Grand Reopening

Vince walked into the lobby of the newly reopened building and looked around. Impressive, but too big and bright. How was he supposed to steal anything from this place?

Beside him, Ozone gawked at the art hanging from the ceiling. “This is so pre,” he said in hushed tones. “Don’t you miss when everyplace was like this – clean and full of electric lights?”

“Don’t be stupid. Only old people ever lived like that.”

Ozone acknowledged this was true. “But I’ve always imagined it looked like this.”

Vince shrugged. “Dream on your own time, man. We have a job to do.”

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers. Photo by Dale Rogerson.

A Dangerous Game

Security had acted suspicious when she tried to go to the upper floors of the hospital, so Irene sneaked in, first pretending to be visiting a patient, and then lurking along the corridors and ducking into doorways when she saw someone approaching. The person she sought was surely here somewhere. Finally she saw her.

“Sara!”

The nurse looked up from bandaging a wounded man’s arms. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s about your brother.”

Sara frowned and looked like she wanted to stop her work and tell Irene a thing or two, but then her professional training took over. “Sit down,” she said, motioning toward a small chair in the corner. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Irene smoothed her skirt and waited. It took several minutes for Sara to finish with her patient, but finally they went into a narrow stairwell where they could speak privately.

“What is it you think you need to tell me about my brother? This had better be good.”

Irene drew a sharp breath. Of all the reactions she might have expected, having Sara practically snarling at her wasn’t one of them. “He’s in trouble.”

Sara shrugged. “So what’s new? Vince has been in trouble since he was born.”

“No, I mean real trouble,” Irene said. “There’s a guy named Banlon. He met up with Vince at that bar he likes to go to—“

“Leon’s Social Club? That place is practically hearth and home to him.”

“Well, yeah, that’s it. Banlon promised him a good haul if he’d move a few weapons for him.”

Sara remained unconcerned. “This wouldn’t be the first time Vince did a little gun-running. He’s got scars from doing that sort of thing. What sets this particular gig apart?”

“Banlon works for Ortiz,” Irene explained, “And Ortiz is conspiring against El Duque. This isn’t just some small-time turf war Vince is mixed up in, it’s high-level.”

“And what exactly do you expect me to do about it?” Sara asked. “Vince has been closing dangerous deals since I was a kid. How do you think he put me through nursing school? I’ve got entire trunks of stolen goods he’s given me as gifts over the years, not to mention all the things I’ve given away. And you expect me to get all worked up over another deal of his?”

Irene sighed. How could she make Sara understand just how serious this situation was? “Look, I know you think I’m naive, but Ortiz comes to my church. I know what he’s like. He’s the sort that orders hits on people six days a week and prays for forgiveness on Sunday. No matter how this deal comes off, Vince is going to be in danger.”

“He’s always in danger. And as long as he’s doing what they want…”

“They won’t be grateful. These guys cover their tracks,” Irene said. “If El Duque finds out what they’re up to...”

Sara considered, absently toying with a strap of her nurse’s smock. Finally she nodded. “Okay. I don’t know how much help I can be – Vince only respects my opinion on medical matters, and even then not so much. But I’ll try to help.”

Irene grasped for Sara’s hand. “Thank you. I swear you won’t regret this.”

This was written for The Sunday Whirl. Please check out my new serial Valley of Ashes.

Knockout Idea

Ozone stopped and looked at the sign.

“This isn’t where the job is.” Vince said.

“I know.” Ozone fell in with his boss and they continued down the street. “You ever thought about taking boxing?”

“Nope.”

“I’ve heard it’s a good workout.”

“So is running from the cops, and we do plenty of that.”

“It might be a useful skill,” Ozone suggested.

“In our line of work? Not as useful as being good with a gun.”

“I was just thinking…”

Vince sighed. “That you want to pay good money to get beat up?”

“When you put it like that…”

“Exactly.”

This story was written for Friday Fictioneers. Photo prompt by J Hardy Carroll. 
Note: The author has, in fact, taken boxing classes. It's lots of fun and the best ab workout ever. 

The Dress

Irene sorted through the mound of donated clothing, humming a little tune. Outside the church window, birds were singing a crescendo in the trees and it was a beautiful day to be alive. She pulled a gold silk dress out of the pile. In the sunlight streaming in the window, it shimmered like honey. Who would give away such a beautiful thing? She was examining the edges of the hem and neckline for wear when the sound of footsteps on the stone floor made her look up.

“Irene. Can I talk to you for a moment?”

It was phrased like a question, even though it wasn’t. “Of course, Ms. Strauss.” Irene draped the dress across an unopened sack of donations and followed her supervisor to a small office, then waited while she fumbled to open the lock, her keys rattling on their large heavy ring.

Once they were inside, Ms. Strauss sat behind a desk and motioned the young woman to a bare wooden chair. “I’ve heard some disturbing news about you,” she said. “It appears that you’ve been seen around town recently with an…incorrigible.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Irene said, trying to play things cool. “I go on missionary work nearly every day. Of course I’m around incorrigibles. They’re the ones that need saving.”

“Don’t be coy with me, miss. It’s said you spend a lot of time with one particular young man; a man with a distinctive blue tattoo on his face. He’s known to be a local gang leader.”

“Uh…yes. I’m trying to save his soul.”

Ms. Strauss jumped to her feet. “You are lying through your teeth!” She came around from behind her desk. “What do I have to do to impress upon you the gravity of the situation? This sort of thing not only makes our mission look bad, but it could shatter your reputation.” She paused a moment and sighed. When she spoke again, it was in a softer tone. “Irene, you’re a good girl. You’ve done wonderful work for the poor and for the sinners of this city. But that doesn’t make you immune to worldly temptations. A clever young man could easily convince you that he wants to hear the Good News, all the while intending to lead you astray.”

Irene bowed her head meekly, but her thoughts were of Vince and the electrifying sensation of his kisses, which made her blood run hot, then cold, then hot again. Maybe he was leading her a little way off the straight and narrow, but she was slowly leading him off his own path of destruction as well. Surely they would meet in the middle somewhere and prove everyone wrong. “I understand,” she told Ms. Strauss.

She went back to the donation table in an attitude of meekness, but with her mind on fire. She would have to be more careful. What should she tell Vince? He’d laugh at her if she confessed to taking an old biddy like Ms. Strauss seriously.

Still lying where she had left it, the silk dress glowed like a new gold coin. Reverently, she picked it up and held it against her body. It might just be a good fit. What would Vince say if he saw her in something like this?

Irene glanced around the room to confirm she was alone, then hastily stuffed the dress into a nondescript bag that she would take home with her later. “Thou shalt not steal,” she whispered to herself. Well, she would just have to hope that she did enough good in the world that Jesus would forgive her a little sin or two.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl. Please see my latest serial set in this post-apocalyptic world: Valley of Ashes.