COLD DARK NIGHT

COLD DARK NIGHT

By

Archie L. Tautfest Jr.

The man walked through the cold night air. His head bent down to hide his face from the sharp, knife like wind. He had his hat pulled down over his ears, first to keep his ears warm and second to keep the wind from carrying his hat into the next street.

In this part of town the streetlights cast a pale yellow glow in small pools beneath where they stood. Up town the streetlights were the bright blue-white lights of the Arc light. But in the dank river front neighborhood it was still the old yellow jaundice type streetlights.

Before the man rounded the corner he stopped. He pulled the collar of his jacket higher on his neck. He looked over his shoulder and then slowly peered around the corner of the building. No one was in sight. He took another look over his shoulder and then he stepped around the corner and resumed his hunched over walk.

A half block after turning the corner the man stopped. He didn't move. He had heard a noise that didn't belong on a night like this. He slowly turned his head so he could look back over the half block he had just walked. Nothing, he saw nothing. He carefully viewed the street in front of him. Nothing.

There was a sound, a sound that he had heard before. The distinct sound of metal sliding on metal, it was the slide of a gun being cocked. He knew that sound after spending three tours in Vietnam. … He knew that sound. Even with the wind making it's own noises, the man knew the sound of metal sliding on metal.

All he wanted to do was get home. Home, it was a home to him. To others it may have looked like a boarded up warehouse, but to him it was home. He had a bottle hidden in his secret place. Just to get home and find his friend. That's all he wanted to do.

But he knew that they had been watching him. He told them that he hadn't seen anything. But he knew that they knew that he'd seen the long black car stop beside the Dumpster.

He'd seen two men in tuxedos get out of the car and the man that had been driving had opened the trunk. Both men had reached into the trunk and pulled out a large bundle. It was heavy because it took the two men two tries to get the bundle into the Dumpster.

It was then that the driver saw the figure hiding in the corner of the building next to the Dumpster.
The man pretended to be sleeping. It didn't stop the driver from kicking him in the stomach. The other man grabbed the drive by the sleeve and pulled him towards the car.
They got into the car and drove away, but not before they both had gotten a good look at the man they had just been kicking.

Now they were hunting him. …Really, they were no longer hunting him, they had found him. This was going to be the end. Three tours in Vietnam with no scratches and now he was going to meet his end here on one of the back street of the city
.
He kept walking. The end is the end. If only he has his bottle. That would be good. Him and his bottle, one last drink.
He didn't see the man hiding in the shadows. He didn't hear the noise or see the flash that came from the barrel of the gun. He didn't feel the slug hit him in the heart. Nor did he feel himself fall on his face, hitting the concrete with a dull thud.

The man with the gun walked over to the lifeless figure lying on the sidewalk. With the toe of his shoe he rolled the limp figure over so the lifeless body was looking up at him.

As the man with the gun walked down the alley toward the street, he muttered, "Damn...wrong guy."