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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2209306-High-Hopes
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Crime/Gangster · #2209306
It's good to have goals!
High Hopes


They high-fived each other while trying to catch their breath.

"One more for Girardo. That dude went down like a bag of bricks! Nice shot, man." Merv was leaning against a dumpster in the alley behind the restaurant. Before the hit, the plan was to leave the car in a lot on the backside of the block. But there were a lot of people on the street when they ran out, so they'll have to lay low for a short while.

"That's it, Merv, last one. Now I'm gonna retire. Enough of this shit." Hendon was bent over, clutching his chest and panting. His partner had no idea how long Hendon was working for Girardo, nor how many hits he executed.

"You're out of shape, man. Too much time riding a bar stool." Merv coughed and spit.

"Yeah, I should be riding women in the Islands, not stuck in this donkey town."

Sirens screamed nearby. The two men stepped behind a dumpster as the police passed the end of the alley. Several more cop cars zipped by.

"Girardo isn't going to like it if you blow town." A worried tone in his voice. "Loyalty only goes so far with him. The man has a hair trigger temper." He shook his head.

Hendon shrugged. "I'm not obligated to him. I do a good job. Gotta make a living."

"Yeah, he'll want to keep you close. You know that." Once you're in with Girardo, you're in. Luckily there's a high turnover rate of people in Girardo's employ. So those wanting to run fast and fly high get a shot at working for him. But like that Hotel California song, you can never leave.

"I'm done. I'm too old to keep running. I want to spend my pay on a beach in the sun." Fifty is a ripe old age in his line of business. A ripe old age, indeed.

Merv asked hopefully. "Maybe I should come along? He's gonna blame me when he gets pissed."

"Maybe." Hendon straightened and looked around.

Merv shook his head. "You know I wouldn't tell anyone." He peered down the alley, watchful.

"I know." Hendon raised the gun and shot Merv, a nice clean shot in the chest. Merv looked surprised as blood bloomed on his shirt and with a groan, he crumpled to the ground. Hendon pushed the limp body behind the garbage.

"One hundred and one." Hendon shook his head and tossed the pistol in the dumpster. He straightened his tie and strolled out to the sidewalk. His suitcase was already in the trunk. A quick run out to Newark airport and freedom. Yep, time to retire.

442 words
Story for "Note: 48-HOUR CHALLENGE : Medi..."
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