Not So Fast

Story by Frank Walters Clark

Cover Design by Flashcan

From p. 1: Cold morning sunlight oozed through nicotine-stained blinds, giving the drab, cluttered efficiency a moldy hue. Hung over and still wearing my clothes from the night before, I stumbled half asleep through piles of dirty clothes and help-wanted ads to the frigid tiles of the tiny bathroom.
I splashed water in my face and my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten in three days. I found a bent cigarette next to the bed, then poured luke-warm tap water through leftover coffee grounds for the third time. Trying to quell a case of the D.T.’s, I sat at my kitchenette window staring through a rust-pocked screen and dingy glass at the alley with its collection of overflowing garbage cans.
From p. 3: Early the next morning, I pulled up along the curb beside the Southern Belle. The old motel had seen better days but still sported fancy, wrought iron railings on the balconies and brass carriage lamps on the outside walls.
Steam trailed from the exhaust pipe of a black Caddy backed into a slot near the middle of the L-shaped motel’s north wing. As I inched my van backwards trying to catch a glimpse of the Caddy’s driver, I smelled gun oil a split second before the cold metal sleeve of a silencer pressed into my neck.

From Relative Bearings: Collected Short Stories, found HERE.

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