THUGLIT Issue Two by Justin Porter, Buster Willoughby, Katherine Tomlinson, Mike MacLean, Patrick J. Lambe, Mark E. Fitch, Nik Korpon, Jen Conley Read Free Book Online
disappeared into the night sky. The other found its mark.
Carter jerked like a dog at the end of his leash. The big pistol thudded against the ground. He staggered around the vacant lot, grasping his neck with both hands. Shaky fingers fought to keep a geyser of blood from escaping his throat. It was a losing battle.
Roberto climbed out of the ditch. He stood naked in the moonlight, watching the white man bleed out.
“ Hijo de puta ,” Roberto cursed. “See what you make me do?”
*****
She wasn’t hard to find.
Despite Roberto’s warnings, the senorita had used the Visa in Theresa Diego’s name. All Roberto had to do was call his friend at the credit card company and offer him $200. Ten minutes later, Roberto was looking at a printout of purchases. Among them was a bill for a Motel-6 a mile from Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport.
Roberto parked the Impala in the motel’s lot and sat listening to jets roar by overhead. Eventually, he’d have to ditch the car. Couldn’t risk keeping it. Couldn’t risk staying in Guadalupe either. He’d killed two of Miguel Ortega’s men. There was no coming back from that. For the rest of his life, he’d be looking over his shoulder. No more days playing checkers in the sun.
But before leaving town, Roberto had to see her. One last time.
The sun hung high, turning the car into an oven. Roberto mopped sweat from his brow as he scanned the motel rooms. Waiting.
He sat roasting for thirty minutes before finally spotting her.
The senorita stood in the doorway of room 109, embracing a handsome young Latino with wavy black hair. Roberto instantly recognized him as the beach boy from the photograph. They kissed and lingered in each other’s arms before the man jogged off. Roberto watched him disappear around a corner then he stepped out of the Impala, a gym bag swinging in his gnarled fist.
Roberto tapped the door of room 109 with his knuckles. A minute later, the senorita answered.
“What’d you forget?” she asked, smiling. When she saw it was Roberto, her smile twisted into a perfect “o” of surprise.
“Hola.” Roberto pushed his way inside, closing the door behind him.
The room was worn and cheap. Decades of cigarette smoke had seeped into its walls, making the whole place smell of ash. The senorita looked out of place here. A short sundress showed off long, delicate limbs that trembled ever so slightly.
Roberto remembered his wife in a dress like that. Remembered how she trembled too.
“I’ve got your money,” the senorita said. “I was going to call…”
He cut her off. “Who was that chico you were with? Not your brother, I’m guessing.”
Sadness crept into her eyes. Her voice was soft, like she was speaking to a child. “You don’t understand.”
“Did Miguel find out about the two of you?” Roberto asked. “That why you really running?”
“You’re a nice man. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I didn’t mean to hurt you. The words slapped him. He pulled the .38 from his gym bag and showed it to her. “Where’s my fucking money?”
The pity in her face melted away. She hurried to the nightstand and pulled open a drawer. A roll of bills sat tucked inside next to the Gideon Bible. “It’s all we have.”
Roberto quickly thumbed through the bills. The roll was a thousand dollars light, but it would have to do. He jammed the cash into his bag and went for the door.
“Please.” The senorita grabbed hold of his shoulder. “I know it was wrong to cheat you. But without that money, we don’t have a chance. Miguel will find us for sure.”
Roberto shrugged her off. “You shouldn’t have left me.”
He swung the door open, took one step out, and stopped dead in his tracks. Outside, the senorita’s boyfriend stood frozen—a motel key in one hand, a Circle- K bag in the other. An awkward moment stretched between them. Neither man said a thing. Neither one moved. Then the boyfriend’s eyes twitched to the .38 in Roberto’s
Carter jerked like a dog at the end of his leash. The big pistol thudded against the ground. He staggered around the vacant lot, grasping his neck with both hands. Shaky fingers fought to keep a geyser of blood from escaping his throat. It was a losing battle.
