"What in Christ happened to you?"
"Nothing. Nevermind. Did you bring it?"
"Nothing my ass. I know you."
"Did you bring it?"
"Of course I did. What's it for?"
"For launching projectiles at great speed. Can I see it?"
"What's it for?"
Lawrence Tolan was impatient at the best of times. The thick fingers of his left hand twitched conspicuously on the knee of his neatly pressed white slacks, his right hand plunged deep in the pocket of his tailored sport coat, clearly wrapped around some intensely coveted object. He hadn't seen Sammy in over three years and Sammy's behavior was doing nothing to stem his suspicions about the unexpected call he received two weeks ago. The fact that Sammy had asked him to bring the pistol Lawrence used to kill Joe Timms was not helping.
"I have other guns you know." Lawrence knew Sammy was watching his pocket. "What's going on?"
Sammy took tentative sip from his coffee. He knew he looked shaken. That was not his plan. He was supposed to be the steady one. Today was not the day for this. Lawrence had whispered something about his gun, but the rest was hazy. Sammy knew this was a mistake, but she was already on her way and Lawrence would not forget.
"What's with you? Sammy?" Lawrence slammed his open palm on the table, forcing a fork to ricochet off of his plate and onto the carpet of the cafe. Heads turned and Lawrence noticed. He resented Sammy for putting him in this situation.
Sammy pierced Lawrence with a frozen stare, shakiness gone. He slowly placed his cup of coffee on the table, stood, and bent to retrieve the fork that lay gleaming on the carpet. He let the tines of the fork fall to the table with soft thud then slid it noiselessly forward to rest beside his plate. He stepped behind Lawrence's chair and laid his hands gently on his broad shoulders, feeling them instinctively tense. Sammy slipped a finger inside the collar of Lawrence's sport coat and began to pull, calmly, reassuring. Lawrence knew better than to resist and hunched imperceptibly forward in his chair. Sammy peeled back the jacket and slipped it past Lawrence's loosening elbow. Lawrence unclenched his right hand and let Sammy slide the coat from, behind his back, fold it confidently over his arm, and turn away from the table. The familiar double jingle of the bell over the cafe door told Lawrence their conversation had reached an end. He heard whispers to his left and silently fumed, the fingernails of his right hand digging deeply into his palm.
No song today...i'm sick and lightheaded and in no mood for thought.
Archiving all of these memories
2 years ago