keep the cash. I’ll make due with the five hundred bucks from the No Hold Gold in my purse. That’s more than enough for a bus ticket. I’ll panhandle the rest. I don’t care anymore.
“Well?” Freddie says. He flicks his knife out again. Is he trying to scare me with that thing? I was in a gang for five years, I’m not afraid of some dinky little switchblade.
I tell him to keep the cash and I turn to the door.
He doesn’t stand up from his seat but his smile grows bigger. He must think I’m bluffing—that this is part of some bargain, and he’s so damn clever because he can tell I’m bluffing. Well, I’m not bluffing, I’m heading for the bus depot.
“It’s Olivia, right?” he asks.
I don’t stop; he can live out his James Bond villain fantasy with someone who gives a shit. The ten grand the prick is withholding would be nice, but it’s not worth giving the slime ball another second of satisfaction.
As I reach for the door handle, a hand grabs my arm. I jump.
It’s not Freddie, but his tall, red-haired accomplice. I could tell he was tall in the parking lot, standing next to Freddie. But he’s not just tall—he’s a giant, easily six and a half feet tall. Unlike Freddie, he doesn’t seem so amused.
“Check your purse,” Freddie calls out from the kitchen. I do. It’s empty; the five hundred is gone, along with my credit cards and ID.
The sleight bastards must have taken the cash out while I was packing. The man holding my arm lets a short-lived grin slip. I bet these bastards don’t even give a shit about their little coins. They’re just getting a kick out of my irritation, a couple of buddies who thought it would be fun to play gangster for the day.
“Where’s my money?” I say slowly, making sure they understand the question, and that they understand I know people who could show them what it really means to be a thug.
“You can have it back when I get my coins.”
The red-haired giant scoffs.
“What are you laughing at, matchstick?” I say. His grin quickly leaves his face and his grip tightens around my arm. These idiots aren’t going to hurt me. They’re both barehanded, leaving fingerprints everywhere.
“I want those coins, darlin’,” Freddie calls out.
“Let me go.”
“You can go as soon as you give me what’s mine.” He speaks playfully, confirming that this is just a big game to him. He’s just some punk who’s played one too many video games and watched one too many gangster films.
I try to nudge my arm loose, but the man’s grip is too tight. “Just keep the cash. That gold wasn’t worth anything anyway.”
Freddie laughs. “The cash isn’t worth anything to me. Let’s make this painless, darlin’. Where’re the coins?” Freddie now stands behind me, blocking me from the rest of my apartment, containing me to the small front entryway.
“I don’t have them.” I smile and shrug my shoulders.
Freddie flicks his knife out again. This time, it stays extended. “What do ya mean, ya don’t have ‘em?” His voice is low now as he takes a step towards me. His smile begins to fade.
His blade is sharp and shiny—it’s clearly never been used. No one with half a brain would break into an apartment, put their fingerprints on everything, commit murder, bloody up their clothes, and think the cops won’t find them in five minutes. Though, Freddie and his friend don’t even have half a brain between the two of them.
“Where’re the coins, Olivia?” Freddie’s waning smirk is pinched as he bites the edge of his tongue.
“I don’t have them.” I stare blankly into his eyes.
“Then who does?” Freddie asks through his teeth.
I don’t respond. Instead, I shrug.
“I suggest ya think as hard as you can, darlin’.” With his knife in hand, Freddie reaches up and pushes a piece of wet hair off of my face. His blade teases my skin.
“Well?” Freddie says. He flicks his knife out again. Is he trying to scare me with that thing? I was in a gang for five years, I’m not afraid of some dinky little switchblade.
I tell him to keep the cash and I turn to the door.
He doesn’t stand up from his seat but his smile grows bigger. He must think I’m bluffing—that this is part of some bargain, and he’s so damn clever because he can tell I’m bluffing. Well, I’m not bluffing, I’m heading for the bus depot.
“It’s Olivia, right?” he asks.
I don’t stop; he can live out his James Bond villain fantasy with someone who gives a shit. The ten grand the prick is withholding would be nice, but it’s not worth giving the slime ball another second of satisfaction.
As I reach for the door handle, a hand grabs my arm. I jump.
It’s not Freddie, but his tall, red-haired accomplice. I could tell he was tall in the parking lot, standing next to Freddie. But he’s not just tall—he’s a giant, easily six and a half feet tall. Unlike Freddie, he doesn’t seem so amused.
“Check your purse,” Freddie calls out from the kitchen. I do. It’s empty; the five hundred is gone, along with my credit cards and ID.
The sleight bastards must have taken the cash out while I was packing. The man holding my arm lets a short-lived grin slip. I bet these bastards don’t even give a shit about their little coins. They’re just getting a kick out of my irritation, a couple of buddies who thought it would be fun to play gangster for the day.
“Where’s my money?” I say slowly, making sure they understand the question, and that they understand I know people who could show them what it really means to be a thug.
“You can have it back when I get my coins.”
The red-haired giant scoffs.
“What are you laughing at, matchstick?” I say. His grin quickly leaves his face and his grip tightens around my arm. These idiots aren’t going to hurt me. They’re both barehanded, leaving fingerprints everywhere.
“I want those coins, darlin’,” Freddie calls out.
“Let me go.”
“You can go as soon as you give me what’s mine.” He speaks playfully, confirming that this is just a big game to him. He’s just some punk who’s played one too many video games and watched one too many gangster films.
I try to nudge my arm loose, but the man’s grip is too tight. “Just keep the cash. That gold wasn’t worth anything anyway.”
Freddie laughs. “The cash isn’t worth anything to me. Let’s make this painless, darlin’. Where’re the coins?” Freddie now stands behind me, blocking me from the rest of my apartment, containing me to the small front entryway.
“I don’t have them.” I smile and shrug my shoulders.
Freddie flicks his knife out again. This time, it stays extended. “What do ya mean, ya don’t have ‘em?” His voice is low now as he takes a step towards me. His smile begins to fade.
His blade is sharp and shiny—it’s clearly never been used. No one with half a brain would break into an apartment, put their fingerprints on everything, commit murder, bloody up their clothes, and think the cops won’t find them in five minutes. Though, Freddie and his friend don’t even have half a brain between the two of them.
“Where’re the coins, Olivia?” Freddie’s waning smirk is pinched as he bites the edge of his tongue.
“I don’t have them.” I stare blankly into his eyes.
“Then who does?” Freddie asks through his teeth.
I don’t respond. Instead, I shrug.
“I suggest ya think as hard as you can, darlin’.” With his knife in hand, Freddie reaches up and pushes a piece of wet hair off of my face. His blade teases my skin.
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