Friday Noir: Blood Like Oil
Laying there, he could hear the low moan of the tugboat in the Delaware River. A fine mist was coming down, making the cobblestones slick.
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Just a few hours ago, he sat at the counter at Frank’s.
The gat was up under his arm while he nursed a cup of black coffee and toyed around with a plate of eggs and hash.
The newspaper was folded over in front of him. Not much to read, none of it good anyway.
No news of the heist, that for sure.
All went smooth as silk.
Now it was just a matter of time – tomorrow they’d split the look and he could split for good.
One last job. Then packing up and heading south.
He can kick the muck from this beat-down town and start fresh someplace else.
The deuce with the big engine and fat tires was waiting right outside.
Didn’t expect that kid with the blade to bust in.
Stuck him right under ribs.
All for a few measly bucks.
If only the kid knew what was in the trunk.
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His blood glistened like oil as it leaked down the gutter.
(c)Mark Krajnak | JerseyStyle Photography | 2016
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