by Mike McCrary
Detective Harris breaks the ice. “Remo. Would love a word.”
Remo puts up a hand, asking for a moment. He wants to say something to Sean. No idea what, but he’s gone through some serious trouble to have this opportunity and wants to have this moment.
He starts to say something, stops. Thinks better of whatever was about to come out. Anna watches with a level of apprehension she’d have watching a dog trying to cross a highway. Sean sits with his little heart beating fast in anticipation. Remo knows there’s no way to say what he needs to say, what Sean deserves to hear, so he opts for silence instead.
Sean lets him off the hook by asking, “Who are you?”
Remo smiles, the closest thing to genuine happiness you will ever see out of him.
“One asshole.”
They share a big smile as an infectious giggle rolls out of Sean.
EPILOGUE
The plan?
Simple.
Murder multiple motherfuckers, save one asshole.
That was the strategy of one Lester Ellis, former criminal, former wheelman, current man of the Lord.
Mission of mercy complete.
Lester walks alone on a back strip of country road about 20 miles outside of Syracuse. A light rain falls over him. Feels nice, he thinks. He rolls his suitcase down the road, still dressed to impress with the clothes he borrowed from Remo’s closet. The wrapped grip of the Louisville Slugger pokes out the top, zipper as close to closed as it can get around it.
Now what, thinks Lester. The Mashburns are gone baby gone, and Remo is safe from them and their wicked ways. He hopes Remo has found a better path, at least better than the one he was on.
He has to.
After all the hell he endured.
Can a man not change after surviving an experience like that?
There’s another question that truly troubles Lester. It plays with his brain like child picking at a scab.
Who was that man Remo was with?
That man with the gun.
That man seemed to carry a heavy burden as well. A different burden than Remo for sure, but the weight of the burden that man is hauling around can’t be ignored. The kind you’ve been carrying so long you don’t even know it’s there—the worst kind.
It was in his eyes.
Lester has learned how to get a lot from someone in a short amount of time. Just let him see the eyes; it’s all in a man’s eyes. It’s really all you have to go with when a man has a gun on you, and that man would have shot Lester dead. That much Lester knows. The man Remo called Hollis has killed before, that’s for damn sure.
Is Remo truly safe while he’s keeping company with a man like that?
Lester thinks not.
Lester turns his suitcase around, heading back in the direction he came from. Back toward NYC. He needs to make sure. As he turns, the suitcase tips off balance, toppling over to the road. He bends down, taking a moment to adjust its contents. Unzipping the bag, he moves the clothes around, trying to get the balance back in working order. He opens a bulging black trash bag nestled among the clothes.
Inside the bag, Lester grabs a fistful of hair, shifting Dutch’s head.
Once satisfied, he zips the suitcase up again and continues rolling down his path.
His newly chosen plan.
Mike McCrary is a screenwriter and author. His short fiction has appeared in Out of the Gutter, Shotgun Honey and The Big Adios.
Mike has been a waiter, a securities trader, dishwasher, investment manager and an unpaid Hollywood intern. He's quit corporate America, come back, been fired, been promoted, been fired again. Currently he writes stories about questionable people who make questionable decisions. Keep up with Mike at @mcmccrary or www.mikemccrary.com.