Short Story Saturdays: Bag the Catch

Hello and welcome to Inkweb! Here's my short story, as promised. Any suggestions for Mad Monday? Comment below, let me know. All right, here you go!

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The truck rumbled down the dusty dirt road, throwing up clouds and clods of pale brown smoke that adhered to the tires and spattered onto the red paintjob. It would need a car wash when it finally rolled back into town, but for now, Max didn’t really care.

He opened the door and stepped out, tilting his baseball cap slightly as he walked. The dirt path was a dead end, but there was a small brown house standing at the side of the road. Max could see the desert for miles around, stretching on for infinity with little hills and bigger ridges, getting farther and farther away until the skyline of the city rose up with the horizon behind.

Max came up onto the porch and knocked on the door.

“Password?”

“It’s Max, lemme in.”

The door swung open, the screen door quivering as it moved. Max stepped in.

Frank was a small man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. Max didn’t particularly feel drawn to him, but he wasn’t annoying or eccentric, so that counted for something.

“Come on in, Max. Y’know, next time the password is fruit cup.”

Okay. Maybe Frank was a little eccentric. Max came into the living room and sat down on the couch in front of the TV. Frank followed him in and turned off the news.

“Anything?” he asked.

Max shrugged. “Nothing.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We wait.” Max grabbed a hunting magazine off the table and sat.

“This could take a while,” Frank said. “I’ll call him again.”

“Sure. You do that.”

Somebody thumped the front door. Max watched as Frank got up and went to answer.

“Password?”

“It’s Eric, lemme in.”

Max heard the door swing open, boots stomp into the mudroom. He kept reading.

“Well, that’s that, then,” said Eric. “We did it.”

“You sure you got away clean?” asked Frank.

“Course I’m sure.”

Max kept reading. He wasn’t that surprised that nobody had managed to catch Eric. He was a sly guy, slick as soap and sharper than a shiv. Another jewelry store heist pulled off. Nobody had ever caught Eric.

“How about you, Max? You got away clean?” asked Eric.

Max nodded and looked up for the first time. Eric was tall, a little taller than Max. He was wearing a leather jacket, and Max knew that underneath was holstered a pistol.

“Yeah, they nearly cordoned me off underneath a bridge,” said Eric. “But I managed to get past them just in time. No way they followed me back here.”

“Well, since we did it, I got us a little present!” said Frank. He pulled out a bottle of champagne from behind the TV. “Voila!”

“You know I don’t drink,” said Max.

“Yeah, but whatever,” said Eric. “We’ll just enjoy it without you.” Frank got glasses and popped the cork. Max kept reading. Let them drink themselves to oblivion. He didn’t mind.

Max knew that the jewels were all stashed in a warehouse west of here. Eric had gotten a fence, but it would take some time to turn the jewelry into cold hard cash.

Eric was a pro, though. No way he would be rushing this. He wanted nothing that could link him to anything. He would have the getaway cars destroyed tomorrow; for now they were lying low in an inconspicuous garage.

It took them about forty minutes just to get a little tipsy. Frank was completely smashed, but Eric still had most of his senses. He was just a little woozy.

Max stopped reading and got up, going out onto the porch. He flipped open his cheap cell phone and made a call.

“Hello?”

“All right, send them in. We’re moving on them now.”

“Got it. Good luck.”

Max pulled his .45 out of the back of his jeans and checked the clip. He went back inside and rushed into the living room.

“Hands on your head! Now!”

“Wha?” drooled Frank.

Eric frowned. “You’re joking, right?”

“FBI! Hands on your head!” Max shouted. He kept his gun trained on Eric. He wasn’t worried about Frank.

“Okay, okay,” said Eric. He got up slowly, raising his hands. He took a step forward.

“Stay where you are! Hands behind your head, now!” Eric yelled. “On your knees!”

Eric cursed under his breath. He dropped down, his hands reaching inside his jacket…

Max fired. Eric fell to the floor clutching his hand and groaning in pain. Max moved forward and kicked Eric’s gun out of reach.

He kept his gun trained on Eric. “Get up! On your knees!” Soon he heard the sirens as the cops moved in to bag the catch.

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So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Mediocre? I hope you enjoyed it. I don't usually write this kind of story, so I wouldn't consider this my best (in fact I'm pretty sure it's absolutely awful), but anyway, it is what it is.