Personal blog - and temporary home page until new website is finished - of writer, editor and graphic artist Christopher Mills


Friday, April 27, 2007

Something I'm working on...

A Gravedigger short prose story for an upcoming anthology ...
When the door burst open, I put two 9mm slugs into the first man's chest. The guy behind him looked vaguely familiar, but I didn't have time to take a second look as he raised an ugly, efficient-looking machine pistol and sprayed the air with lead.

The slugs didn't come anywhere near me, but they ripped the hell out of the rented cabin. I waited on the floor behind the threadbare sofa, Beretta in my right hand, and when the guy with the squirtgun emptied his clip, I shot him in the head.

I moved carefully over to the two bodies and looked out through the open doorway at the glass-smooth lake. Pale moonlight and flickering stars were reflected in its mirrored surface, and an aluminum rowboat I hadn't seen before was tied to the short dock.

I had no concerns about the gunfire. The nearest neighboring cabin was a good half-mile away, and was, at present, unoccupied.

I pulled the bodies into the room where I could see them clearly. I had been right about the second man; I knew him. His name was Gibbs, a burly Australian I'd worked with a couple years back on a job in New Mexico. The other was unfamiliar, about twenty-five, with short, spiky hair and a bad complexion.

I searched their pockets. Gibbs carried I.D. in the form of a Jersey driver's license and a Visa card that said his name was Potter. The younger man had apparently been going under the name of Wyman. I took their I.D. and credit cards.

I wondered how they'd found me.

And why.

I'd been living in the cabin in Western Maine for three weeks. Not hiding out really, just resting between jobs. Once a week, I took the rented outboard across the lake, hiked a mile and a half to my car, and drove into town for supplies. The rest of the time, I sat on the porch, enjoying the solitude, smoking, and reading trash paperbacks, a habit I'd picked up during my one extended stay as a guest of the state.

I didn't think I was on anyone's shit list, but in my business you can never know for sure. Emotions can run hot when large amounts of cash are on the line, and those who make their living acquiring it at gunpoint tend not to be overly sensitive to other people's feelings.

I tried to think who might be carrying a grudge and who also knew Gibbs. The list was short.

Gavin.

4 comments:

Glen said...

Pretty good stuff. Actually reminds me a lot of Quarry.

Stephen Blackmoore said...

Nice. Hope to see the rest of it soon.

Christopher Mills said...

Glen – thanks. A high compliment, indeed.

Patrick Shawn Bagley said...

Damn. Keep us posted on the anthology because I want to read the rest of this story.