The JSW Challenge is open to anybody who wishes to participate. Using the writing prompt, write a flash fiction no longer than 200 words and post to your page. The Challenge starts on Monday and runs through Sunday each week. Please remember to link your story back to this post so everyone can read your entry.
“Nay, she just hinted.”
He was sitting across from my desk, in his dirty clothes, smelling like a whiff of sewer.
“I don’t want you to tell her where I am.”
“Look, your mother doesn’t care where you are as long as you are safe,” I said roughly, “And if you do go see her, I’d suggest a bath first.” A little white lie never hurt anybody, and besides, as long as he thought it was his mother who was looking for him, my client was safe. He’d figure it out, but hopefully, not soon enough.
“Like a sewer.” I was reeking the same scent after tunneling down to find the man, much to my chagrin.
He seemed to be thinking and it looked like a hard task.
“Just call her, let her know you are safe. That’s all I ask and my job is done.”
“I don’t want to.”
I sighed, rubbing a hand over my hair. “And why not?”
“She never gave a damn before so why should she care now.” As he said the words, something came over his face, a thought or a suspicion that he wasn’t yet ready to believe.
“It was my mother, right?”
“Does it matter at this point?”
He slumped in the chair. “I suppose not.”
The look on his face said otherwise. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as I’d thought. Now the look was on my face, something just on the edge of my mind, something I couldn’t catch for the life of me.
Just then my door opened. A ragged man stepped in, stench preceding him. Behind him were several more men.
On instinct, I turned towards the window behind my desk, kept unlocked for this very reason, but as I did so, a group of men pushed the window open and started climbing inside.
In my client chair, he smiled. “You didn’t think I really believed my mother gave a damn about me did you?”
I was back to the wall, pistol in my hand. Shrugged. “It was a thought.”
The men moved closer.
“You can’t shoot us all,” one of them chuckled, grubby hands reaching out.
I shot him. One down. Two down, but before I managed the third, they were on me. They crushed me to the ground, fingers digging into my skin, hands locking my limbs, arm around my throat, somebody taking the pistol from my fist. Lifting me up, they took me out the back door, to the sewer entrance I’d used just moments before.
He knelt down behind me as I hung, limbs held firmly, between the men. “Welcome to my world.”
“I’ll never tell you,” I spat between clenched teeth.
Somebody wrenched the sewer lid off and they threw me down.