The Hooker: A Reprehensible Acts Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

flashed a winner’s
grin.
    “Nice
try, fellas.   It might have worked if you
had anything to bargain with.”   Blade
pocketed the cash.   “I think that
concludes our business.   I’ll contact you
when I need more.”
    “Hey,
no, this is a one off,” Lance said.
    Getting
up from the picnic table and picking up his automatic, Blade laughed.   “Who said that?”
    “Ten
grand is your compensation,” Lance said.   “That’s it.”
    Blade
tucked the pistol into the small of his back.   “The problem hasn’t gone away.   The cops are pushing and that means expenses, which you’ll have to pick
up.”
    “Fuck
that,” I spat.
    “No,
fuck you.   Next time, be more careful
when you kill.”
    Lance
snatched up his .32 and aimed it at Blade.   I involuntarily jerked away from my friend.
    Blade
held up his hands in surrender but showed no sign of fear.   “Hey, be cool.   This is where things can get fucked up.”
    “Only
for you,” Lance said and a spasmodic smile lit up his face.   “Only for you, pal.”
    “Do
you want the money, huh?   Is that it?”
    Lance
shook his head.   “No, I want you to keep
it.   I just don’t want you coming
back.”    His gun hand wavered.   Blade latched onto Lance’s fear.   The pimp grinned.
    “I
can’t guarantee I won’t be asking for more.   It’s a fact.   We both know
it.   Now, put the gun away.”
    “No.”   The .32 still wavered in Lance’s grasp.
    I
don’t think Blade believed Lance would shoot or he wouldn’t have gone for his
gun.   Blade slowly lowered his hands to
his sides, then snatched at his back for the
automatic.   Blade was fast; I’ll give him
that.   He had that 9mm out and cocked
before I could blink, but Lance didn’t have to do all that.   He just had to squeeze the trigger—and he
did.
    Lance’s
hand wasn’t shaking when he pulled the trigger.   It was rock steady.   And his aim
was perfect.   The bullet opened up a hole
in Blade’s chest.   The pimp crumpled,
collapsing onto his back.   Lance still
had the gun pointed at the spot where Blade had been standing.   I snatched the .32 from his grasp.   My action jerked Lance out of his shock.   We rounded the picnic table to home in on
Blade.   He wasn’t dead.   He breathed like fishhooks snared his every
breath.   He fumbled for his drawn automatic.   The gun was inches out of reach.   I kicked the weapon away from him before
picking it up myself.  
    “Fucking
amateurs,” Blade wheezed.
    We
had to go.   Lance’s shot must have
alerted the neighbors backing onto the park, but no one was coming.   No one was fool enough to investigate.   But I’d guarantee someone had called
911.   The problem was Blade.   He was finished.   Lance had dealt him a mortal injury.   He’d be dead in minutes.   But in minutes, he might have someone to
listen to his dying confession.   For both
Lance’s and my sakes, I couldn’t take a chance.    I aimed the .32 at Blade.
    Blade
laughed but it came out as a gurgle.
    “No,”
Lance pleaded.
    I
wasn’t in the mood to argue.   The pimp
wouldn’t be my executioner.   I fired a
single round into his face.   The impact
whipped Blade’s face away as if he was ashamed of my action.   Mercifully, it prevented me from seeing the
violence inflicted by the bullet.   The
second shot raised frantic cries from the nearby houses.
    Kneeling
by Blade’s side and pocketing the gun, I said, “Let’s go.”
    “No.”
    I
made a bid for the money, but Blade’s blood had soaked the envelope and the
bills inside.  
    “What?”
I said, stuffing the cash back inside Blade’s jacket.
    “This
is too much.   Two people are dead.”
    “I
know.   That’s why we have to get the fuck
out.”
    Lance
shook his head.   “No.   It’s time to stop trying to plug the holes
and come clean.”
    “Are
you crazy?”
    “No.”   Lance flopped back down on the picnic table’s
bench seat.   “Just tired.”