Judas (A Guest Post)

 Markwildyr.com,Post #241

Image Courtesy of Pexels:

 

Hope you enjoyed DonMorgan’s story with the long title last week. Sort of reflected life at somepoint for each of us, didn’t it. Well, here’s the second story he wanted topost on my site. Horse of a different color. Here we go. 

* * * *

JUDAS

 

By Donald T.Morgan

 

The l

ittle dog was one of them butterfly beasts. A Papillion, or something likethat. Cute little tyke. Mostly white with black markings. Long snout, perkyears, and a bark somewhere between a yip and a yap.

“Hello,guy.”

Heturned and trotted off toward the woods before halting and facing me again.When I hadn’t budged, he dashed back to yip/yap in earnest. Damned if the furball didn’t want me to follow him. Maybe I oughta steal the bugger. Expensive dogsfrom what I’d heard.

Nah, Iwas a bad ass, not a dognaper. The little guy trotted across the barrow ditchand disappeared into the trees. I paused a moment before following. Wasn’t anyproblem locating him; he kept up a constant yammer like he wanted me to hurry.

Ipushed my way through a thick clump of mulberry bushes into a small glade and foundhim standing beside a body. The mutt’s bug eyes seemed to plead for help.

“Wha’dawe got here?” I knelt beside a young man lying face down, his left hand flungout. A big ruby set in yellow gold on his ring finger caught my eye. His otherarm was beneath him. “You okay, fella?”

Iwasn’t much interested in his answer because dead or alive, I was gonna havethat ring. I poked the shoulder of his soft suede jacket. Expensive. This guymight turn out to be a treasure trove.

Irecoiled when he rolled over onto his side, exposing a black revolver hiddenbeneath him. “Just stay nice and still,” he said.

Thegood-looking guy with a pleasant voice got to his feet. He shoulda been playingsoccer on the other side of the big park, not waylaying suckers in the woodedsection. A trickle of sweat rolled down my left side. Excitement … not fear.Amateurs. This guy had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

“Takeit easy, fella. You got no trouble from me. But I ain’t got nothing worthstealing. You picked the wrong mark this time.”

Thekid waggled the revolver. “It’s not a robbery, man.”

Ifrowned. Maybe I oughta be worried. “Damned good imitation. I like the way yourdog brought me to you.”

Thebastard’s smile got even bigger. “Neato, huh? Took a year to train him. Hehelps me get my kicks. My thrills.”

Myeyebrows climbed like I was scared. “No, man! I … I got a family. Wait, let meget my wallet. I got something in it you’ll like.”

Withmy left hand stretched in front of me as if to ward off a bullet, I slowlyreached behind me. But it wasn’t a wallet I whipped out. It was my trim little.25 semi-automatic. It barked twice, and two spots appeared in the middle ofthat fine suede jacket. Crap. It was ruined.

The kid’s mouth gaped. His eyes went round like hecouldn’t believe it. Then they went as dead as the rest of him. I went over toslip that ruby off his finger and check my marksmanship. Two heart shots. Hadto be with a little .25, else he’d be able to yank the trigger on that bigcannon.

Awhine drew my attention to the dog at my feet. Maybe I oughta take him along tolure suckers for me. I examined the tag on his collar. JUDAS. A hell of a namefor the little guy.

Iheard a strangled gasp and whirled. The kid stood with two cups of coffee inone hand and a big six-shooter in the other. No, that wasn’t right. The yokellay sprawled on the ground, still dead. But there he was, standing wild-eyed andpointing a revolver at me.

“Youkilled my brother to steal his dog?”

I raisedmy .25 … but I wasn’t fast enough.

*.*.*.*.

Win some, losesome. But to lose the big one?

My contactinformation is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email:markwildyr@aol.com

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Twitter: @markwildyr

Now mymantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.You have something to say, so say it!

See you later.

 

 

Mark

 

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