Brone Barnheart Apt. 223

The sun was beaming down; it was a beautiful day outside. I sighed. I was looking out my window at the graveyard. I didn’t see her, but I knew she would be waiting there. I got my stuff and headed toward the elevator.
“Brone,” I head a muffled voice. I paused at door 226.
“Don’t go” …I kept walking. Outside I headed toward the flower shop. The taxidermist was as perky as ever.
“Ok, this is a one time special offer; I have, just for you…a Chinchilla!” I had to stop. “Aren’t those only native to South America?”
“…it’s your lucky day!”
“I hope so,” I said and moved on. An ambulance passed me by, sirens blaring. The flower shop door creaked as I opened it. A girl at the counter looked up.
“I need a bouquet of red roses.” I said.
“Ok,” she said and started to pick out roses one by one. After she had enough she started tying them together with a string.
“Wait, can I have then wrapped in plain white paper, please?”
“Ok,” I paid and left with my bouquet. I didn’t want to emotionally scar the flower girl, so I went into the laundry mat. It was the same guy from before, he sneered.
“I have the right to refuse service to anyone.” He said. I walked to a dryer out of view of the windows, and carefully unwrapped the bouquet.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he said.
“Yeah, I heard you.” I pulled out my gun. “You also have the right to remain silent.” He froze, I sighed. “Don’t worry I’m not gonna shoot you.” I carefully wrapped the roses around my hand, and gun. I tied it back together using my free hand and teeth. I cradled the bouquet and left. He was still frozen.

I went to the graveyard. At the entrance I smelled it again. That scent that has been haunting me all my life...her. There in the graveyard I saw her, the sun beaming down casting half of her face into shadow. She was not smiling. She pulled the pistol out of her pocket and pointed it right at my chest. She came closer.
“It was sunny that day as well...” she said.
“So you didn't come because of the sun?” I said
“I was supposed to kill you, it was all set up. If I had…I would have been free.”
“So why didn't you? You choose to be hunted. Why?”
“Why did you love me?” She said. She lowered her gun and embraced me; I pointed the bouquet at her side.
“Let's just go away somewhere. Escape, vanish, go somewhere where there’s no one else... Just the two of us...” My eyes became cloudy with tears. Click, that unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. Her eyes widened.
“I wish I could bend my love to hate you,” I said.

      I didn’t even hear the shot. I just felt her go limp. She started to fall backwards.
I caught her and lowered her to the ground.
“Roses? For me?” The life in her eyes faded, she was gone.
I took the gun and left the roses across her chest. I light a cigarette, stared
up at the perfect blue sky, and cried. 

Brone Barnheart Apt. 223

I was on the sidewalk, trying to light a cigarette. It was raining, of course. After one to many failed attempts, I gave up and let it just hang there. I was sucking on nothing. I had a few buck and nothing to do. My feet immediately took me in the direction of the bar. I saw her in the gutter, crying, rocking herself. No time to crack jokes. I reached out my hand to touch her shoulder, console her, but I hesitated. There was nothing I could say, knew how to say. So I silently slipped off my trench coat, and placed it around her. She didn't look up but grabbed the edges, continually rocking. I left her there, there was nothing more I could do. As I walked on I glanced across the street and noticed that my woman in red was not behind the counter, a guy this time. I sighed. As the bar windows came into view I spit out the unlit cigarette. My hand on the door I saw the red scarf on the coat hanger. “Heh.” There she was at the bar, beautiful and mysterious, my kind of woman. I walked in, sat down on her right and ordered a red Russian. Luckily I was not carded. She didn’t talk much, and always wore a poker player’s face. It was hard work to learn even the slightest detail about her. As the day turned to night, I learned some of her dislikes; idleness, delay, boredom. She hid her emotions, but I saw something very familiar in her eyes, trouble. I like trouble. Her body language was screaming out something to me too. It looked like the night was about to get interesting. I grinned. I looked past her and I saw…no…it couldn’t be! My smile evaporated. I was paralyzed in my chair. Outside the bar, it was….it was Meredith. Was I dreaming? Another Nightmare? I rubbed my eyes and looked again, just in time to catch the wisps of her hair leaving the window view. She was heading into town, shit. She was the one who had killed my heart all those years ago. There was only one reason she was hunting me down now.
“I….I have to go.” I said lamely. I quickly got up and left the bar. Meredith was nowhere to be seen. I chanced a look back inside. Was she, was she crying? No time to worry about her now. I called Seebach.
“Michael, what the hell. Give me my ID."
"I need it much more than you idiot. Don't think you can trade me a hundred bucks for it."
"Unbelievable huh? but that's not important, of course I'm calling you for a reason. So listen carefully, because I'm serious about it."
“I think I saw Meredith.”
He said something about meeting, but I already knew this was my problem. I went back into my apartment and laid down. Looks like my dreams were catching up to me, but how was it going to end? Sleep took me and there she was, standing pretty with a pistol.

