One hand searched in the pocket of the jacket for nothing, while the other held a partially smoked cigarette to a pair of wind burned lips. Blue eyes stared out across the parking lot to the small road littered with the first signs of fall. The only way in, and the only way out. In his seemingly endless concentration, a voice crashed over him.
"You think he'll show, Mac?"
With a final drag of his cigarette, he tossed it away with a flick of his fingers. Letting the smoke out slowly he seemed to drag out the simple question in his mind. Sitting at the edge of the hood to his rust colored Camaro, he let his eyes fall onto the piles of leaves on the grass infront of him, "If he is as smart as he is broke; he'll be here."
His friend amused himself with kicking leaves and muttering about the weather. The brisk air from the lake that lay just down the lawn infront of them sent chills down his spine. He pulled the fur lined neck of his aviators coat up around his ears and crossed his arms over the tan corduroy fabric while stamping the last leaf from his dark brown work boots. He watched as Mac rummaged around in his denim version of the same jacket for what looked like another cigarette.
"He's late,Carl" came a low growl from Mac.
"Yeah, but like you said..." Carl said slowly. The anger in Mac's voice was obvious and he tried to quell it, "If he's smart, he'll be here."
As the two finished, a green Datsun 240Z turned down the road and started for the parking lot. Carl was the first to make a move. He tapped Mac on the shoulder and pointed at the car that creeped slowly into the lot, parking a few spaces from them. After the engine shut off, a man stepped awkwardly from the drivers seat, clutching a burlap sack to his side. Mac stood.
The sound of their boots crunching the leaves on the pavement rang out in the still air and even the trees seemed to be watching them.
They met in distance from each car and no one spoke for the first few moments or so. Finally Mac tossed his second cigarette away and each man watched it fall. "You're late."
The squirelly man from the Nova didn't look Mac directly in the face and answered softly, "I wasn't sure where in the park you were."
"I told you," Mac said clearly aggitated. "Last lot in the park. In front of the pier, Tom."
Carl looked out over the lake and nudged Mac with his elbow. The sun was casting an orange glow over the men. They were running out of daylight. He nodded and Carl walked back to the car.
Over his shoulder Mac watched him approach the trunk and remove a few things before turning back to Tom. His voice was cold and his eyes stared through the man, "Did you bring me my money?" Intimidated by the aggressiveness of his loan shark, Tom began to stutter. "I...I have some."
"Some."
"Ye..yes. I thought we...we agreed on six."
"Six?"
"That...that's all I...I brought with me Mac."
He shook his head and pursed his lips while running a hand through his short curly brown hair, "So we did."
Tom breathed a sigh of relief and quickly handed Mac the burlap bag, "Thanks Mac, you're a real stand up guy."
Mac looked in the bag and then to Tom's Nova. The back seat had a few suitcases in and the trunk was being held shut by a length of rope. Carl stepped up to Mac's right hand side and whispered something into his ear. Mac thrust the bag into Carl's chest and walked towards the 240Z.
"Goin' somewhere Tom?" Mac called out after inspecting the contents of the back seat and noticing the map laying open in the passenger side floor. The silence told him what he wanted to hear. Mac nodded to Carl.
Carl dropped the bag and grabbed Tom by the arm and wrenched it up behind his back, closing a fist around the butterfly knife that was hidden in his sleeve moments ago. The blade was cold after being kissed by the autumn winds and its icy touch caused Tom to cry out. Mac walked over slowly and stood infront of the struggling man. "You weren't planning on running away, were you Tom?"
Tom swallowed so hard the knife bobbeled in Carl's fist, "My..my mother is sick and I...".
"Mom, eh?" Mac said before Tom had time to finish.
"Phenumonia..." Tom managed to squeak out.
"Funny..." Mac said looking at Carl. "We just saw your mother at Dotties. She looked healthy as a horse." Tom cringed and Mac advanced on him.
Face to face. Tom could see the splinters of blue color in Mac's eyes and could almost feel the broken cartilage in his oppressor's broken nose not to mention he could smell the stink of the famed Cowboy Killer cigarette on Mac's breath. "You don't run out on me," came Mac's voice.
Carl dragged the kicking and screaming Tom towards the Camaro and tossed him onto the ground just behind the trunk. A foot on the back of his neck told him not to struggle and he lay there. "Mac, I wasn't running I swear!" came his terrified cries. Mac tossed the sack next to his face and said, "It's four, and no one carries that much shit around in their car." Tom clenched his eyelids closed until the black he saw turned red. A few tears froze his cheeks and nose as gravity forced them towards the pavement his face was being forced to meet personally.
