|
I hated the man, and he was going to die from his wounds at any
moment, but I found myself listening, nodding and preparing to do
exactly as he said.
"Why the double-cross, Vera?" he asked, waving his hands at the
crummy building behind us. "You ain't got nobody else who can
save you from your self-destruction now."
"You suckered me into this joint, Bud. You're just saying this
stuff to make me give you this gun. Well, it won't work, do you
hear?"
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple working up and down and the
sweat beaded up on his furrowed brow.
"What's it gonna take to convince you? I swear I didn't take that
piece of chocolate. I wouldn't take your stuff, Vera."
"Yeah? Well, tell that to God."
I shoved the gun into his gut and tried not to see the pleading
in his baby blues.
"Vera," he said, nearly a whisper. "I love you."
I would have believed him before this, his heist of my most
beloved food. But now, with the wrapper under his Keds, there
was no hope.
Behind me I felt a draft from someone opening the door. His eyes
cut over my shoulder and I knew. The real thief had returned for
another try.
I swiveled around and pointed my gun at the kid.
Bud grabbed my hand and pulled the gun away. "You can't do that!
He's our son!"
I collapsed in hysterical crying. I would never see that box of
chocolates again.
Sleep Well
The brunette beauty before him seemed perfectly at peace.
She lay dressed in a filmy peignoir, hands daintily crossed over
her abdomen. Her hair was impossibly neat, and the bed barely
showed a dent where her slight form lay.
There was simply no sign of struggle, no sign of illness.
He didn't like it when death came calling without leaving its card.
Smith could only surmise that she'd died quietly. Oh well,
that would be something for the coroner to figure out.
He finished up his sketching of the scene and started out,
but for some reason, the lovely young thing on the bed wouldn't
leave him alone, and he couldn't resist giving her one last
appreciative stare.
As he gazed at her, he felt the tug of an emotion
he didn't remember ever having before. It had to be regret
if he had to give it a name. Regret that he'd never known her
in life. Regret that he might never meet anyone as classy as she
seemed to be as long as he maintained his current life.
But then again, she would never know him either. Never know
that he loved football, pizza, or James Bond movies. She'd be a
chick flick sort. He could tell. The slack cheeks had been carefully
brushed with makeup, tinting it to a fake hue now that she no
longer breathed. She would have been the iced tea and Canasta
sort of gal. He'd be willing to bet she'd never gone braless
in her life.
He wondered why she had no wedding ring on. Surely someone
out there had loved this woman? Surely some man was dying inside
tonight.
He shrugged and walked over to gently squeeze the lifeless
hand as it lay upon the edge of a fine silk sheet. "Sleep well,
Princess."
|