me.  Christ.  This is all adding up too fast.

“Feeling a little sleepy, Andy?  Don’t worry, we’re just here for the kid,” the cold voice says behind me.

My whole body is numb now.  “Jason.  Run!”  The kid doesn’t waste a moment, he breaks for the door.  A gun goes off behind me and the kid drops.  Shot in the back, hell of a way to die.  “Marty, you bastard!  ‘The hell were you thinkin’ sidin’ with these--”

“Shh,” the voice behind me says.

“Sorry, Andy, business is business, you know?”  Yeah, of course I know, but Marty has no idea of what he’s done.  Stupid ape.

“Good work, Marty,” the voice behind me says.  Another gunshot.  Marty falls where he stands, flopping around, bleeding from the neck like a slaughtered cow.  Karma is a bitch.  “As for you, Andy, well, all’s well that ends well.”  He laughs, “I wish I could say the same for you.”

“You bastard, rot in hell,” are the last words I say.

“You first.”  He presses the gun to the back of my head.  It scratches a certain spot that I’ve been waiting to scratch for what seems an eternity.  Thank god, a moment of bliss before my departure. 

There it is, the click of the trigger.  Lights out, as they say.