Brone Barnheart Apt. 223

I was not walking in the rain, today it was sleeting. My feet decided it was a wonderful day for a walk, and there was really no point in arguing. “It didn’t have rabies in its life, I swear!” the tiny taxidermist trying to hustle me, as always. “Nah, it’s just not for me” I responded, and shuffled on. As I passed the laundry mat the owner shot me a look. I rolled my eyes and continued on, figuring I was not welcome. The glass doors retracted as I entered. I smelled that distinctly sickening smell of purified air and pine tree scent. Capitalism at it’s finest. “Welcome to Manny’s,” A pimply faced teen said with complete apathy, smacking her gum. Suddenly I felt as if I had the urge to go somewhere. I quickly turned left walked a ways and then turned left again. “Oh, of course.” I was staring at Manny’s shoddy looking Alcohol section. “Hmmm, a 7$ no name-brand vodka….” It was tempting. I went back and got a basket. After gabbing 3 bottles of the no name vodka I went and got 2 cartons of orange juice. I may be able to hold my liquor but I’m no maniac. Besides, it will make it last an extra day, maybe. I approached the teenager at the register. She looked at my basket, and then she looked at me, frowning.
“Sir, are you 21?” My expression turned cold,
“I’m 28.”
“I need to see some proof.” It was at this point I realized that Michael was currently changing the name on my I.D. for no particular reason. This was going to be a pain.
“Have you ever tried to clean up shards of window pane with a broom?” I said.
“You don’t scare me,” she retorted, blowing a bubble.
“…”
“…” It popped.
“…I have a gun.” I finally said.
“Re-Really?!” her face brightened up.
“Uh, ya.”
“Can I see it!!” she was way too excited.
“Huh?”
“Come on, lemmie see you gun!” She got louder. I hate kids.
“Calm down asshat”
“PLEEEEAAAASE?” People were starting to stare.
“Alright look, ring up my stuff and I’ll wave it around for you.” I said.
“Really?” She was like a puppy that needed to be kicked.
“yeah….really.” I said.
“AWESOME” She finally rang up my stuff.
“That’ll be, 35.31.”

I wonder if my wallet has any money. I checked. A new 100 was staring me in the face. “huh…” I gave the twerp the hundred, and she quickly returned my change.
"Now can you show me?”
“Nope, Bye!” I grabbed my grocery bag and sprinted out of the door. She couldn’t even react, all just part of the job. I kept running though for fear she would chase me down.
Then I saw a little girl skipping ahead,
And without a second thought I jumped high overhead.
As I landed my bottles clinked and rattled.
She looked surprised so I thought it best to skedaddle.
Back in my apartment I drank many drinks.
Then I fell asleep, me thinks…Hic.

Brone Barnheart Apt. 223

It was dark. I lit up my watch, 6:20 A.M. Wait, that can't be right…oh I must have slept all day yesterday, sweet. I got up and took a shower, the first one in a long time. I grabbed my stuff and headed out. As I passed the ominous steel door of 226 I heard the light tapping of a keyboard, working as always. It’s truly scary the things he comes up with when he’s bored. I took the stairs one at a time, letting my fingertips slowly glide over the cool black handrail, until I touched something sticky. I quickly wiped my hand on my pants in disgust. Just then, some college kid flew past me taking the steps 3 at a time with an eggo waffle hanging from his mouth. I grinned, “Never again.” My feet lead me to the graveyard. Upon entering I froze. I had never seen it up close but this was the exact graveyard from my dreams. I was standing exactly where I had always been standing. “That means she would be,” I looked for her…no one. I breathed a sigh of relief. I sat on the lawn and spaced out. I felt a cold wind cut across my face but I ignored it. I yawned, “man, I slept to much, it’s time for a nap.” And with that I laid back and passed out.

