The Shadow on the Wall
262 Words
The sound came from the fire escape. A heavy boot landing on rusted iron.
Leo didn't think. He grabbed the Red Folder and shoved it into the waistband of his trousers. He turned off the kitchen light, plunging the room into shadows.
"Ma, stay down," he hissed.
A silhouette appeared at the window—a man in a gray tactical jacket, his face obscured by a respirated mask. He didn't have a gun; he had a high-voltage stun baton that crackled with a sick, blue light.
This was the "Conflict" his mother had warned him about. These weren't corporate lawyers; these were the Vane Fixers.
Leo didn't have his U-lock. He didn't have the crane. He looked at the kitchen counter and grabbed the only weapon he had: the heavy, cast-iron skillet his mother had used to cook his breakfast for twenty years.
The window shattered. The man leaped into the room, the baton hissing. Leo swung.
The sound of iron hitting bone was dull and final. The fixer went down, his mask cracking against the linoleum. But before Leo could breathe, a red laser dot appeared on his chest, dancing over his heart.
A second man was standing on the fire escape, a suppressed pistol leveled at Leo’s head.
"Drop the folder, Mr. Moretti," a voice crackled through a headset. "It doesn't belong to you."
Leo looked at his mother, then at the folder, then at the red dot. He realized the stakes had just moved from "money" to "survival."
- Writer
