Writer Highlight Featuring: Jonathan T. Franklin

 

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Photo Credit: Pixabay.com

Not My Call

 


by Jonathan T. Franklin


Martin Devlin pulled to the curb at 45 miles an hour in front of the hotel. He had the half burned cigarette with the inch long ash at the side of his mouth, he paused while the engine idled to look up towards floor five. He took his time, he knew which room from the previous night. He had watched them enter the hotel, watched through the windows as they walked up the stairs, pausing to kiss passionately along the way. Martin watched them enter the room. He knew because she came to the window in her bra to close the shades.


Martin drew the gun with the silencer from between the news paper. He checked it once again, it was clean and loaded. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he opened the door. He was getting old, the bags under his eyes were lower, darker than just last year. He felt tired, he never felt tired. He grabbed his coffee and chugged the rest of it down. Adjusted his well gelled hair and exited the car with the news paper under his arm. Martin adjusted his tie as he walked to the door of the hotel, then buttoned his jacket. Once inside he climbed the stairs. His knees were aching, but he didn’t complain. He never complained. Complaining was for pussies. He reached the door of their room. He heard them talking. Martin stepped back, and kicked the door in. They stood frozen, they were both in the nude. Martin fired a shot into her girlfriend first, bullet between the eyes. The other, the one he was mainly after tried to run, but Martin grabbed her long golden locks and tossed her to the ground.
He stepped on her ankle, all his middle aged girth so she couldn’t move. She begged him not to. He gestured with his head, and shrugged with one shoulder.


“Not my call toots. Boss says you gotta eat dirt today, along with your secrete sugar. So ,,,” Martin popped her between the eyes.  He ambled to the front door, checked the hall. No one around. He shut it and locked. He smelled coffee, stepped over her and poured some in a dirty mug. He went to the living room, turned the channel to the sports channel and caught up on the scores. He would take them out to the car after he found out who won the game last night.

 

©  Jonathan T. Franklin

Response to our Inspiration Call on August 4, 2017

Get Creative at www.facebook.com/CreativeTalentsUnleashed

 



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