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“Why do I always have to do your dirty work?” Johnny complained. “If you get mad at a guy, you need to take
responsibility for what happens to him, Mouse.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?
Don’t call me Mouse.”
“I’ll call you Mouse as long as you continue to be stupid,” Johnny
said, standing up and hitting Mouse in the back of the head. “What were you thinking? You can’t just go around taking people down
because you disagree with his policies.”
“Johnny, it wasn’t my fault! He
came at me. What else was I supposed to
do?”
“Try using your head, ya mook.
You can’t defend yourself from a hundred year old man?”
“He is NOT a hundred years old.
He’s only seventy-eight.”
“Same difference, Einstein.”
Johnny chuckled. “What’d he do,
lose his teeth and threaten to gum you to death?”
“Johnny,” his tone a warning.
Johnny sobered up and crossed the two paces to stand right in Mouse’s
face, staring down at him. “Look, you
idiot. You are the one in trouble here,
not me. I suggest you remember that
before you even think about getting an attitude with me.”
Mouse looked down, apparently contrite.
“Yeah, Johnny, you’re right. So
what are we gonna do?”
He backed off and looked at the prostrate elderly man lying on the basement
floor. “We hide him in plain sight. He’ll be found in the morning, and no one
will connect him to us.” He looked back
at Mouse. “To you.”
Mouse looked down again, and sighed heavily. “Just tell me what I need to do. I’ll do it.”
“Well, he can’t weigh more than a buck ten. You get him.
Bring him upstairs. I’ll make
sure the hall is empty.” Johnny turned
on his heel and marched to the stairs, then cautiously ascended them.
Mouse turned back to the old man, and grunted as he heaved him up and
onto his shoulder. He slowly shuffled to
the staircase, and waited for Johnny to motion to him.
Johnny reappeared in the doorway, and silently signaled Mouse to come
upstairs. Mouse readjusted his burden,
then climbed the stairs as quietly as he could.
Johnny was looking around a lot, and if anyone were actually there, they
would know immediately that something was wrong. Nobody looks around like that for no reason.
Mouse reached the top, breathing hard, and scanned the place
himself. Empty. Figures.
Nine thirty on a Thursday night at a retirement home, might as well be
four a.m.
Johnny led them down the long hallway, surveying each room as they
passed. The lights were out, except for
the nightlights, and not a soul was stirring.
Except them. Johnny stopped
abruptly at the end of the hall, almost making Mouse run into him. He turned his head and whispered, “Nurse’s
station.” He stood for a second,
thinking, then turned around. “TV room,”
he mouthed, pointing back the way they came.
With effort, Mouse got himself turned around, and tried to ignore the
pains in his back and the sweat trickling down his face. Johnny got ahead of him again, and led him
back to the first room they had passed, the room farthest away from potential
prying eyes.
“Set him down in that chair, facing away from the door,” Johnny said in
a stage whisper. Mouse did as he was
told, kneeling down first to more easily transfer the limp body to the wingback
chair. He set the body down with an
“Oof” and positioned the man carefully.
He sat back on his heels and looked up at Johnny, who was checking out
the hallway for signs of life. He tapped
the knee of the old man in the chair, and stood up.
He removed the gun from the holster at the small of his back and
pointed it directly at Johnny’s head.
The old man stood up and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Help! Burglar!”
Johnny’s head whipped around in alarm.
Mouse smiled. He said, “I told
you not to call me Mouse,” and fired.
Johnny fell in a slow arc, a look of astonishment still on his face, and
landed in the hallway with a sickening thud.
Unintelligible shouts came from the nurse’s station as lights came on in
the hallway.
The old man whispered, “Good shot, Montgomery!”
Mouse looked back at him and grinned.
“Thanks, Pop.”
THE END