In the shadowed backstreets of Trinidad, Colorado, where the air buzzed with whispered deals and secrets, Margo Ames leaned against the graffiti-scarred wall of an abandoned warehouse.
A pickup rumbled into view and halted in front of her. The driver’s door creaked open and out stepped Eddie “Concrete” Malone, named for his favorite burglary tool.
“Nice night, huh, Eddie?” Margo’s voice was smooth, a dangerous melody.
“I’m in a hurry,” Eddie said. “You got the cash?”
“Relax, I have your money. Let’s see the merchandise first.”
Eddie led her to the back of the truck, flipped down the tailgate, rooted around under a pile of sandbags, and hauled out a case heavy with the weight of seven shotguns and a rifle. He zipped the case open, and Margo appraised the firearms with an expert eye, her fingers lingering over the cold metal.
“Quite a haul here, Eddie. You’re a real one-man army.”
Eddie puffed up. “Took ’em from the Rocky Mountain Trading Company. No sweat.”
Margot drew a taser from her jacket, jammed it against Eddie’s neck, and let him ride the lightning. He crumpled, hit the ground hard, twitched a few times, and pissed himself.
She restrained Eddie with zip ties and reached into her jacket pocket for the ball gag she’d brought. However, it was missing. Looking around, she spotted a disposable diaper hanging from a dumpster. Thinking quickly, she stuffed part of it into Eddie’s mouth and secured the plastic ends behind his neck. Margot then rolled Eddie behind the dumpster, concealing him with cardboard boxes to keep him hidden.
After returning the gun case to the truck bed, Margot climbed into Eddie’s pickup and drove off, leaving behind the sounds of the guy’s muffled protests and the flickering lights of Trinidad.
Text and photo copyright © 2023 L.T. Hanlon. All content in this post is fiction.
L.T. Hanlon 