Martinis, Girls and Guns

 Fast Cars

He kept his well-polished shoe pressed against the gas pedal. The car itself was well accustomed to the speed, but the model had never been designed for it. The needle on the speedometer was  as far right as it could go. The roar of the engine was left far behind him, leaving the interior of the car eerily quiet.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles glaring white from his tanned hands. Those hands were scarred, too, covered in the remnants of fights he shouldn’t have been able to win, hasty escapes and covert entries. Hands, broad and square, that would better suit a criminal than the well-dressed, elegant man that they belonged to.

His lips were pressed together tightly, his eyebrows frowned, and the blue eyes behind the dark glasses glared at the road in front of the car. Empty roads like this left him with no distractions from the heavy press of the past. No beautiful woman sat beside him, no deadly gunman chased him down. He was left alone with his thoughts, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Another day, another dollar. Another clip of bullets unloaded into the chest of some hired lackey. Another brief love affair, ended with a bang. Another few people to add to that growing crowd in the back of his mind.  Another set of accusing eyes.

He took one hand off the wheel and slipped it beneath the edge of his suit jacket. He briefly gripped the smooth handle of his gun. He kept one bullet in his pocket, inscribed with his number. Three digits that he’d become so familiar with. A bullet from an encounter a long time ago. A bullet sent to him because he’s the best.  He didn’t really know why he kept it with him. Maybe because he had a perverse fascination with the idea of loading that one bullet into his gun and pulling the trigger on life.

A bitter smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He’d never really do it of course, but He’d heard that somewhere, everyone had someone who has a bullet with their name on it.  He didn’t have to worry. He already had his own.

Yeah, I'm lame. I've been watching too much James Bond lately.  But that's too bad. It's a sort of interior mind set thing of a hard-bitten spy.  Maybe I'll try an action sequence soon.
Dun nuuun DA NAAA