###
The
little dog was one of them butterfly beasts. A Papillion, or something like
that. Cute little tyke. Mostly white with black markings. Long snout, perky
ears, and a bark somewhere between a yip and a yap.
“Hello,
guy.”
He
turned and trotted off toward the woods before halting and facing me again.
When I hadn’t budged, he dashed back to yip/yap in earnest. I’d have sworn the
fur ball wanted me to follow him. Maybe I oughta steal the bugger. Expensive
dogs from what I’d heard.
Nah, I
was a bad-ass, not a dognapper. The little guy led me across the barrow ditch
and disappeared into the trees. I paused a moment before following. Wasn’t any
problem locating him; he kept up a constant yammer, like he wanted me to hurry.
I pushed
my way through a thick clump of mulberry bushes into a small glade and found him
standing beside a body. The mutt’s bug eyes seemed to plead for help.
“Whata
we got here?” I knelt beside a young man lying face down, his left hand flung
out. A big ruby set in yellow gold on his ring finger caught my eye. His other
arm was beneath him. “You okay, fella?”
I
wasn’t much interested in his answer because dead or alive, I was gonna have
that ring. I poked the shoulder of his soft suede jacket. Expensive. This guy
might be a treasure trove.
Catching
me by surprise, he rolled over onto his side, exposing a black revolver hidden
beneath him. “Just stay nice and still.”
The good-looking
guy with a pleasant voice got to his feet. He shoulda been playing soccer
on the other side of the big park, not waylaying suckers in the wooded section. A
trickle of sweat rolled down my left side, but it was excitement … not fear.
Amateurs. This guy had just made the biggest mistake of his life.
“Take
it easy, fella. You got no trouble from me. But I ain’t got nothing worth
stealing. You picked the wrong mark this time.”
The
kid waggled the revolver. “It’s not a robbery, man.”
I
frowned. Maybe I oughta be worried. “Damned good imitation. I like the way your
dog brought me to you.”
The
bastard’s smile got even bigger. “Neato, huh? Took a year to train him. He
helps me get my kicks. My thrills.”
My
eyebrows climbed like I was scared. “No, man. I … I got a family. Wait, let me
get my wallet. I got something in it you’ll like.”
With
my left hand stretched in front of me as if to ward off a bullet, I slowly
reached behind me. But it wasn’t a wallet I whipped out. It was my trim
little .25 semi-automatic. It barked twice, and two spots appeared in the
middle of that fine suede jacket. Crap. It was ruined.
The kid’s mouth gaped. His eyes went round like he
couldn’t believe it. Then they went as dead as the rest of him. I went over to
slip that ruby off his finger and check my marksmanship. Two heart shots. Had
to be with a little .25, else he’d be able to yank the trigger on that big
cannon.
A
whine drew my attention to the dog at my feet. Maybe I oughta take him along to
lure suckers for me. I examined the tag on his collar. JUDAS. A hell of a name
for the little guy.
I
heard a strangled gasp and whirled. The kid stood with two cups of coffee
in one hand and a big six-shooter in the other. No, that wasn’t right. The
yokel lay sprawled on the ground, still dead. But there he was, standing
wild-eyed and pointing a revolver at me.
“You
killed my brother to steal his dog?”
I raised
my .25 … but I didn’t manage to get off a shot.
###
Merry
Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone. Please take time to check out some of
the other pages on this site and let me know how my flash fiction hits you.
Thanks,
Don
Next week: Depends on how
industrious I feel.
New posts are published at 6:00
a.m. each Thursday.
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