----------------------------------

I was to soon awoken by my growling stomach. I grimaced and got back up. I looked around and saw a bakery. “That’s convenient,” I said to no one in particular. Upon entering I was greeted by a smile. The woman behind the counter had very, very clean dark hair. “Interesting,” I though. I walked up to the counter, put my hand down, and then raised it again in thought. She stared at the counter. I looked down. There was a smudge where my palm had been. I looked back up. She twitched. I pulled my long sleeve down and tried to wipe it away, but that only made it bigger. She twitched more. I got nervous. Finally, she produced a bottle of hand sanitizer and a napkin, the smudge was gone in milliseconds. “No worries,” she sighed. I put my hands in my pockets. There was something off about her, I liked it. “Got any baguettes?”
“no,” she replied not turning around to look.
“Muffins?”
“no.”
“Vienna bread?”
“nope”
“…what do you suggest?” I finally asked.
“Bagels,” she said instantly.
“Ok, I'll take two.”

She grabbed the two closest and placed them neatly in a bag. I looked in my wallet. There was a crumpled 5 and a crisp ten, so I gave her the ten. She handed me my change and I let the coins fall into the tip jar.
“See you around,” I said turning to leave.
I left the quant little bakery and went past a warehouse. Then I froze, mid bite. Way across the way there were two eyes, in a tree, watching me. “Creepy,” I thought and wandered on.

Brone Barnheart Apt. 223

I woke up late. It was raining. “Another day in paradise.” I rolled out of bed, grabbed my beige trench coat, and lurched out of the door. Out on the sidewalk, the rain patted my hair like fingertips. I had nowhere to go so I let my feet decide. I took a left, passing the little taxidermy stand where the elusive buzzard lives. Victoria cracked a smile,
“Hey Mister, want to buy a rat? It’s good for a scare.” She held up a little black ball, complete with tail and whiskers. I grinned back,
“Sorry, this time I’m sober.” My feet walked on. My eyes unfocused and glazed over all of the grey in my view. Then a strip of red caught my attention. There next to the gutter, soaked, was a dainty red scarf. I looked at my watch as if I had something better to do than go pick it up. As I lifted it, I noticed it was complete with tire marks. Looking around to see if anyone was taking not of my peculiar behavior, I saw a laundry mat. “What are the odds.” I took the scarf in, holding it by one end, away from me. The laundry mat manager lifted an eyebrow. I just blankly stared back; this was definitely not the strangest thing he’s seen. As it was washing, I slouched down, put my feet in another chair and lit a cigarette. The manager cleared his throat and pointed at a no smoking sign. I kept puffing. Two cigarettes later, the scarf was out of the dryer. I carefully rolled it up and placed it in my inner suit pocket. As I was leaving I herd “asshole,” under the manager’s breath. I was tempted to show him the wonders of a window punch, but my feet had already guided me away. Back, past the little stand.
“Are you sure?” Victoria said.
“Get me after I leave the bar,” I said without stopping. Huh…the bar it is then. I took a slightly quicker pace with a destination in mind. At the door to the bar, I paused. In the refection I saw the woman in red. Except it was a red shirt, not a dress. Hand propping her head up, she had a look of absolute boredom. This time, there was no work to do. I turned around and put my hands in my pockets. Ding ding ding, she glanced at me, but did not move. Her expression gave away nothing, I like a challenge. I wiped my feet and hung my dripping trench coat on a hanger, careful not to make more work for her.
“Hey, I’d like a coffee, black.” I said.
“What size,” she responded automatically.
“Medium,” she finally got up and started getting the coffee. As she turned away to get the cup, I admired her figure. She had perfect curves and the right proportions in all the right places…Looks like I was going to find out the hard way why she lived here.
“That’ll be 2.50,” she said. Again rehearsed, this was going to take some time. As I gave her three bucks I said,
“Want a scarf?” She looked right at me and her eyes gave away nothing. It looked like she was capable of anything, “daunting” I thought. She handed back two quarters and I tossed them in the tip jar. I took out the scarf out and put it on the counter, snagged my coffee and put on my trench coat at the door.
“Thanks,” she said apathetically. I walked out into the crying world without looking back. I tossed the coffee in the gutter, and tried to light a cigarette, “A challenge alright.”

