Same Old Henry

Same Old Henry

"What's it been, Henry?  Ten years?  Twelve?  You haven't changed a bit," said Trevor, glancing at his childhood friend in the rearview mirror.  A grimace of pain twisted his face, and his words conveyed a clear tone of disapproval.

"Just over eight," corrected the other.  "It's unreal, running into you like this."  He gestured to the freeway exit just appearing in the headlights.  "Head south on Brighton."

The cab drifted right and exited the highway, turned left at the bottom of the ramp and then cruised down the empty street.  Darkened warehouses came and went as the journey continued; neither man said a word.

As they approached 38th,  Henry tapped on the plexiglass and motioned for another left.  When a railway overpass appeared through the windshield, he said, "Here's good."

When the vehicle had stopped, he spoke again.  "Sorry about earlier, Trev; I didn't recognize you at first.  I'm sorry about this, too."  The Beretta came up and fired twice, the muzzle flash momentarily illuminating the cab's interior.  Sparks from the cab's radio provided fitful light for a few more seconds, then the interior fell dark.

After a moment, Trevor said, "This is gonna kill your mom, Henry.  You know that, right?"

"No more than when they sent me away the first time," came the reply.  "Tell your brother, Jimmy, I learned a few things when I was inside, and he won't catch me this time.  And tell him, if it had been anyone but you, he'd be asking a corpse for clues.  Thanks for the cash, Trevor."  Henry slid out the back door and jogged off.

As he shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears, Trevor watched him go.

"Yeah - you haven't changed a bit."