“Sorry, what was that?”

Standing in Jake’s doorway, rubbing his hands together with his eyes shifting suspiciously left and right, was his old friend Roger.

“You deaf or something?” Roger asked barging his way into the apartment. “I need you to hide this!” He held up a bundled dirty towel.

Roger and Jake were old friends. Their lives had gone in drastically different directions but they had been through a lot together. Jake knew that Roger sold weed and the occasional Molly here and there but never anything too monstrous. Nothing like the kind of people Jake knew that Roger regularly chilled with.

Today was a new level. Walking over to Jake’s dinner table, Roger unfolded the dirty towel. In the center of the rag was, unmistakably, a gun.

“Woah, what the f**k man! Get that sh** out of here!” Jake hissed closing the door and trying to keep his voice down.

He was in sweatpants and a hoodie. Dark glasses with a darker beard. Just five minutes ago Jake had been smoking a bowl and watching Storage Wars. He didn’t need whatever fresh hell this was.

“Listen, I can’t get into the specifics. The less you know the less you’re involved.”

“I’m NOT involved! I mean is it loaded? Is it-“ but Roger cut him off.

“Just shut the f**k up and listen to me. I got this piece, I’m pretty sure it’s not loaded at least not anymore. I can’t tell you where it came from but I need you to hold on to it to me for a few days.”

“Why me? I don’t know anything about guns!”

Roger moved to the window and peeked down through the blinds.

“Because dude, nobody has any idea that I got my hands on it and by giving it to you I can keep it at a distance while I use it as a bargaining chip.”

Bargaining chip?! Roger, are you hearing yourself? Whatever Scarface sh*t you’ve gotten yourself into I don’t want any part of it! Get that piece out of here!”

“Look, I didn’t want to have to do this but I’m calling it in…you owe me.” Roger turned around to face him.

“I-“ Jake stammered.

“You know you owe me one.”

The two friends stared each other down. An awkward silence hung between them. Finally Jake called chicken.

“Until the end of the week.” He said through gritted teeth.





Writer of weird fiction and dark absurdism.

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Pat O’Malley

Pat O’Malley

Writer of weird fiction and dark absurdism.

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