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| Courtesy: Wikipedia |
Today’s Prompt:
You get a
message, it is obviously for you, but it is scrawled in lipstick on a mirror in
a public restroom. It’s unexpected but now you know exactly where the killer is
hiding. It’s time to find him and, hopefully, your friend (and hopefully, your
friend id still alive.)
Word Count: 1,092
‘Mo kicked in the door and dashed
into the restroom guns out and pointed business end first. His eyes panned
across the room, the guns following his movement. He breathed heavily and had bloodstains
on his clothes. He was banged up but he was alive and that meant he lived to
fight another day. He kicked open the door to the first cubicle—empty. He went
down on all fours guns pointed out and scanned for feet beneath the gap under
the doors. Nothing there, either. He raised himself off the tiles and advanced
forward, kicking in door after door. He heard tiles fall off the wall as the
door slammed into them. besides that the room was empty of people.
“Damn!”
‘Mo inquired of folks he’d met
on his way down.
“Did any of you gentlemen happen to see this guy and this
lady drive by this town? Last I heard from them, they were headed in this
direction.
He’d received positive
responses. “I sold ‘em gas,” the guy at the fuel station had said. “Nice
fellow, that one was.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” ‘Mo said to him.
On his way to the restroom, he’d
spotted a green farm truck and waved it down.
“Sorry to trouble you sir.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“You didn’t happen to see a red caddy with a man and
woman riding south did you?”
“Yes sir, I seen them alright. Parked in front of
restroom, they was.”
Farmer Joe had directed ‘Mo
down to this place. “Keep your eyes to the east, not far from here there’s a
restroom. You can’t miss it.”
He holstered his guns, trotted
to the sink and started washing his face; ridding his body of the drying
bloodstains. A wall-to-wall mirror had been screwed into the wall in front of
the washbasin. ‘Mo finished washing, grabbed some paper towels and began
dabbing at his face. He was going in for the last swipe across his face when he
noticed the inscription on the mirror and froze He’d recognize the handwriting
anywhere. Sophie had left him a message; she knew he was following their trail.
The inscription looked awkward like it’d been made by trembling hands. ‘Mo knew
exactly where they were going.
“Time to nail the bastard.”
He dropped the paper towel,
rushed outside, jumped on his bike and scattered grit as his tires dug into the
sand and hit the asphalt with blinding speed.
“You’re gonna get yours,” ‘Mo muttered to himself. “You’re
gonna drown in your blood, you psycho killer.”
What ‘Mo didn’t know was that Ibak
(/he back/) had anticipated his coming. Ibak who threatened the farmer in the
truck to tell ‘Mo he saw his caddy parked in front of the restroom, had also
forced ‘Mo’s girl to make the inscription on the wall. So far, all worked
according to plan, Ibak’s plan. ‘Mo was heading into bottleneck drama.
‘Mo wasn’t half a mile from the restroom stop when
gunshots rang from behind trees and underbrush which lined the road. He canted his
bike at an angle and flung himself off to one side, rolling as he landed on the
asphalt to lessen the effect of the impact. Gunshots bust the afternoon quiet,
scraping asphalt and throwing up grit. ‘Mo imagined it was only a matter of
time before a slug blew up the bike’s tank and blasted him to Hades and he pitched
for the trees.
He was trapped, after all. Ibak
wasn’t jaunting alone. He’d left a trail of lies behind him as he traveled
through the town, giving ‘Mo hope that he might catch up with him and rescue
his woman.
“You were never a match against me, ‘Mo. I just been
playing with cha.” He punctuated his speech by unleashing a barrage of lead
into the trees. “What took you so long? You kept me waiting. I never work alone,
‘Mo. You should have known me by now.”
‘Mo didn’t answer. He also felt
betrayed. All those people cowards everyone of them. they sided with Ibak and
led him into a trap. But I can’t really
blame them for what happened, can I? these guys are armed with weapons of mass
destruction and they know where those folks hang their hats. I can’t blame but I
still feel betrayed.
He heard the sound of something
rubbing against another. Something was sliding down the tree he used as a
refuge. He raised his gun up, pushed himself away from the tree with his legs
and released slugs into the branches. A man grunted and fell out of the trees. The
man had a chance to take him out sitting up there in the branches why hadn’t he
taken the shot? Unless he had his orders—Ibak wanted ‘Mo alive. Either Ibak still
believed he had access to the money or he wanted the pleasure of torturing him
and watching him die slow. ‘Mo sprang to his feet and hooked himself to the
tree only after retrieving the dead man’s rifle. Looking out from the top of
the tree improved his view. ‘Mo positioned the M-1 rifle and locked its barrel
on Ibak. Damn, if this wasn’t poetic
justice at its peak, he thought to himself. He could take Ibak and his men
from here, picking them out one by one like green bottles.
Ibak had hunted and picked off
his family one after the other because he busted his shipment of dope across
the border back in the day when he used to work as a customs officer. And now
he’d taken Sophie captive. The bastard deserved to die.
Ibak was having the best time
of his life when he heard the report of his own death. The sun bore down on the
middle of his head on the Friday noon he met his doom. He waited for the men he
placed on top of the tree to bring ‘Mo to him. He wanted to watch him die slow.
Cause him as much pain as he’d brought on him through the years. He’d make his
wife watch it all and then he’d take her out as well. These was the highpoints
of his midday reverie when the high-caliber bullet bust through the trees,
slammed into his head and drilled a hole large enough for a kid to put his hand
through in his forehead. But not before tossing him several feet into the air. The
shot flap down Ibak on the shoulder of the road like a discarded fold of
newspaper.
Eneh
Akpan
June 29, 2013
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