Short Stories

“You were crying.” The voice, expected yet still surprising, came from her right, and she couldn’t immediately see the person who spoke.

Jake Martins ran down the alley, clutching the bag full of money tight against his chest.  Distant now was the sound of sirens, scouring the streets for sign of the Duke Station robber.

Mark smiled pleasantly, dipping his hand into the tray of olives and pulling one out.  Honestly, he considered the sweet fruit to be disgusting in the worst sort of way, but this was no time to be ungracious.  This was a time for cordiality, and more than a little discretion.

Richard rubbed absently at the stubble on his jaw, staring out the windshield at the gathered traffic. Seeing none of it.    His mind was on autopilot stuck replaying one event nearly thirty years ago over and over again.

“I’m cold.”                                                                                                                 “We won’t be in here for much longer.  Stop fidgeting.” “And it’s dark.”