Blood Money

Blood Money

Tom stared at the body, his mind racing in confusion. What the hell just happened? He knelt, feeling for a pulse but there was no sign of life. He stood in shock, watching the pool of blood slowly spread until it oozed over the edge of the station.

Drip! Drip! Drip! The faint sound of the blood hitting the graveled bed brought him back to his senses. “Call! Need to call the police,” his voice catalyzing him into action.

He began to reach into his pocket for his phone when he realized that he was holding something. What? The man had shoved a package into his hand before he fell. That awareness was quickly pushed from his mind as he heard the echoes of feet running up the platform stairs. Police? Killers?

Without thinking, he jumped over the edge and pushed himself under the small concrete overhang.

“There he is,” he heard a gruff voice say.

“That son-of-a-bitch thought he could rip me off? Well, he couldn’t outrun a nine-millimeter, could he!” followed in a thickly accented voice. “Search him!”

He heard the body being moved and cringed as a hand flopped over the edge, dangling just above his head. Tom felt himself begin to shake as adrenaline kicked in. He said a silent prayer.

“Nothing here, boss! Maybe he dropped it somewhere along the way. He didn’t have time to hide it.”

“Look anyway,” was followed by the sound of a trashcan being overturned.

“Nothing!”

“Let’s go back the way we came. It has to be somewhere.”

Tom waited until the footsteps were gone. He slowly made his way down the tracks, peering around the corner. Seeing no one, he walked down the street to a small pub that he sometimes frequented on his daily commute.

“How you doin’ tonight?” Riley greeted him in his enthusiastic fashion.

The question stopped him. How am I doing? he asked himself. The nerves had passed, replaced by fear and yes, excitement!

“Not too good. I saw the last train pull away as I was walking up the street,” he lied. “How about a double Scotch rocks and call me cab?”

“Not a problem. You don’t want to be on the streets of D.C. this late.”

“I’m going to hit the head – be right back.” Tom went to the small room marked “Lads” and locked the door behind him. He pulled the package from his pocket. Inside was a thick stack of one-hundred dollar bills. “Holy shit!” he murmured and quickly slid them back into his jacket.

He was just finishing the last of his drink when the cab arrived. He dug a twenty from his pocket and laid it on the bar. “My rides here, Riley. Thanks for the drink. Keep the change,” he said magnanimously. I can afford it, he chuckled to himself.

Outside, he looked up the block. There was no activity. They probably won’t discover the body until tomorrow and there’s nothing to connect me. Feeling smug, he jumped in and gave the driver his address.

They pulled up in front of the nondescript row house, one of many in Arlington. “That’ll be forty-two fifty,” the cabbie said.

Tom reached into his pocket. “Crap! Do you take credit cards?”

“No. I can run you to an ATM if you need it but the meter keeps running,” the driver volunteered.

“That’s OK.” Tom reached into his jacket and fumbled a wad of hundred-dollar bills out. Peeling off one, he said, “Here. You got change?”

The driver held the bill up to the light. Satisfied, he pulled out some bills and began counting. “Forty-two, fifty-two …”

At eighty-seven, Tom said, “That’s good. Keep the rest. Lucky thirteen,” he laughed.

Tom headed up the steps to his front door as the cab pulled away. He was preoccupied with his good fortune and did not notice that the driver was on his cellphone.

“Señor Ramirez? You said to keep eyes open for anyone flashing a lot of money? Here’s the address. Thank you, Señor. That’s muy generoso. Yes, sir, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sí, el trece es un número de la suerte – thirteen is a lucky number – for me! He laughed as he drove to his next call.


Day 1 Entry for "The Writer's Baker's Dozen Contest" 
Word Limit: 1000 Word Count: 700
Prompt: Action/Adventure - The Subway Encounter: You're about to board the last subway for the night when a man stumbles into you and falls to the ground. He pushes a small, wrapped package into your hand ... and dies. Just then you notice a blood pool under him. What do you do now?