A Slice of Fiction by John Carroll

Part One:

I stepped out of the bar clutching my right fist. It was about quarter to midnight, the wind was picking up, and the rain poured down hard on the concrete. I took a left and continued up Dorchester Ave. I didn’t walk far and passed a few food stores, the laundromat, and Four Provinces convenience store before turning left onto Richmond Street. This street wasn’t lit by big street lights like Dot Ave so it was dark and I couldn’t see more than ten yards ahead of me. I looked toward the flickering, pale red light above the door of CVS. I crossed the street and turned down onto Avondale Street. Now the street was pitch black and I was walking in the middle of the beat up back street. Avondale Street was hidden below a barrier form where the parking lot of CVS drops off. I passed a few houses before I reached my destination. It was a long, bluish-gray house with 4 units. It looked like two duplexes stuck together. The paint on the house was peeling and weathered from the rain and snow over the years. I walked up the steps to the second to last door and shook off the rain before opening the door very, very slowly. I couldn’t see anything when I opened the door. I took one step forward making the old wooden floor creek. I heard a cough followed by “So how’d it go?” The voice was from a man in his late fifties. I felt around for the chain above my head that turned on a pale light.

Part Two

A 9mm pistol sat on top of 9 stacks of money. The face of Benjamin Franklin on each stack was split in half by a rubber band. The man in front of me looked up at me and smiled out of the side of his mouth as he watched me observe the contents. A wallet sat in the corner of the bag. He removed the wallet and opened it. An ID card sat in the first pocket. I extended my hand and the man hesitated before handing the wallet over. I removed the ID and immediatiely recognized the face from the bar only a few minutes ago.

The expression he had looked like he was taking a mug shot. His face was marked with a distinct scar that stretched across his left cheek. His hair was brown and very short on the sides with a hair a bit longer on top. His eyebrows were thick and angled down towards his nose. His sideburns extended all the way down to a small goatee and connected to a thin moustache. His dark green eyes stared at me angrily. The only body part visible in the picture was his thick neck. Next to his picture read:

JAMES KELLY

538 W 44th STREET

CHICAGO, IL 60609

That picture sent chills down my spine. What had just happened quickly flashed through my head.

When I entered the small pub, Jimmy Kelly and two other men who accompanied him on both sides were seated at the bar. The two men were shorter, but both were built and looked fairly similar to the big Jimmy Kelly, but without the chubby features. They all turned towards me when I entered. Jimmy Kelly wore a dark green t-shirt and a dark gray scally cap. I walked over noting the familiar face in the corner. I nodded to him when Kelly wasn’t looking. My eyes wandered below the stool of the man sitting to the left of Kelly. There sat the black Nike duffle bag. I had found my target and I sat down. I called over for a beer and we sat in silence until a few moments after I took my first sip. “What’s the bag foh?” I asked. “Don’t worry bout it” he snapped back. I swung out with my right fist hitting him in the face. His friends were immediately all over me. I was punched in the face before the man in the corner came over and swung and hit the next man in the right cheek. He was knocked out after a second punch landed under his left jaw. I managed to reach down and grab the bag before I was kicked in the right shoulder. I came up and grabbed my beer. The brown bottle shattered on the man’s head sending him to the floor, blood dripping down his neck. Kelly and the other man were exchanging blows before Kelly knocked him out and shoved him while he fell back, sending him tumbling into a table in the corner. Now Kelly and I stood face to face. He took the first swing, but I ducked and he missed. I returned with an uppercut to the nose. He fell slowly to the floor with a booming sound. He began to get up, but a Timberland boot to his face ended his efforts.

Now, I stood staring back at his wide face. I thought for a second then realized something that made the chills down my spine come back; with or without his bag, Kelly wanted me dead. The thoughts lingered in my mind, but faded as the man in front of me began to pull himself up. He grabbed the old wooden railing that stood between him and the hallway next to him. “Jackie, you just got yoself a job.” He said smiling and now completely standing up. He wasn’t very tall, only a few inches taller than me while standing on a step. He swung the bag over his shoulder and began to walk up the stairs. I stood there motionless. He had walked up about ten steps and had only two to go before he turned around. “O yeah, and you betta be at the L Sreet Tavern, tomorrow at 5.” He said. I nodded and turned around. I opened the door just in time to see the back of a Boston Police cruiser that just whipped by.