by Ben Rehder
Fifty thousand dollars. I stuffed the decks inside my shirt. As I buttoned up, I noticed a spot of blood on the bandages over my ribs.
Sweat dripped off my chin and my legs wobbled as I went back to the front door.
Outside, I paused on the porch to inhale fresh air. Trees whispered among themselves in a light breeze. Birds twittered. I could hear the stream burbling in the distance. I would’ve liked to see it one last time, but there was no way. I’d be lucky to make it back to the truck.
A few agonizing minutes later, I got behind the wheel. Turned the air-conditioner on full blast. Thought about putting the loot in the glove compartment, but I was too drained to move. I sat there with it inside my shirt, the money soaking up my sweat, my blood.
Once I caught my breath, I wheeled the old truck around and bumped through the manzanitas and pines, up the dusty track to the highway.
I turned away from Redding, headed east. No plan for where I was going, except that it needed to be far from the bloody business I’d left behind.
I was starting over, shucking the baggage of my past, making my own way without any help from anyone. That required a new place, new people, a new set of rules to live by.
Maybe this time I could stick to them.