Brone Barnheart Apt. 223

I was sitting on my bed staring at the squirrel on the table. It’s grey and brown fur forming a perfect coat. Sitting on its haunches, its tail curving up it’s backbone before bending the other way forming a sort of question mark. With a quizzical look frozen on its face as if to say, “Hey, what’s that shiny object coming at me?” I sighed. “Why did I buy this?”

The day had dragged on and was now turning into night. “It’s time for some payback,” I thought. I pocketed my newly acquired squirrel and headed into the hallway. At door 22 , (226) I stopped. “What a jerk, waking me up early. This is gonna be good.” I thought. I lightly knocked on the door and looked directly into the peep hole, waiting for it to turn black. There it was! I swiftly kicked the door as hard as I could. The cheap brittle dead bolt snapped, and the old rusty hinges flew off. The door went crashing into the room, pinning him to the floor. Well, I didn’t mean to kick it that hard. I took a cautious step inside, “Yo, Michael you still alive?” In response, he somehow threw the door right back at me, I barley had time to take a boxer’s stance and block with my forearms, it still hurt like hell. He rolled away, and the door fell sluggishly back to the floor. Michael slowly stood to full height and coolly stared at me with those calculating eyes.
“Brone, I was quite certain it was you,” He said.
“Oh? How could you tell?” I said.
“Your shoes make a unique sound against the tile in the hall. Along with the frequency of your step and knowledge of your usually languid stride I would say you are exactly 6 feet and 3/8ths of an inch tall. Strange, did you grow an eighth of an inch this week?”
“Hah, maybe. Here take this, a gift from me to you.” I tossed him the squirrel.
“Expertly crafted, done quickly but no mistakes, this is the work of Miss Victoria Lampshade.”
“So that’s her name, listen I need to know where there’s gambling nearby.”
“There are precisely eight places within a 100 mile radius, six of them illegal.”
“Just gimmie the closest.”
“Oscars Butchery, password new york strip, the entry fee is 50 dollars. Why? Must you indulge in the cheap thrill of losing money for nothing too?”
“You know me; my eyes are too sharp to lose. Besides, the thief, eyes like the bluest ocean, will appear with the rolling dice.” He looked puzzled.
“Chow,” I quickly left before he tried to make me fix the door or something.

Outside, I surveyed the butchery. It was a medium sized shop, but there were way too many cars parked nearby; not everybody was jonesing for delicious pork chops. I entered the shop and I saw Oscar. He was a large man but he knew how to carry himself, and with all those sharp culinary knives easily within reach I suppose I was gonna have to pay the 50 bucks. “I want a new york strip,” I said while pulling out a crisp 50 dollar bill.
“I think there’s one in the back, follow me.” He said, taking the bill. We went into the back of a freezer where he pulled away a rack of meat to reveal a small stairwell. I ambled down the stairs to find a large, well lit room. Green walls and green felt where everywhere. No windows, no clocks, no sense of time. I saw blackjack, poker, roulette and finally, craps. There were 28 people in the room, 13 had blue eyes. I went straight to the craps table and watched the action. The shooter was about to roll, he threw the dice from his right hand to his left, and back to his right. “That was bad etiquette, and he just switched the dice.” I thought. He rolled. “Winner! Winner!” He won five more rounds before I asked the brown-eyed dealer “Do you know a Sugar McCoy?” His eyes inadvertently traveled to the shooter. I looked at the shooter, the shooter looked at me…then Sugar McCoy dashed out of that room. “Shit! Those dice are loaded,” I yelled as I ran after him. Up the stairs he went, checking his watch. I followed taking them three at a time. At the top he threw the meat to the side, ran out of the freezer, around the counter and out the door. I followed, hopped the counter and sprinted after him. He was fast, but I was catching him. He raced down the smarta steps jumping sever or eight at a time. I was closing the gap every second. He hurtled the turn-style, and ran for the light of the open train door. He made it just as the doors were closing and I ran right up against them. I looked at him, he thought he was safe. I pulled out my window punch and stabbed the train car window with all my strength, it shattered, the train started to move. I put my hands on the roof of the train car, jumped, and swung my feet in first. I tore my shirt on the glass, he was gonna pay. “Alright! There’s no where to run so why don’t you just-” He pulled out a butterfly knife, I rolled my eyes. He charged me in the most awkward way imaginable. I side stepped him, grabbed his wrist, and tripped his feet. He went flying, head over heels, landing on his back. The butterfly knife slid out of his hands down the aisle. I turned him over and handcuffed him. Then we took a seat and I punched him in the face for making me run that much, “bastard.”
After twenty minutes we arrived at the police station. I opened the doors and threw him in; he stumbled and landed on his chin. The receptionist lady gave me a look. “Resisting arrest,” I said. “This is Sugar McCoy, a car thief who jumped bail, got my reward?” She looked at her computer, “Ah yes, Sugar McCoy, let’s see…the bail was set at 200 dollars so you get 20.”
We looked at each other.
“TWENTY DOLLARS!!!”
“Yes, the bounty hunter always gets 10% of the bail.”
“His bail was only 200?! Why couldn’t you have killed someone!? Asshole!” I kicked him in the kidney, he groaned. It was not satisfying. I snatched the measly 20 from the receptionist’s hand. On my way out I took out my window punch and shattered the front door.
“HEY!” she said. I felt much better.

