Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

by Simon Wood

Bingo

"Give me another chance, Marcus," Kevin whimpered. "For the love of God, give me another chance."

Marcus sneered at Kevin, who was staring up at him with moist puppy dog eyes while three of Marcus' boys pinned him to the floor. Kevin's teary pleas weren't going to save him. Marcus wasn't that soft. He'd seen this so many times before. It wasn't anything new.

"Bobby," Marcus said.

Bobby stood to attention, letting go of Kevin's legs. "Yes, Marcus."

Marcus paused. Everyone waited for his decision. He'd already made it, but he wanted Kevin to squirm a little longer.

"Bobby, chain him up. We're taking a trip to the wharf."

"No," Kevin whined.

Bobby snatched up a thick coil of steel chain and a handful of chunky padlocks. He dropped down to Kevin's feet and started wrapping the chain around the condemned man's ankles.

"Marcus, you can't."

"Kevin, you can't expect me to sit on twenty-five thou of unpaid IOUs because you're a bad gambler. I have a business to run and a reputation to keep." Marcus straightened his tie and turned away. He fished in his pocket for the keys to his Mercedes. "Let me know when it's all over."

"Let me go and I'll get you fifty grand."

"I've heard that one before. Sorry, Kevin."

"I'll let you in on a racket that will net you fifty grand a week."

Marcus had opened the basement door to leave. He closed it. Turning around, he asked, "How?"

Kevin swallowed. His eyes bulged with fear.

"Let him up, boys," Marcus said. "Give Kev some air."

Bobby let go of the chains padlocked to Kevin's ankles and two of Marcus' strong-arms helped Kevin into a sitting position, although they didn't uncuff him.

"Enlighten us, Kev," Marcus said. "How can we get our hands on fifty large a week?"

"Bingo halls."

Marcus smirked. He'd heard it all now. He waved a dismissive hand. His guys didn't have to be told and slammed Kevin back down while Bobby resumed chaining him.

"No. Listen, Marcus." The panic and fear was back in Kevin's voice. "Listen to me. It's a surefire winner. Do you know how much money is in the bingo game?"

Marcus crossed his arms and shrugged as Bobby deftly trussed Kevin like a Thanksgiving turkey. "I'm not sure I care. I don't think I have much interest in a bunch of blue rinses and retired bank managers screaming 'Bingo'."

"Well, you should," Kevin said, as he became rapidly cocooned in chains. "I take my grandma every week. They clear fifty thousand a night. There's no security. Only a lock box until the security van arrives to take the night's proceeds."

"Do I look that gullible, Kev?" Marcus jerked a thumb at himself.

"These old duffers are raking so much in they have their own ATM machine. And this doesn't just happen at the Senior Center. It happens everywhere they play bingo."

Bobby was about to stuff a rag into Kevin's mouth when Marcus stopped him.

"Kevin, if it's so easy to rip these guys off, why haven't you done it?"

"My granny likes bingo."

"Unchain him, Bobby. I think we should listen to what Kevin has to say."

***

Marcus and his crew surveyed the bingo game from outside the Senior Center. From the well-tended landscaping, they had a great view of the recreation hall through a row of plate glass windows. Kevin had laid it out for him. It all seemed simple enough. The armored truck wouldn't be arriving until ten p.m. to collect the night's takings, but Marcus and his crew would be long gone by then. And if they turned up early, Bobby's squeeze was blocking the entrance with an overheated engine and abundant cleavage. Marcus and his crew planned to make a very simple smash 'n' grab. He doubted if they'd fire off a round. Kevin was their inside man, in case anything tricky happened. This would be easier than taking candy from a baby. Marcus checked his watch.

"Any minute now, boys," he said, grinning.

Some old bird with a walker next to her chair leapt to her feet brandishing her winning card.

"Right, go!" Marcus shouted in excitement and tugged his ski mask over his face. He led the charge into the building via a side door Kevin had left open for them.

The bingo caller said into his microphone, "We have tonight's big winner!"

"Yes, and I think it's us." Marcus pumped a shell into his Remington. His crew mimicked him for effect.

The bingo caller raised his hands, the microphone still grasped in his right.

"Now, where's the money?"

The bingo caller indicated the black lock box on a scratched picnic table up against the wall. Its only protection was a Schlage padlock and an old geezer with an oxygen tank. Marcus splintered the lock with a round from the Remington.

He raced over to the lock box and cracked it open. With his ski mask down, no one saw his ear-to-ear grin. Kevin hadn't let him down. There indeed was fifty grand for the taking. The box brimmed with twenties and fifties. Slamming the lid down, he froze.

The recreation room filled with the cacophony of loud clicks and snaps like the cast of Riverdance had just come toe tapping into the room. Turning, Marcus came face-to-face with three hundred gun barrels brandished by three hundred senior citizens. Marcus' crew held their hands up. Kevin had a hand on his granny's shoulder who was sporting a snub nose .38. Grinning, he pointed to a banner above Marcus' head.

It said, "The Retired Police Officers Bingo Society."

© Copyright 2003 Simon Wood

About the Author:

Simon Wood is a California transplant from England. He shares his world with Julie (his American wife), Royston (a Longhaired Dachshund) and Streetcar (a cat); all rescued from the barbaric Californian streets. In the last three years, he's had over seventy stories published around the world. Last August, his debut novel, the suspense-thriller, Accidents Waiting To Happen, was released, which has been nominated for a Bloody Dagger award by the reviewers of All About Murder. His short story collection, Dragged Into Darkness, is slated for release in August 2003.