Mac tugged at the rope attached to the trunk and folded his arms while bending down to rest on his haunches. Tom's breath was coming in exasperated draws, the dust under his nose being blow around with every forceful exhale. "Tom," Mac said while looking around at the grass lawn and the lake, taking in the beauty of his business. Carl sniffed in and opened his parted his freezing lips to let out a low whistle. "What should I do with you?" Mac asked, almost mockingly. In that instant, Carl's eyes flew open and his pupils encompased what used to be a beautiful green iris and his voice shook, "Mac...you don't have to do this. I'll get..."
"Let me guess..." Carl interceded.
"You'll get me my money, right Tommy?" Mac said shifting his weight onto one heel as if preparing to stand.
The sudden movement made Tom flinch as he called out loudly "Yes! Yes, I can get the money!" He raised his hands a few inches, "I swear it Mac."
Carl put his hands in his pockets and sniffed in harder this time. The wind had picked up a little and the thin layers weren't enough to keep out the harshing conditions of autumn, not to mention being so close to such a large lake as the sun was going down. Mac could feel the drop in temperature and his own anger lessening as he formulated a plan. He looked up at Carl and over to the lake. A motion of his head, to onlookers, made it seem as though he had a change of heart. To the owner of the boot that was intent on crushing the vertebrae of the man laying beneath him, it meant something more.
Mac headed towards the lake.
Wrenching the wrong doer roughly from the pavement, Carl grabbed hold of his thin corded jacket and pulled Tom unwillingly towards Mac. "No, no..." Tom started to object. He attempted to fight back. Hitting and tossing his elbows into Carl's chest and stomach, hoping his captor would lose his grip and he could break free. A blow to the nose cause Carl to stop his attempts to trudge forward with his explosive victim intow. Never losing his grip, Carl head butts the small man causing him to fall to the ground and cry out in pain. With his back turned on the two, Mac clears his throat. "This little bastard broke my nose," Carl spat through clenched teeth as he pulled the crying Tom to Mac's feet and tossed him harshly away from him. Mac breathed out slowly and took his shabby pack of ciggarettes from his coat pocket. The familar red and white of the Marlboro package was dim in the setting sun and Mac presses the cigarrette to his chapped lips. "Tom, you said you were good for it. I believed you," Mac said through his semi pursed lips, holding the cigarette between his lips expertly.
Tom began to plead through his bloodied mouth and cupped hands. With one shake of his head, Mac tells Tom his time is up. During this silent exchange, Carl has made his way behind the helpless victim and placed his Dan Wesson Pointman Seven 1911 Pistol that he retrieved from the trunk earlier in the ordeal, to the back of Tom's head. Mac struck a match on the bottom of his ciggarette pack and cupped his hands around the tobacco stick. Watching the red cherry on the end of Mac's ciggarette burn through the white rolling paper, a tear fell from Tom's eye and he mouthed the words Please, and No. Mac exhaled and with a mouthful of smoke tried to calm the worried man. "No worries Tommy," he turned his back. "I'll make sure your sick mother gets better soon." And withouth turning back he headed to the green pack mule in the parking lot.
Seconds later a shot rang out through the evening air followed by a resounding splash. Birds had taken flight during the final scuffle, most likely scared by the deafening sound of the 10mm gun. After a minute or two, Carl joined Mac next to the car. "What do we do with this hunk of junk?" he asked stuffing his hands into his pockets. Mac looked back to the lake and said, "Kinda figured we'd do the Egyptian thing...you know." He tapped the hood. "Lets bury him with his valuables hay-nuh?" Carl chuckled, "Sounds good, Mac."
Reaching in the drivers side he stepped in the brake and tossed the car into neutral and slammed the door. It was one quick shot to the lake from the parking lot and on a running start the two of them could easily shoot this car into the crisp water. Mac counted to three and they shoved the ugly green 240z down the incline. Standing together with hands in there pockets, the two watched it sink into the glassy surface and disappear. "Let's go get you cleaned up," Mac said tossing his cigarette away. "You look like shit." He walked towards the Camaro.
Picking up the sack of money that lay on the pavement, Carl objected to Mac's back quietly and strode to the passenger side of the car. Pushing the clutch to the floor and putting the car into first gear, Mac drove the two away from the crime scene with the contaminated lake behind them, with no evidence of their misdeeds except the last two bubbles of the sinking car finally breaking the surface and the low rumble of a v8 motor making a calm get away.