Member-only story
Jack doesn’t fold
Microfiction: 250-word action story featuring winning a bet and the word “scrap”
“Goddamn, Danny. We did it!” Jack cried as he slapped the answer to all his problems on the counter. He beamed at the scrap of paper, flattening wrinkles with his fingertips. The window clerk didn’t blink. She robotically counted bills, not bothering to ask who Danny was or inquire about the dried blood on Jack’s nails. He wanted to scream, to throw money into the air and dance. But Jack knew better. Joy doesn’t last in a place like this. Instead of celebrating, he hurried to the exit, aiming to put as much distance as possible between himself and the sportsbook.
Jack created a mental list: shower, phone calls, then make things right. Suddenly, he felt eyes on his neck. He knew better than to turn around. Instead, he sped up and scanned ahead for hope. He pressed himself through a crowded patio and slipped into a restaurant. Jack crouched behind the door and waited. His pursuer barreled in, shrugging large, tense shoulders, and adjusting something beneath his trench coat.
Spinning back outside, Jack sidestepped a startled waiter as he threw himself toward an inky alleyway. Trembling at the sound of heavy footsteps, Jack knew better than to hesitate. He groped on the ground until he found a brick and then swung as hard as he could. The relentless hunter lay still, now just a discarded mannequin. Jack slowly flipped the stranger’s coat, revealing an open portfolio. Jack winced as he read the exposed paperwork: “Last Offer: Extended Car Warranty.”
