04-27-15 Monday Writing Warm-up

Brought to you by Four Fools Press: “Crazy Good Stories”

The blood ran down the street faster than the fugitive's dead body fell. He had made it through half the precinct alongside his cronies. Now, his life drained into the grated manhole six inches from his exploded scalp. The other two fidgeted on the far end of the alley, clawing at the bottom rungs of an overhanging fire escape. They hoped the darkness that they feared would save them.

“Come on, man!” The lookout hissed.

“Stop screaming! You want to draw his attention?” The other whined, as he tugged on the unrelenting ladder.

The first one cussed. He ripped at the slide on the 9mm he had lifted from the patrol car, snapping its warm nose down the lane. Sweat rained down his cheeks, pooling on his chin. He gulped. Rikers had been a tough stint for a snitch. Cop-killers wouldn’t even make it across the bridge. A distant wail lit up the man-made valleys. He thumbed the hammer. With the line crossed, surrender was a dead option.

The steel stair slammed down with a violent clang! Both felons jumped at the ruthless thud. The snatcher leaped onto the ladder and climbed like a pack of feral dogs bit at his feet. The lookout stumbled up after him, the soft ring of metal on metal following each rise of his gun-toting hand. They had ascended five feet when a jolt sounded through the fire escape. They gazed upward with the fear of the damned.

“Please, have mercy!” cried the man on top.

A sickly thwump followed, along with hot rain--and a human-sized hailstone.

The second fumbled from the ladder, landing square on his pistol arm. The dead weight of his partner snapped the wrist and dug the barrel into his spine. Copper mist drizzled his face, splashing through his whimpering lips. Pain pounded his body, immobilizing him. The crook cracked open his eyes to see a black figure straddling his body and his headless friend.

“I’ve got a family...oh God, I’ve got a family,” whined the stricken criminal.

The upright shadow held a block-tipped handle skyward, a cruel barb sticking from its side.

“Tell it to the Judge,” answered the cold voice above him.

The hammer fell, ending with a liquid splash!

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