The Encore (Part 2)
Telltale Crimson Trail
Tony. I’m sure that’s not his name, but it matches his looks. Who knew Italian-American gangsters still existed? Not me, until last year.
“With that baseball cap, you look like an undercover cop”, he says.
“Maybe that’s because I am police.”
“Ha! So is my cousin,” he says, laughing. His lightheartedness makes committing felonies feel easier.
“Mexicans.” I wink. “They keep dropping these when they are arrested.” I pass him the bag of coke.
He studies it. I didn’t spot anything unusual. Hopefully the bag isn’t marked. If the guy I whacked is his outfit, I’ll be in my own bag in the Charles River. Floaters come to the surface every month.
All our exchanges are done in the hotel, casino security cameras protect both of us. At least that’s the idea.
“One of our guys had an accident up in Andover, you know anything about that?”
“Andover, never been.”
“Everyone’s been to Andover,” he says. “Except you.” He explodes in a belly laugh of the depth and volume only a chain smoker can produce.
My thoughts go to my marked police cruiser parked a few blocks away. It might take an hour to get back to it. I will take a long walk around the neighborhood, after I place a few large wagers downstairs.
The seaport reminds me of Angela, we had good times here back in the day.
About the Creator
Scott Christenson
Born and raised in Milwaukee WI, living in Hong Kong. Hoping to share some of my experiences w short story & non-fiction writing. Have a few shortlisted on Reedsy:
https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/author/scott-christenson/
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More stories from Scott Christenson and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Encore (Part 1)
My police cruiser hurtles down the I-93. I get off every few exits to make sure I’m not being followed. After our argument, Stevie took off in a huff. Thankfully, I haven’t spotted her behind me, following me like the FBI to pull me over and ask more questions.
By Scott Christenson2 months ago in Fiction
We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I don’t even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
By Oneg In The Arctic3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
Glad to see you have got it though the queue and another intriguing episode. I am assuming any unkind remarks about Italian-Americans and Mexicans reflect the prejudices of the character and consistent with keeping in character. In which case the plot indeed thickens and is very interesting and I hope to see more. Many thanks for participating.
Angela? Now who's Angela? Wait is it his dead wife? Loved this chapter!
Interesting microfiction, Scott! 💖Keep up the great work!! 💖
Somehow this one was stuck in the submissions queue for 2 days, while the crowd-sourced Crimson Trail story has been steadily marching ahead! All crime novels should be crowdsourced to keep us guessing where they are going haha
Interesting... the plot thickens!
Greatly written