There’s Blood…Everywhere

“There’s blood everywhere,” I say, doubling over as Pepsi and warm stomach fluid hit the ground like a blanket slapping the floor.

“Wait, slow down,” Margo says, gesturing.

“There… there’s blood…in the gas station…everywhere.”

“You went to pay?”

“—and the clerk is fuckin’ dead as fuck!”

“Have you taken’ your meds…?”

“Just go look for yourself!” I say, pointing.

“Better not be a joke. We don’t have time for this shit,” Margo says, sliding her hand down the small of her back for her pistol.

“See it?” I shout.

“Kinda hard to miss the blood and dead body.”

“What should we do?”

“Um…call the cops,” Margo says as if it were the best idea.

“They’ll blame us for this shit!” I say. “We’ll have to prove we didn’t do this.”

“Relax,” Margo says, “we’ll just…”

“Leave like we saw nothin’, and we know nothin’!”

“Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself?”

“Fine,” I say, handing Margo the phone. “Call the cops.”

Margo crinkles her eyes. “Get in the fuckin’ car.”

“Help!” someone inside the store says.

“He’s not dead,” Margo says.

“It’s none of our business.”

“Get in here,” Margo says, waving me inside.

“Sir,” I say, shaking his body, “what happened?”

“Thieves,” he said in a low tone for his baritone tenor.

“It’s too much blood for one person, who else is here?” I ask.

“My wife,” the man says, raising his hand to its full shaky range.

“Take the gun,” she told me.

I held it to my face.

Margo rolled her eyes. “See someone….pull the fucking trigger.”

“Don’t patronize…”

“Just go!”

I crept the distance to the garage. “There’s no one here,” I say, releasing the tension in my stomach.

The man crawled to a sitting position, writhing. “This must have been her idea.”

“You’re not sayin’ your wife set you up?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

(© 2020 Andrew Cyr)

(Part One)