Run Pendejo

This is post 9 in Tim's serialized novel, A Typical Day in Miami. To start from the beginning, Click here

Brian’s left shoulder and knee hurt where he had landed. A brown scuff marred the seersucker at his knee and the jacket’s seam had torn at the shoulder. His bowtie needed attention. The office door hung from a single hinge; its shattered glass glittered on the floor. The finely made chair, one leg broken, lay on its side. His wallet’s contents spilled across the coffee table like a gutted fish, beside his, car fob, iPhone, and portfolio. Beneath the table, Raul’s cigar smoldered on the floor.

Brian straightened the fallen chair. It toppled as soon as he released his grip. He bent to the coffee table, pushed the wallet’s contents back in and began reorganizing his pockets. Wallet to right rear, car fob front left, iPhone right. He dropped to his knees, fished Raul’s smoldering cigar from beneath the table and placed it in the ashtray. Reaching for the decanter, he poured a glass of rum, took a sip, decided it wasn’t a good idea, drained the glass and poured another. Drink in hand, he dropped onto the couch. What did they mean, “Bag him?” He took another sip. Could they make him disappear? Put him on a secret list. Or on no list at all. Would he cease to exist?

READ MORE