Christopher Buntyn
Stories (1/0)
Mickey's Black Book
“Six. Six hundred. Six hundred dollars is all that I need. It’s all that I need by the seventeenth.” Mickey muttered this to himself over and over as the elevator rose, one slinking floor at a time, to the penthouse suite on the twenty third floor of Caesar’s Palace. “Six. Six hundred. Six hundred dollars is all that I need by the seventeenth.” The seventeenth, Mickey calculated, was five days away. “Five days to make six hundred dollars?” Mickey asked himself aloud, as he lifted his head and caught his reflection peering back at him from the glassy elevator wall. His panic paused for a moment as he caught his own gaze and wondered all at once how he had ended up here. His panic, as all panic is wont to do, quickly proceeded to slap him back to the most pressing issue of this particular moment. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in, then looking at his reflection with a resolved determination as he exhaled, he said it one more time. “Five days to make six hundred dollars.” Ding. The elevator door announced its successful climb. Mickey forced a fake smile as he entered the Penthouse.
By Christopher Buntyn3 years ago in Journal