*Update* Book em again has pointed out a sentence that, when I took a look at it, was NOT the sentence I thought I had written. So I switched it out with the one I had planned. Thanks Book em again! Ugh...that's what I get for having cats crawl on the table...
Hello. Yes I'm back. Yes I was on a hiatus.
Now to the point. This is a short story, probably with a few chapters. Yes it has a mystery. Anyway. I hope you guys review and critique my writing style. I need that. So, reviews are welcome and I hope you enjoy what you are about to read.
Prologue
The truck wasn't his. Neither was the jacket that he was wearing. The jacket had been lent to him by a friend. Not that it was important.
The watch was out again as he held up his wrist in front of his face. The pale faced watch beamed back at him with just enough light for him to read the time. Seven thirty-two, where is he?
He leaned against the hood of the ford pickup; it had long gone cold. He could feel the annoying hole in the toe of his sock; without thinking he wriggled his toe in and out of his sock. The movement caused him to scuff the ground; he could hear the gravel crunch under foot. It reminded him that he was on some road off of Diamond Head. It was a convenient spot for the occasional drug deal. He'd have to remember it when he got back into work in the morning.
What's taking him so long? He sounded into it enough when we talked on the phone; he'd better not run chicken.
The sound of slow tires digging into the gravel met his ears. He crouched by his truck and felt for the small .38 in his shoulder holster. That was the reason for the jacket. The weapon was still there, held in place by the sturdy leather holster.
Now I'm overreacting, he thought. He stood up straight and looked up the small road trail. It was the car his friend said he'd be driving.
White two-door beetle with one headlight out; the dumpy car jerked to a stop. The door opened and was closed so quietly that it must not have been shut all the way.
The person who stepped out was short; he also wore a nondescript jacket with equally nondescript jeans. The man was jumpy; he jumped whenever a car drove by on the highway. He jumped when he heard the rodent scurry through the brush as he walked up to the Ford pickup.
"You got the money?"
"I told you, everything's set. Trust me."
"That's the thing, I'm not sure I can trust anyone. Coming here doesn't feel safe."
"You can trust me, we're friends. And I have connections to keep you low profile. Don't worry, Bruddah."
"God," the man sighed. "I hate this. You brought an extra gun?"
He handed the newcomer a small gunny sack that was heavy and sagged slightly on the side. "It's all in there. Call me when you get there, will you?"
The man received the bag with the same care that one would take a baby. "I'll try. I appreciate this…I owe you one."
"I'll settle for a beer."
"When it's over…"
"When it's over."