Markwildyr.com, Post #241
Image Courtesy of Pexels:
Hope you enjoyed Don Morgan’s story with the long title last week. Sort of reflected life at some point for each of us, didn’t it. Well, here’s the second story he wanted to post on my site. Horse of a different color. Here we go.
* * * *
JUDAS
The l
“Hello,
guy.”
He
turned and trotted off toward the woods before halting and facing me again.
When I hadn’t budged, he dashed back to yip/yap in earnest. Damned if the fur
ball didn’t want me to follow him. Maybe I oughta steal the bugger. Expensive dogs
from what I’d heard.
Nah, I
was a bad ass, not a dognaper. The little guy trotted across the barrow ditch
and disappeared into the trees. I paused a moment before following. Wasn’t any
problem locating him; he kept up a constant yammer like he wanted me to hurry.
I
pushed my way through a thick clump of mulberry bushes into a small glade and found
him standing beside a body. The mutt’s bug eyes seemed to plead for help.
“Wha’da
we got here?” I knelt beside a young man lying face down, his left hand flung
out. A big ruby set in yellow gold on his ring finger caught my eye. His other
arm was beneath him. “You okay, fella?”
I
wasn’t much interested in his answer because dead or alive, I was gonna have
that ring. I poked the shoulder of his soft suede jacket. Expensive. This guy
might turn out to be a treasure trove.
I
recoiled when he rolled over onto his side, exposing a black revolver hidden
beneath him. “Just stay nice and still,” he said.
The
good-looking guy with a pleasant voice got to his feet. He shoulda been playing
soccer on the other side of the big park, not waylaying suckers in the wooded
section. A trickle of sweat rolled down my left side. Excitement … not fear.
Amateurs. This guy had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
“Take
it easy, fella. You got no trouble from me. But I ain’t got nothing worth
stealing. You picked the wrong mark this time.”
The
kid waggled the revolver. “It’s not a robbery, man.”
I
frowned. Maybe I oughta be worried. “Damned good imitation. I like the way your
dog brought me to you.”
The
bastard’s smile got even bigger. “Neato, huh? Took a year to train him. He
helps me get my kicks. My thrills.”
My
eyebrows climbed like I was scared. “No, man! I … I got a family. Wait, let me
get my wallet. I got something in it you’ll like.”
With
my left hand stretched in front of me as if to ward off a bullet, I slowly
reached behind me. But it wasn’t a wallet I whipped out. It was my trim little
.25 semi-automatic. It barked twice, and two spots appeared in the middle of
that fine suede jacket. Crap. It was ruined.
The kid’s mouth gaped. His eyes went round like he
couldn’t believe it. Then they went as dead as the rest of him. I went over to
slip that ruby off his finger and check my marksmanship. Two heart shots. Had
to be with a little .25, else he’d be able to yank the trigger on that big
cannon.
A
whine drew my attention to the dog at my feet. Maybe I oughta take him along to
lure suckers for me. I examined the tag on his collar. JUDAS. A hell of a name
for the little guy.
I
heard a strangled gasp and whirled. The kid stood with two cups of coffee in
one hand and a big six-shooter in the other. No, that wasn’t right. The yokel
lay sprawled on the ground, still dead. But there he was, standing wild-eyed and
pointing a revolver at me.
“You
killed my brother to steal his dog?”
I raised
my .25 … but I wasn’t fast enough.
*.*.*.*.
Win some, lose
some. But to lose the big one?
My contact
information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email:
markwildyr@aol.com
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr
Twitter: @markwildyr
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
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