Wednesday, March 17, 2021

Microstory 1583: Gun to My Head

They haven’t tied me to this chair very well. I could probably escape if it weren’t for this gun still trained on my head.

They had me think about how things could be if I wasn’t such an awful person, how much things could be...if I didn’t care about other people so much. “Now, we all know what this is about.” They lift my head with the gun. “That slut you were seeing.”

“Her name’s Jamie,” I say. “She didn't like the way I was treating her, so she dumped me.”

“Boring,” the soldier says. “She’s a slut. Why do you think you had to go so far as to run away?” He turns my head so he can see my eyes. “Shut up, kid. You really have no sense of shame at all, do you? I don’t like these questions either, you know that.”

“Maybe you should leave.”

“You know I can't do that.”

“Then you better listen, asshole. You know I need a job.”

“No, you don’t. You’re already giving me more hours than I asked for.”

“It’s not the hours.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m giving you more than I asked for. I’m giving you more money than I asked for. We’re even.”

The other one says, “and how much is this going to cost me, kid?”

“It’s not going to cost you anything,” I tell them both. “Listen, we can all come out of this alive, and on top. You just have to trust me. The plan is solid.”

“If this plan of yours is so great, how come you haven’t done it already?” the one with the gun asks.

“I can’t do it alone,” I explain. “It’s a three-person job. Well, I mean, it’s a two-person job, but it’ll work with the three of us.”

“Hmm,” the one who hasn’t been holding a gun says. Then he takes it out of its holster, and shoots his friend.

“Thanks,” I say. “I know you didn’t do it for me, but I didn’t appreciate him calling my ex a slut.”

Now he’s the one pointing a gun at me. “We’re gonna do this plan of yours, and then we’re gonna split it seventy-thirty.”

“Sixty-forty,” I counter.


Um. “Deal.”

He finally unties me, and we get going. It’s a little late for the job, I would have rather started earlier, but if I ask him to wait until tomorrow, he’ll think I’m stalling, and just shoot me. In order for this to work, we have to be in two different places—which he should have expected, because that’s kind of the whole point in a two-man job. Still, he’s nervous, and it takes a lot for me to convince him that he can trust me. He can’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. Surprisingly, it’s not all that hard to get him to give me a gun. In fact, it’s a little too easy. I lean up against the wall of the building, and check the magazine. Empty. That explains why he didn’t balk at letting me have it. That’s perfect, though. My plan depends on me not actually being armed. I round the corner, and hold up my gun, but then pretend to realize that there are too many guards for me to handle, so I drop it, and reach for the sky. We’re both caught, and sent to the same prison. I could have called the cops. I could have ratted him out, let him take the fall for it, and made some kind of plea deal. But he would have gotten out eventually, and then he would have come after me. Now, remember, my gun wasn’t loaded, which gets me a lighter sentence, and instead of it being my fault, it’s his, so he won’t be able to blame me for it. I’m out after a year, and he’s still in there.

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