Little Black Book Or: The Spider Waits

Strangely, living in the city always provided him with a reassuring feeling of comfort. It was the fantasy perhaps, that all these unconnected lonely people share something, even if they didn’t know it. We all may be strangers to one another, but we’re all in it together and collectively we make a community. For some reason that thought made him happy. It was late in the evening, well into the twilight hours, and from the balcony he could perfectly see the beautiful skyline of the City.

It was such a clear night that even though the thousands of bright twinkling lights glittering created a magical aura above the metropolis, he could still look up and see the millions of stars scattering the sky.

The temperature was dropping and he was starting to shiver. They had been predicting a harsh week of weather blowing in from the North. Arctic winds for the first time in thirty years were bringing with them the high probability of snow, something many people in this town had never seen before. He admired the scene until he finished one last cigarette, his way of ceremoniously concluding the night.

He went inside, brushed his teeth, swigged and gargled some mouth wash, then turned off all the lights in the small apartment. A soft blue luminance from the television highlighted a couch where he proceeded to lie down. He lowered the volume just enough to provide a gentle whisper and then pulled a warm blanket over him.

He was sinking somewhere in the gravity of limbo between waking life and dreaming when something happened.

It was startling, he could hear his heart beat as he hazily snapped back into reality, nearly rolling off the couch. He propped up on his elbow looking towards the balcony doors. He looked at the TV for a second but dismissed it. It definitely came from outside he thought, and it sounded like gunshots. Four quick pops in succession. Now, the complex was directly next to the highway and sometimes the cackling of machinery, trampling of debris, worn tires et cetera can seemingly mimic similar sounds but this was far too close. He speculated it must have come from down below him in the court yard. He smoothly and lowly transitioned to the window blinds to peek and investigate but his balcony prevented a downward view, he would have to go outside to be able to see anything.

He slipped on a pair of jeans, turned off the television and slowly, cautiously opened the door. Painted onto the wall, he slid into the shadows of the terrace. A cloud of smoke was rising into the upper atmosphere and the smell helped verify his suspicion. A loud CLANG jarred him and he dropped to crouched position. The gate leading to the street on the right was still vibrating and he could see a dark blur sprinting away. A sharp bright twinkle then caught his left peripheral, he scanned down across toward the other side of the building and saw a figure several floors below on the ground level stammering, limping in pain and frustration. At a distance it appeared he was having difficulty operating his phone.

“Are you alright?!” I yelled down at him.

The figure, a Man, jumped and quickly looked up, scanning, hobbling into the light.

“Help! I’ve been robbed!” He yelled.

“Did you fire those shots?”

“You don’t understand Man!! Please Help Me!”

I pause for a moment…

“I’ll be right down.”

I walk back inside and lock the patio door. In the excitement I didn’t realize how much colder it was than earlier. I put on a pair of long socks, my good boots, a nice warm long-sleeved henley shirt, picked out a cool jacket, strapped on a belt, and then from under the bed revealed a small black case. I attach a brown leather holster (making sure to match my belt and boots) to my belt on my right side, open the case and remove a silver handgun from its foam bedding. I secure a loaded magazine into its grip, bringing the slide back I see a round ready to be chambered and release. With the hammer back, trigger ready, the tool is ready for work; I safety the weapon and place the heavy device into its sheath on my hip. Another holster is placed on my left side with two more loaded magazines coming along for the ride.

A total of six minutes has elapsed since I’d last spoken with him, hand ready to draw, I approach with caution. I deepen my register and announce myself with authority:

“I work for Private!”

Confused he pauses for a moment.

“Wait- What?!”

“I work for Private.” I repeat. As I approach closer and I clarify:

“I was hired for your surveillance detail. Are you alright?”

“She bashed my foot with a hammer I can barely stand! If you work for Private you work for me! Go after her!”

“I was only hired for observation. There should be a team-”

“Does it look like there’s anyone else coming?!”

“Yeah, that is a bit strange-”

“Look! I don’t have time to describe in detail how important and how valuable what she stole from me is, but I need it back!”

“What did she steal?”

“Some money and what will look like a little black book.”

“How much money?”

“I don’t know ten grand maybe, the money isn’t important, but the book is!”

“Ten grand isn’t important?”

“No! Look if you get me back the book you can keep the ten grand plus-”

He stumbles inside to his apartment vanishing in the darkness, causing much commotion but returns quickly.

“Here, here’s another ten grand, that’s twenty grand cash, but you gotta get that book back now! She rides a motorcycle-”

An obscure sound in the cold echoes as a motorcycle struggles to start.

“That’s Her! She’ll be looking to get outta town fast, she’ll be coming down this street to get to the highway! Go!”

The man has been yelling and screaming so much that his breath had billowed a cloud of steam around his head, I can hardly see him anymore. Before it clears I turn and head for the street, rustling around in my jeans pocket, I grip my car keys. Passing through the gate, I notice bullet holes in the concrete from earlier. I approach the driver side, unlock the door and get in the vehicle, I can still hear her engine failing to turn over. It sounds like a wounded, whimpering mechanical animal. I myself am worried I’ll have the same problem, she’s a sexy baby, but she’s old and doesn’t like the cold. I put the key in the ignition and hold.

A loud high pitched howl from her engine finally cries and I figure in a matter of seconds she’ll come screaming around the corner. My car is parked facing the highway, if I time things perfectly, I might get lucky. Hand still on the ignition, eyes on the rear view, I slowly start pumping the accelerator, hopefully putting just enough fuel into the carburetor that it will start right when I need it to.

As soon as she erupts from around the corner, I turn the ignition, pound the gas, (the engine ROARS shaking the entire vehicle) throw the shifter into gear and make a hard left ninety degree turn, stopping directly in front of her. The hefty engine ROARING, the rubber tires SHRIEKING haunt the scene as smoke and fumes fill the air. She has nowhere to go and nothing to do but slam her motorcycle into my front driver side panel. There’s a loud and quick BANG as the heavy metal stops the bike dead and sends her flying over the hood of my car.

I exit the vehicle (gun in hand, safety off) and walk around the rear side, warm exhaust attacks my ankles. The only sound now is the hearty rumble from the mufflers. She lays stunned, flat on her back, imaginary cartoon sparrows circling her helmet, chirping comedically. I aim for the heart and approach victoriously. I grab her by her right arm and flip her onto her stomach and relieve her of a small backpack. I go back around and open the trunk of my car, warm exhaust making my feet sweat. I hear the gate CLANK shut. The stumbling man yells:

“Holy shit man! That was incredible!”

I open the backpack and see the little black book and a wad of money, I take the money he gave me earlier from my coat pocket, add it to the inventory and zip-up the backpack.

“You don’t know what you’re doing-”

She pleads to me, tossing her helmet away as she props herself up against the side of the car, followed by a murmur of painful coughs. I look around at her and wait until she catches my eye, as soon as we lock, I toss her a sharp wink.

I turn and point my gun at the limping man approaching us. His full smile of relief and gratitude instantly sours into a frown of confusion.

“What are you doing?!” he whimpers.

“Toss the gun.” I say. “No one else is coming.”

“You son of a bitch!” he cries with anger.

“Yeah.”

I agree with him and watch as he reluctantly tosses his weapon out of reach. I turn back to her.

“I’m sorry.”

I walk back around the vehicle, shutting the trunk on my way, still aiming at the man with the hammer smashed foot. One last look, I happen to glance and notice the sky is no longer clear but entirely white.

“Looks like snow.” I say to them.

Then get in the car and drive away.