Flash Fiction Challenge
Writing prompt: “Two childhood friends meet up after twenty years. After several drinks, one admits to having murdered several people.”

 

“We Were Friends”
By Thain in Vain

The waitress dropped off two beers at our table. Mac grabbed his and drank with a desperate thirst.

“What’s it been? Like twenty years? He said, letting out a loud burp.

“Ya, something like that.” I fiddled with the label of my Coors Light. I hated this beer. It was feeble like those who chose to drink it, but Mac had ordered them and who am I to turn down a free beer.

“It’s good to see you, man. So, huh, whatcha been up to? He couldn’t meet my eyes. His own eyes bounced around like a couple of pinballs in their sockets. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or uninterested in our conversation and going through the motions.

“You know. Making plans while life happens. One day you open your eyes and you’re somewhere in the middle of nowhere you planned. I took a swig of the watery beer, wishing for something stronger.

Oh, sounds like you might be a little bitter. I thought for sure things were going to work out for you.” He tapped his phone and glanced at it.

“Nobody said nothing worked out. I just meant that I couldn’t have imagined being where I am today. The waitress stopped at our table. I ordered two shots of whiskey and Mac ordered a couple of more beers.

“Didn’t mean to offend, man. It just sounds like, well, you know, your life didn’t pan out like you planned.” He drained another beer and glanced at his phone.

“I must have given you the wrong impression. I’m very pleased with where I am in life. I just didn’t imagine I’d be doing what I’m doing. The waitress dropped off the drinks. I grabbed a whiskey, tapped it twice on the table, and downed it.

“Ya, and what’s that?” He asked with a mockery in his tone.

“Hitman.”

“What?”

“I kill people for money.”

“What kind of people?”

“People who fuck over other people.”

“Like what?”

“Adultery, stealing, betrayal, rape, murder. You know. The standard shit that makes people vengeful and keeps me in business.” I drank back the other whiskey.

“Come on. Cut the bullshit. Just tell me what you do.”

“How about you tell me about what you do.”

“What do you mean?” I kept my eyes on him.

“Tell me about your job at the casino.”

“How do you know I where I work?”

“Tell me about the scam you’re running.” He motioned to the waitress for another beer.

“Don’t have a clue what you are talking about.”

“I know you do.” I sat back in the cheap wooden chair. It creaked under my weight. I let my jacket fall open, exposing my Beretta.

“Come on, man. You’re talking shit.”

“Perhaps, but we’re not leaving here until you tell me what I already know to be true.” I watched his pupils dilate. I could almost see flight or fight synapses of the brain kick in behind his eyes; a restrained panic. He was guilty as shit.

I motioned to the waitress for a couple more drinks and smiled at my old friend Mac Jermaine.”Drink up, Mac. It may be your last.”