Joey runs with no sense of direction, his eyes bulging in fear. He drags in deep, ragged breaths of air. He sneaks a look over his shoulder at his pursuer, but the man is out of sight. Maybe he has lost him.
Joey can still run, thanks to his regular early morning sessions on the beach. As he runs he notices something bumping around in his pocket. He feels inside and pulls out a screwdriver. It is Eugene’s, the one Joey used to tighten a screw on his car.
Joey’s spindly legs hold their rhythm. Every step sends shock waves up his spine and right into the back of his head. The streetlight’s rays bounce off the screwdriver clutched tightly in his right hand. His thumb is clamped on top of the handle so that it doesn’t slip.
He turns a corner and swerves, slip-sliding on a patch of gravel on the road. He gets his balance back as a sheen of black water appears before him. He is unable to stop and runs straight through it. The ice cold water slows him down. On the other side he throws himself down on a grassy patch on the pavement and tries to catch his breath. Disorientated, he listens to the night sounds around him, his chest heaving.
The slap of running feet on the tar brings him back to his senses. His bones creak as he gets up and starts running again. There is a deserted building on his left, and, further down the road, on the right, a lone building sheltered by an awning.
As he approaches this building a dark figure emerges out of the shadows and runs straight at Joey. A single sound like the squawk of a seagull escapes from his lips as a gun fires almost in his face. The bullet fans Joey’s left ear as he runs straight on, into the man – and buries the screwdriver up to its hilt in his chest.
Up close, Joey leans heavily on the gunman’s arm as he tries to bring the gun down, to aim at Joey. Joey tugs at the screwdriver but it doesn’t budge.
He deftly side-steps, shoving his right hip into the man’s stomach, and tries to wrestle the gun from him. The smell of marijuana is strong on the man’s hands and clothes. It’s the gunman from the station. The assailant hits the ground, dropping the gun. Joey clutches at the handle of the screwdriver. The man tries to speak as blood starts to bubble out of his mouth.
Panting, Joey stares at the spider tattoo on the man’s Adam’s apple. Curious, he loosens the man’s shirt – to expose three stars tattooed on each shoulder. He recognizes them as the tattoos of a general in the prison Numbers gang.
***
Tell us what you think: Has Joey bitten off more than he can chew here – tangling with a gangster?
