Choices

Choices

"In the dimly lit room, Jack took a chance. This could cost him, but he
gave it a shot.

"Four threes." He muttered to his opponents. He watched as they tried
to hide the annoyance and disappointment from their faces. He shuffled
forward in his seat, and reached to gather the coins and other
extravagant items from the table.

"Well, I'll be seeing ya." He muttered as way of ending the meeting. He
strode out of the basement door and onto the street.

It was dark outside. The air smelt of sewer waste, and was wet on his
tongue. He shivered and walked through the puddles to his car, a shiny
black Rolls Royce. He dug deep into his pocket for his keys, but they
weren't there. He cursed, and placed his winnings on the roof of the
car. He emptied his pockets into his hands, but the keys weren't
there.

Behind him, he heard the shuffling footsteps of someone he knew.
Christopher McLean. He was a short man, with small eyes, which were
constantly glaring, and a blotchy face, covered in scars and nicks.
Jack had never asked how he'd got them, but he imagined it happened the
same way Christopher had gotten him limp. You see, he owed a lot of
people money.

McLean coughed, and Jack turned, to meet the barrel of a gun.

"Take a chance. This gun might be empty, or it might have bullets in.
You don't know. Course, you will in about five seconds if you don't
hand over the money." McLean murmured.

McLean's eyes darted round the deserted street.

"Nice place to die. Back where you belong, eh, Jack?" McLean asked.
Jack didn't have a response for this, and McLean continued.

"You thought nobody saw, but I did. You took those threes out your
pocket. I saw you. And just for the record, I was holdin' a three? How
was I holdin' one if you had four? Eh?" McLean looked at Jack, trying
to figure out his expression. Jack's face stayed calm, and Jack
spoke.

"We're friends, right? And friends don't kill friends, right? So why
don't you just point that gun away?" He hadn't finished when McLean
began talking.

"Don't you tell me what to do! You think you own the place- but you're
nothing. You're less than nothing. You don't deserve to live." McLean
lowered the gun to Jack's chest, and checked it was all in order.

Jack had a plan though. As McLean began to place his fingers on the
trigger, Jack kicked out at McLean. The gun was knocked from McLean's
hands. McLean also fell. As McLean struggled to get up, Jack reached
down for the gun. As McLean rose, Jack kept the gun targeted at
McLean's chest.

"Now, Jack." Wheezed McLean. "You said, to me. Just now. Friends don't
go around shooting friends. You know you don't wanna do it." But Jack
had made up his mind. He pushed his finger on the trigger, and shot
McLean, aiming right at his heart. A shot rang out in the street, but
McLean stayed standing, for around 10 seconds. Then he crumpled to the
floor.

Jack's face was grim as he reached into the dead man's pockets to
retrieve his keys. He also considered taking McLean's cash and
cannabis, but decided against it. He didn't want to be a thief and a
murderer.

Before getting into his car, he hid the gun in a garbage bin, and
removed his gloves. He dropped them to the floor, and splashed alcohol
over them. He then reached inside his car, and lit a cigarette. He took
a puff, and flicked some glowing ash into the alcohol. As the flames
raged up around the gloves and McLean's body, Jack smiled. He sped down
the street at 60mph, skidded round the corner, and disappeared into the
night."

The detective rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. As the light
turned amber, he pushed his foot down, and sped along the road.

"So we're trying to find 'im. They were all bad apples, but justice has
gotta be handed out." He explained to Penelope, the female officer on
the job. The pulled up by the basement flat Jack and McLean used to
play Poker at, and tucked their police items into the glove
compartment.

"Ready?" the detective, Sam, asked Penelope. She nodded hesitantly.
"Ok. Let's go." Sam said, bluntly.

Penelope was dressed in a short black skirt, and excessively sparkly
top. Sam was dressed in a tropical shirt, and faded jeans. They looked
the part, a criminal and his girlfriend, looking for somewhere to
gamble away some cash. Sam swung open the steel door to discover four
men sat at a round table, smoking large cigars, in a cloud of used
smoke.

Between to men who would look the part in any gangster film sat a
rather ordinary man. Jack.

Penelope and Sam exchanged glances, and settled at the table. A skinny
man, James, his name was, introduced them to the 'gang'.

Gangster One was Lee, and his brother, Gangster Two was Hue. They were
Jack's muscle, and they kept him out of trouble, by eliminating the
trouble. Jack smiled at Sam and winked at Penelope, as Sam raised his
bet to ?200.

As the game went on, Sam knew he was winning. Hue, James and Penelope
had dropped out of the game. He raised another hundred. He had ?600 on
the game now. Slowly, Lee folded. Now it was Jack and Sam at the
table.

Penelope was making idle chatter, making up stories about when Sam
stole a ring from a jeweller's for their engagement. The other
criminals seemed to believe her, and Sam knew the only one to look out
for was now Jack.

Sam raised another hundred, before revealing his cards. A Royal Flush.
He shook hands with everyone, before scooping up his winnings, and
pushing back his chair from the table.

"Come on, Penny. We're gonna buy some pretty junk for you now. Ya daddy
just got richer." Sam exclaimed, and walked out of the door, arm in arm
with Penelope.

Outside, it was cold and frosty. Sam opened the car door for Penelope,
before going round the other side to open his door. Before he could
though, he heard a voice.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" the voice called out. It was Jack,
and he was holding Sam's warrant card. Sam cursed, and stood
still.

"Look, mate. I don't know what you're playing at. Maybe you just wanted
to play some Poker. No problem. Or maybe you came to put me in the
joint. See, I gotta problem with that. You better give me a reason why
I shouldn't put a bullet in ya head now." Jack slowly pulled a gun from
a hidden holster on his leg. "Just so ya know. This ain't no cap gun."
Jack smiled.

Sam raised his hands above his head slowly. From the corner of his eye,
he could see Penelope getting out of the car. The car was directly
opposite Jack, but Penelope was staying low, and Jack couldn't possibly
see her.

The tension clung to the night air, and each breath Sam took he was
thankful for. He could see Penelope removing her own gun from its
holster, and aiming it at Jack's chest.

"Jack. Look, ya don't wanna shoot me. I just wanted to play a quick
game o' Poker. Bet ya just angry 'cos I won." Sam said, drawing each
word out slowly, emphasizing his fake Jamaican accent. "Now put the gun
down."

"Nah, man. Think I'll keep it. I like it." Jack said. "And I don't like
you. Better start praying to ya Lord, cos I don't think he's been
listening to you. Now turn around, and count to five." Sam had no
choice but to turn. He slowly breathed each second to himself, bracing
himself for the bullet in the back of his head.

Five? Four? Penelope was standing now, holding a pistol in front of
her, pointed straight at Jack's head. Three? Two? Jack had spotted
Penelope's gun, and was staring straight at it. It gave Sam a chance to
get his own gun out, which he did in one swift movement. Jack was
looking at Penelope, the gun now pointed at her. One?

A shot rang through the air. Jack swayed on the spot, and turned, and
grasping his gun, shot at Sam. As the second bullet ripped the air,
there was a scream. Jack fell first, then Penelope, and finally,
Sam.