Roberto climbed out of the ditch. He stood naked in the moonlight, watching the white man bleed out.
“ Hijo de puta ,” Roberto cursed. “See what you make me do?”
*****
She wasn’t hard to find.
Despite Roberto’s warnings, the senorita had used the Visa in Theresa Diego’s name. All Roberto had to do was call his friend at the credit card company and offer him $200. Ten minutes later, Roberto was looking at a printout of purchases. Among them was a bill for a Motel-6 a mile from Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport.
Roberto parked the Impala in the motel’s lot and sat listening to jets roar by overhead. Eventually, he’d have to ditch the car. Couldn’t risk keeping it. Couldn’t risk staying in Guadalupe either. He’d killed two of Miguel Ortega’s men. There was no coming back from that. For the rest of his life, he’d be looking over his shoulder. No more days playing checkers in the sun.
But before leaving town, Roberto had to see her. One last time.
The sun hung high, turning the car into an oven. Roberto mopped sweat from his brow as he scanned the motel rooms. Waiting.
He sat roasting for thirty minutes before finally spotting her.
The senorita stood in the doorway of room 109, embracing a handsome young Latino with wavy black hair. Roberto instantly recognized him as the beach boy from the photograph. They kissed and lingered in each other’s arms before the man jogged off. Roberto watched him disappear around a corner then he stepped out of the Impala, a gym bag swinging in his gnarled fist.
Roberto tapped the door of room 109 with his knuckles. A minute later, the senorita answered.
“What’d you forget?” she asked, smiling. When she saw it was Roberto, her smile twisted into a perfect “o” of surprise.
“Hola.” Roberto pushed his way inside, closing the door behind him.
The room was worn and cheap. Decades of cigarette smoke had seeped into its walls, making the whole place smell of ash. The senorita looked out of place here. A short sundress showed off long, delicate limbs that trembled ever so slightly.
Roberto remembered his wife in a dress like that. Remembered how she trembled too.
“I’ve got your money,” the senorita said. “I was going to call…”
He cut her off. “Who was that chico you were with? Not your brother, I’m guessing.”
Sadness crept into her eyes. Her voice was soft, like she was speaking to a child. “You don’t understand.”
“Did Miguel find out about the two of you?” Roberto asked. “That why you really running?”
“You’re a nice man. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I didn’t mean to hurt you. The words slapped him. He pulled the .38 from his gym bag and showed it to her. “Where’s my fucking money?”
The pity in her face melted away. She hurried to the nightstand and pulled open a drawer. A roll of bills sat tucked inside next to the Gideon Bible. “It’s all we have.”
Roberto quickly thumbed through the bills. The roll was a thousand dollars light, but it would have to do. He jammed the cash into his bag and went for the door.
“Please.” The senorita grabbed hold of his shoulder. “I know it was wrong to cheat you. But without that money, we don’t have a chance. Miguel will find us for sure.”
Roberto shrugged her off. “You shouldn’t have left me.”
He swung the door open, took one step out, and stopped dead in his tracks. Outside, the senorita’s boyfriend stood frozen—a motel key in one hand, a Circle- K bag in the other. An awkward moment stretched between them. Neither man said a thing. Neither one moved. Then the boyfriend’s eyes twitched to the .38 in Roberto’s
Similar Books
The Man in the Shed
Lloyd Jones
In Pursuit of a Scandalous Lady
Gayle Callen
Free the North! (Free Trader Series Book 5)
Craig Martelle
Grave Delight (A Maddie Graves Mystery Book 3)
Lily Harper Hart
Beauty and the Brain
Alice Duncan
A Forest of Corpses
P. A. Brown
Fangirl
Ken Baker
Multiplex Fandango
Weston Ochse
Love & Sorrow
Jenny Telfer Chaplin
Eyes of the Soul
Rene Folsom