Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

by Shirley McCann

Second Best

"I gotta hand it to you, Jim. I never thought I'd see so much money." Hank plucked a bundle of bills from the satchel and fingered through the wad of cash. "Pulling off that bank robbery together was the smartest thing we ever did. The next time my boss pages me, I'm gonna tell him what he can do with his low-paying job."

Officer Jim Owens removed the stocking from his head, pulled Hank's beat-up car into the clearing and killed the engine. He turned to Hank, his gaze pensive. "You didn't mention my name to anyone, did you?"

Hank rolled his eyes. "What kind of an idiot do you take me for?" Tossing his stocking mask out the window, he smiled and removed the gun from his coat pocket. "No one will ever link the two of us together," he assured him. "And to think, we didn't have to fire a single shot."

Jim shoved his handheld radio into his pocket along with his mask and slapped Hank on the back. "Well, that's a good thing," he said. "Cause I don't think you know how to shoot a gun."

"Of course I know how to shoot a gun." Hank snickered. "I robbed a liquor store, didn't I? Geez, you should remember that. Thanks to you, I spent two years in jail."

Jim shook his head and laughed. "How can I forget? You've got to be the dumbest criminal I've ever come across. Writing the stick-up note on your own deposit slip was stupid. It didn't take me long to track you down. But on the other hand, if you'd had a gun, you could have fought back."

Hank lowered his head. "Yeah, I guess that was pretty dumb. But with you as my partner, there's no telling what we can pull off."

Jim twisted in his seat and faced Hank. Taking the gun, he hooked his finger through the trigger guard and twirled the deadly weapon. "Look, if you want to continue as my partner, you're gonna have to prove you can shoot." He returned the gun to Hank and pointed. "Aim right into those bushes over there and pull the trigger a couple of times."

Hesitating briefly, Hank accepted the gun and curled his finger around the trigger.

"Just aim right into those bushes," Jim said again. "Let's see if you've got the guts it takes to shoot one of these babies."

Hank fired two shots into the bushes. His eyes narrowed when he heard the ping of metal. "Sounds like I hit something." "You did, Hank. Remember when I said we couldn't leave behind any witnesses."

"Sure." Hank shrugged. "But there were no witnesses. We wore masks."

"There are two witnesses, Hank. You and me." Jim displayed another gun and pointed it at Hank.

Hank's mouth dropped. "But we're partners!" he shouted. "I'd never squeal."

"Not if you're dead." Jim reached for the bag of money and tossed it outside the car. Holding the gun steady, he exited the vehicle and took several steps back.

Hank's eyes widened. "It won't work, Jim. The cops know I had a partner waiting for me in a getaway car."

Jim grinned. "That's right, Hank. That was part of my brilliant plan. You see you'll be shot because I returned the shots you fired at me."

Hank's gaze veered to the bushes where he had fired the shots.

"Right again, Hank. That's my patrol car parked behind those bushes. Now with two convenient bullet holes made when you tried to kill me. Naturally I returned fire, fatally injuring you in the process.

"And as for your partner, I'll tell the officers on the scene that your accomplice got away. With the money, of course; there won't be any reason for them to doubt me. After all, it was your gun that just put two bullet holes into my police car."

Jim pulled the trigger and shed the clothes he wore over his uniform. Realizing his bullet-riddled car would be examined as evidence, he hid the money, along with the clothing, in a hollow tree stump he had scouted out earlier. He climbed through the bushes and fired up the engine of his patrol car. While he phoned for backup, he eased his vehicle into the clearing.

Hiding in the woods, in the pretense of searching for Hank's accomplice, Jim waited while he considered his plan with amusement.

It had been pure luck running into Hank Bledsoe that day at the bank. He had been the arresting officer two years ago when Hank had been sent to prison for robbery. All he had to do was threaten to make Hank's life miserable if he didn't cooperate with his new plan.

Minutes later, sirens screamed his fellow officers' arrival. Returning to the crime scene, Jim recognized Officers Dunn and Smith.

"It was that dumb Hank Bledsoe that I sent to prison two years ago," Jim huffed, pretending to be out of breath. "I chased his partner through the woods, but I lost him."

Jim's face paled when the two officers took aim.

"Drop the gun!" Officer Dunn shouted. "On the ground! Feet spread. Hands on the back of your head!"

His heart pounding, Jim did as instructed. "You're making a mistake," he screamed. "If it weren't for me, both thieves would have escaped."

Cold handcuffs clamped his wrists, while rough hands patted him down. "Where's the money, Jim?"

"You're making a stupid mistake."

"You made the mistake, Jim," Officer Dunn replied. "We heard everything. Somehow you tripped the mic switch on your radio during your escape. I'm guessing it's hidden around here with the money."

Before Jim could think of a response, a faint beeping sound caught their attention.

Officer Dunn followed the sound to the hollow stump. Kicking it over, he extracted the bag of money and clothes. In the zippered side pocket of the bag, he removed Hank's pager.

His grin widened. "Hank may not have been the brightest criminal in the world, Jim. But he couldn't be the dumbest as long as you were around."

About the Author
Shirley McCann, an active member of The Mystery Writers of America since 1995, also maintains memberships in The Short Mystery Fiction Society, and The Missouri Writers' Guild. In 1997, she co-founded Sleuths' Ink, a Springfield, Missouri-based mystery writers group. She lives in Springfield, Missouri with her husband and two children.