A Very Short Story

Ace struggled with a dilemma. The easiest option, for him, would result in a small amount of remorse, but have the benefit of a few dollars in his pocket. Unfortunately, in his estimation, the rest of the residents of his apartment building would probably find the resulting homelessness and total loss of their personal property distressing, to say the least.

There was no financial advantage to option B unless Mr. Haynes had some cash stored in an easily discovered location. Other drawbacks were a very small chance of injury to his person and some physical exertion on his part. The good news was that, for almost everyone involved, life would go on as normal, he and his blackmailing landlord being the only exceptions. Both options carried the risk of prosecution under the law, but Ace was already familiar with that burden on his soul.

The night had not brought any respite from the sweltering heat that had steamed the city all day. He was supposed to be uptown at Mr. Haynes’ apartment to get the money he needed for supplies. Ace didn’t like appointments. It was now 11:30. He sat clad in boxer shorts, tee shirt and athletic socks on the only piece of furniture in the only room of his squalid apartment, a red reclining chair. In the darkness, he turned the questions over in his mind. He decided to put off his meeting until the morning. Raising the footrest, he made his bed. Next door, Mrs. Feeney turned off her TV. The toilet flushed moments later. He was left with only the usual sounds of traffic and the whirr of the ceiling fan for company.

The rising of the sun wasn’t going eliminate the risk that his secret might be exposed. The longer he waited the greater the chance that someone would find out about his sins. The landlord had explained that if Ace followed through with his instructions, neither of them would have any reason to turn the other in. Life would go on for them in a perfect balance of guilt and mistrust. It sounded reasonable at the time.

Five minutes passed slowly. Ace reached down and pulled up on the lever of the chair. He said aloud to himself, “Option B it is. Why put it off till morning?” He rose to find his pants. After hopping into his jeans, he stepped into his sneakers, twisting his heels into place. He walked into the kitchenette, reached into the toaster oven and pulled out his gun. Despite the heat, he took a jacket to hide his weapon and left his apartment.