X Marks The Spot- A Short Story For #finishthestory @bananafish

X Marks The Spot

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Mike asked. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring that Derek was still in the bathroom. "I mean. He's your uncle. That doesn't bother you?"

"You don't know him like I do.” Terry sipped his beer. Budweiser, working class. He snubbed his cigarette out and lit another. “He deserves it.”

“That’s not up for question.” Mike shrugged. “What I mean is, it’s heavy, is all. Taking life. It’s not a simple thing. You don’t know. Cause you’ve never done it. So don’t be doing this deal just because Derek wants you to.”

“Don’t question me.” Terry eyed Mike, his face tensing up, his pupils dilated. Guys on meth, Mike noted.

Derek returned from the bathroom, cigarette dangling from his grinning mouth. He stretched his arms out to Mike and Terry, the gristle on his chin showing. “Boys,” he said. “Let’s get over this plan a final time, then, eh fuckers?”

Derek walked over to his bar and brought back three more beers. The empty bar, Jerry’s, had been his fathers, who, incidentally, was also not named Jerry. “Terry, what are you going to do?”

Terry sipped his beer and began. “I’m going to come along on his fishing trip that he takes every Sunday. I’ll communicate it to him in person. I’ll tag along up to his favorite fishing trip at Red Top State Park. I’ll get him nice and drunk so I drive back.”

Derek turned to Mike. “And you?”

“I’ll be ready and waiting at the gas station of the 4-1-1. I put a gun to their head and demand cash. Terry says there’s cash back at his Uncle John’s place, not far off. And, if he’s right, there is, buried in the backyard. The house is off the main road, far from neighbors, so it’ll just be the two of us."

“And I’ll be following y’all there.” Derek nodded. “We get the cash, kill the old man and make it all look like an accident.” Derek leaned in close to them. Mike could smell the cheap bourbon and cigarettes on his breath. “Now, not one of you is going to fuck this up, because I’m not going back to prison. So I’m going to make this crystal-fucking-clear for y’all. You do it all like I say. Exactly like I say, and there’s no trouble. Understand? No trouble aside from you having the problem of which hooker you want stick your Mr. Franklin into for the evenin’, undestand?”

Derek extended his hand to Mike. Mike shook it, looking him firm in the eyes. This was Derek’s ritual before a job. He’d seen it all before.

Terry was next. He took Derek’s hand. But Derek didn’t let go.

“You lying to me about your Uncle Jon burying his loot in the back yard? About what he did to you? You lying to me now, boy?”

Terry stared Derek in the eyes. “I’m not. So promise me that I get to be the one to do it.”

"Diddler" Jon- Terry always thought of his uncle as Diddler, a joke, a misfit; it seemed to veneer the horror he had experienced. His poor mother, Terry remembered the delicate face made haggard by cheap alcohol and expired pain killers. He witnessed Diddler Jon take her away one day and- no more mother. The years had gone slowly.

And now the plan was working. Diddler Jon was drunk and Terry was driving into the gas station. Mike had timed his entry well enough and Terry saw Diddler freeze in the face of the gun. But the stubborn bastard did not yield. Derek took charge, getting into the back seat he ordered "Talk." and poked his knife into Jon's ear drawing a spray of blood. Diddler started talking in bursts, taking great gasps of air. Twenty Thousand Pounds buried in a lunch box between the brown ragweed patch and the fence. Derek had knocked him out to stop his babbling.

Soon all four were in the car and driving to Diddler's cottage. Terry screeched to a stop outside the house and Derek asked Mike to keep an eye on Jon while Terry and he would go dig up the money. Terry had fetched the lone shovel and started digging while Derek watched. Soon a thunk of metal sounded and Terry gave a small whoop. That was when Derek hit him on the head with the butt of his gun.

Terry dropped to the ground woozy and nauseous. Derek kicked him away and made to retrieve the money. He had just cleared the lid of the lunch box when Terry saw Diddler approach with a bloody knife in his hand.

No! No! Mike Oh Lord. The new fear- that Diddler had killed Mike- seized Terry. He squeezed his eyes shut and threw up. Derek glanced at him and noticed Jon approaching. Throwing down the shovel and went for his gun; but not fast enough. Jon was rushing at him before he could get at the gun. Derek lashed out with a kick trying to keep Jon away. Jon veered and slowed and Derek managed to stand and face him, backing away, his gun now in his hand.

Terry was trying to get up when Derek stepped on him and stumbled. The gun went off with a loud boom and Derek fell on him. Terry crawled away from under Derek and sat up. Diddler was silently sobbing and holding his stomach as blood continued to ooze from between his hands. Derek was sitting in the dirt holding his hand- there was knife stuck in his forearm. The gun was lying near the lunch box. Looking at Terry, Derek lunged for the gun with his other hand.

Terry saw him fumble with the grip- wrong hand. He could see the knife sticking out of Derek's gun hand. He went for the knife. The knife did not come loose but Derek screamed in pain, thrashing about wildly, still trying to point the gun at Terry. Something snapped in Terry's mind and he gritted his teeth and kicked Derek in the face, and kept kicking even after he was still and silent.

It was only the sound of sirens which woke Terry. He picked up the lunch box and went inside the house to hide it. Then he came out and started shouting.

"Help Me! Please Help!"

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