A gangster protects the secret of his dark past. (Flash Fiction) |
“I know where all of the bodies are buried.” “Who said that!?” said Big Franco. He leapt out of his chair, knocking over a glass of warm bourbon. Franco’s heart picked up the pace as best it could for an old heart in an equally old body. Both the voice and the message had been too clear to be anything other than real. His clouded old brain could have been playing tricks on him but how could he know? Franco was not sure which was most disturbing: the fact that someone knew about his past or the other fact … he was the only person in the entire house. “Don’t worry, Franco; your secret’s safe with me.” Franco spun towards the voice. It came from down the hall. He crept into the kitchen where he kept a large handgun in the salad crisper. It was hidden behind a bag of plastic Arugula. He hadn’t had to use it for more than twenty years. Hopefully, the chilled weapon still worked. “All I want from you is a chance to work together again; for old time’s sake.” Franco could feel sweat pouring down the side of his face. He stood in the hallway outside of the coat closet. There could be no doubt that the voice had come from behind the closed door. With a quickness that belied his age, he snatched the door open and brought the gun to bear on … a shovel. “Hi Franco, long time no see.” The shovel knew Franco’s secret but Franco knew how to keep secrets secret. He or the shovel must go. Ten minutes later, Franco settled in front of his freshly fed fireplace with a fresh glass of bourbon in his hand. He would discard the metal blade tomorrow after it had cooled. Word count 300 |