"Joe was the last person on Earth I expected that from."
They sit, the four of them, around an old card table, cleaning their weapons.
Joe, obviously lacking in presence. Marcos spun the chamber until it landed on him looking down with one brown eye staring down the chamber at an irate Hannah. his face scrunched in consternation, distracted. He was just deliberating on his oil job. yet really, he had meant Hannah.
Her chair fell back on all fours with a crack causing Marcus to jump.
If looks could kill, whoooo-eee. Marcus would be missing limbs, tarred and feathered, left burning on his nanny's porch.
Hannah's eyes were her real voice. Her face would be frozen, smiling pleasant but it would carry a deadly undertone.
"I think, Marcus, if the man were here himself to defend himself, then you might make assumptions. As it stands, we are one man down. So, quit screwing around, load your .45, and let's move out. NOW." She swung her long legs up and around the chair she had been sitting on backwards. With one arm she pumped her shot-gun and headed towards the door.
Everyone looked at one another and then scattered when Hannah let off a warning shot, buck shot spraying the ceiling, an annoyed Mr.Huang screaming down from upstairs to them.
"So help me god, Marcus, Adam, Daren....If I have to go get Mr.Huang to trade in I will. So let's put our big boy pants on," she pumped the shotty again, the boys flinching, and walked to the door," and get a freakin move on. If Joe got busted doing something shady then that's that. My guess is he nodded off since these days his first love is heroin." She swung her long blond hair back and forth against her back.
"WELL?" She shouted. Just like that the three men cocked their guns and moved out in formation, letting Hannah be the last, the one to have their back.
What she still couldn't figure out, though, was why Joe hadn't shown. Her worry nagged at her. For now though, they had a bank to rob and no driver. Plan B had been her idea, and saved them all in the end. The metro. All on a different line. No communication for a month. They all met up in Puerto Rico, a dead eyed joe in tow behind Hannah, now red haired and perpetually pissed off looking.
God was it still good to be alive sometimes.
YOU ARE READING
In This City of Ghosts
PoetryPoetry and seemingly micro-stories written in prose. Llynn takes away from the many struggles she overcame, still tries to overcome in a dry, dark comedic voice. As she puts it, 'I can't sit around crying every day, I make light of all the tragedy a...