Finally back in my hallway, I noticed room 22 , had shiny new hinges and two new dead bolts, I smiled. I went to my bed and collapsed, what a bad day. I caught the smallest of the small fries. It actually cost me 40 bucks to arrest the douche bag. I passed out. Then I smelled it again…

Brone Barnheart Apt. 223

As I cooly glided in the dimly lit bar, cigarette smoke filled my nostrils. “This is the place,” I thought. I glanced around and only saw a few patrons. It was still early. In a shadowy corner there was a woman wearing a red dress and an expressionless face. Our eyes met. “I’ve got work to do,” I thought and looked away. As I was sitting down at the bar, a glint of light caught my eye. In the reflection of the mirror I saw it. Under the bar was a M1014 Combat Shotgun. It was a semi-automatic, made by the Italians. Currently it was only used by the U.S. Marine Corps. Under that I spotted a box of flashbangs. This was no ordinary bar.
“So what’ll it be?” The bartender interjected.
“Jose Cuervo and keep it coming,” I said. After downing 5...or maybe 6 shots, the bartender asks,“What kind of work do you do?”
“Some call me an old fashioned cowboy, but I’m a simple bounty hunter. I also do other odd jobs if my wallet calls for it. Here’s my number if you ever have anything that needs doing.” On my second try I swiped a pen off the bar and wrote my number on a cocktail napkin. The bartender said nothing but pocketed the napkin. I stopped him from pouring me another drink, “Time for a Prairie Oyster,” I said. He made it. "Bottoms up." I downed my drink and headed out. As I meandered up the sidewalk, I decided it was time to give the juvenile delinquent a call. “Yo kid."
“Yeah well I'm still gonna keep calling you kid. Listen, I need some information on the bartender.”
“Busy with what?”
“Why are you investigating all the tenants? Wait a second…my alarm clock!”
“Michael you son of a !”
click. He hung up. The power didn’t go out last night, it was him! Next time we sparred I’d be sure to kick him in the face for that. Lost in thought I entered the Wrath. Piercing dark brown eyes and a hesitant smile greeted me.
“I, ah, I’m looking for someone...can you help me?” The smile vanished.
“Follow me,” she said. The next thing I know, I was sitting in a small room smoking a pipe. She sat across from me, legs crossed, eyes closed.
“This is real mystic and all but uh, do you have anything to eat here?” I said. A growling stomach was her reply. “…I see.”
“The blue-eyed thief will appear with the rolling dice. That is what I see.” There was something different about her voice, I couldn’t place it.
“You, swimming bird,” she said.
“Huh?” I said.
“The swimming bird will meet a woman; the bird will be hunted by this women and then….death.”
“Heh, one more time.”
“What’s that?”
“I was killed once before, by a woman.” I got up.
“…you take women too lightly my friend.”
“On the contrary, catch ya laters,” I replied. I put the peace pipe down and headed for the door. At the cash register I stopped. I didn’t know if she was expecting payment so I threw down a 10 and stumbled back out into the world. “I wonder where there's gambling.”