The man had got through life by being lucky. He was completely unskilled, had no talents and no qualifications. It had worked for years, and when a government agent had appeared at his door asking about a girl he used to know, he thought it was just another lucky break. A few facts, some observations and his opinion of her. The kid had been young when he'd last seen her, only about fifteen, but she'd been a good shot, and very clever. She took orders too, and didn't bitch about the pay. That was rare in the army. The man thought he'd get something for his information, maybe a nice wad of dollar bills, or a nod of respect for future jobs. So when the agent pulled a knife and peeled the man's face off, he was starting to think maybe it hadn't been a fair trade.
Maybe his luck had run out.
*******
She picked up her shirt off the floor and pulled it over her shoulders. It was cool and soft, the way cotton gets when you leave it on the floor overnight with the window open. The room as a whole was warmer now, the sun slowly starting to warm the cheap corrugated roof. Doing the buttons up was slightly harder than it should have been, probably because of the raging hangover last night had earned her. The rest of her clothes were strewn about the room, and she gathered them into a pile, methodically putting on one item after the other. Shirt, underwear, jeans, socks, shoes, jacket. Walking to the bedside table she picked up her wallet and knife and kissed the top of the man's head. He wouldn't mind her going. She sure as hell wouldn't. She'd forget him as soon as she walked out the door.
She got to the door, turned, and surveyed the room. One bed, one table, miscellaneous clothes, and one man she couldn't even remember the name of. A lyric from a song she'd heard in a bar came back to her: 'I'm not as think as you drunk I am.' How apt, she thought to herself. She turned the door handle and stepped out onto the dusty street. Small town, one road, four pubs. She'd hit them all. A cloud of dust made its way towards her along the road, and she stuck her thumb out. When a black van pulled up and four men jumped out with four M-16 rifles pointed at her head, she decided that today was not going to be anywhere as good as last night.
And she couldn't even remember last night.
Shit.
YOU ARE READING
The Larkwood Corporation
General FictionMick is stuck in a rut. A government-conspiracy-sized rut. With only an enigmatic old friend and his mysterious new boss, she must prove to herself and everyone else that she's just as bad as the rest of them. Preferably without the collapse of west...
