Love. It comes in many shades. Those shades include raw sex, emotion, body language, a soft caress, and eye contact. It all adds up to six hollow points and a bag of hard cash… all in the name of love.
Six bullets
paul heatley
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Two men came to the house. They had raggedy beards, wore leather jackets, looked like bikers. Shaun peered round the curtain, sucked his teeth. “Fuck.” He pressed himself against the wall. The bikers made fists and banged hard on the door. He knew they wouldn’t knock long.
He ducked to his bedroom, to the sports bag at the bottom of his wardrobe, sifted through the dirty dollar bills to grab the revolver hidden amongst them, checked the chambers - fully loaded. Hiding behind his bed, he pulled out his phone, punched in Micky’s number. Micky answered on the third ring. “Yo.” Shaun kept his voice low, spoke fast. “Where are you?” “I’m on my way.” “Get here fast, I’ve got a coupla dudes at the door, look like bikers or somethin.” Micky was silent. “You there?” “Shaun, you’re breaking up - did you say bikers?” “Yes, I said fucking bikers, Donna’s dad musta sent them. How long you gonna be?” “Shaun, I can’t hear a word you’re sayin, man. Look, just hold tight, I’ll be right -” The line went dead. Shaun was on his own. “Shit.” He heard wood splinter. Heard the door swing open. Shaun loosed two shots blindly, heard one of the bikers cry out, then ran to the back window, threw it open, jumped. Flat on the ground, he tucked himself under the frame. Inside, the shot biker groaned and cursed loudly while the other stormed through the rooms. The latter poked his head out the window, neck snapping from side to side to look up and down the street. Shaun rammed the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger, blew off the top of his head. Bone and brain and blood sprayed up the wall. Shaun scrambled to his feet, ran to the front of the house. Biker number two was in the bedroom now. He held a machete. They’d planned to keep things quiet. He was using the handle to plug the bullet hole in his left shoulder. He saw his dead friend. Shaun put the gun to the back of his head. “How’d he know?” The biker grunter. “Who?” “Frankie, motherfucker - how’d he know?” The biker made to turn, Shaun flinched, pulled the trigger, put a bullet through the back of his head. Biker number two crumpled to the ground. Shaun looked at the two dead bodies, the other hanging out the window frame. He’d made a lot of noise, too much fucking noise. Didn’t have time to wait for Micky. He grabbed the sports bag and ran out to his car, left rubber skids on the road as he sped away. |
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* * *
Shaun circled the building three times before he was convinced no one had tracked Donna there. She was watching TV. She looked over her shoulder as he entered, twirling one finger in her brown hair, and gave a start when she saw him. She jumped to her feet and eyed the sports bag. She knew what it held.
“Your dad sent some boys,” he said, then crossed the room to the window and looked down to the road seven floors below. He’d parked five blocks away and walked. The gun was tucked snugly down the back of his jeans. It had felt cold against his skin at first, but now it was warm.
“So he knows it’s you?” She looked flustered. Shaun guessed she’d been worried.
He grunted. “If he didn’t before he does now.” He turned and threw the bag onto the bed.
“How’d he find out?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he had eyes on the drop-off point. You spoke to anyone?”
“No.” Donna went to the bag and looked inside. “All here?”
“Yeah. Fifty thousand.”
She fingered the greasy bills then returned to the seat she’d occupied when he first came in. “Any problems?”
“No. I picked it up right before his goons came round.”
“Are we good?” Donna said.
Shaun zipped the bag, spoke without turning. “I think so. Are you packed?”
“Almost.”
Shaun felt the revolver plucked from his waistband. He spun. Donna stood, pointed it at his chest. The bathroom door opened. Micky stood in the frame.
“What the fuck?” Shaun said.
“I'm sorry,” Donna said. “You've been a big help.”
She squeezed the trigger three times. Two bullets slammed into his chest. Third time the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Shaun hit the floor. He gasped. It hurt to breathe.
Donna dumped the gun. Micky grabbed the bag and they left.
“Your dad sent some boys,” he said, then crossed the room to the window and looked down to the road seven floors below. He’d parked five blocks away and walked. The gun was tucked snugly down the back of his jeans. It had felt cold against his skin at first, but now it was warm.
“So he knows it’s you?” She looked flustered. Shaun guessed she’d been worried.
He grunted. “If he didn’t before he does now.” He turned and threw the bag onto the bed.
“How’d he find out?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he had eyes on the drop-off point. You spoke to anyone?”
“No.” Donna went to the bag and looked inside. “All here?”
“Yeah. Fifty thousand.”
She fingered the greasy bills then returned to the seat she’d occupied when he first came in. “Any problems?”
“No. I picked it up right before his goons came round.”
“Are we good?” Donna said.
Shaun zipped the bag, spoke without turning. “I think so. Are you packed?”
“Almost.”
Shaun felt the revolver plucked from his waistband. He spun. Donna stood, pointed it at his chest. The bathroom door opened. Micky stood in the frame.
“What the fuck?” Shaun said.
“I'm sorry,” Donna said. “You've been a big help.”
She squeezed the trigger three times. Two bullets slammed into his chest. Third time the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. Shaun hit the floor. He gasped. It hurt to breathe.
Donna dumped the gun. Micky grabbed the bag and they left.
end
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