by Brooke McCaffrey
“Looks like we’ve finally been caught, Milo,” Teddy Polis said, taking a swig of the warm beer in front of him.
The bar he was sitting in was a mess—shattered glass everywhere, overturned tables, and a few odd smears on the floor. His accomplice, Milo Parker, was sitting at the same table opposite him, spinning an empty beer bottle around and around.
Blue and red lights were flashing against the wall behind them, leaking through the drawn curtains.
“Yeah, well, it was only a matter of time,” Milo agreed, lanky red hair hanging in his face. Milo reminded Teddy of a weasel; he had a thin, suspicious face, and eyes that were always darting around the room as if to mark the escape routes.
“If you’d cut the phone line like I asked you, this wouldn’t have happened,” Teddy said, voice low and gruff. He took another sip of beer, shoulders tense. “If you hadn’t been such a damn idiot, we could have gotten away.”
Milo chewed on his lip and opened his mouth to reply when a garbled voice exploded at them from outside.
“Come out with your hands up! The building has been surrounded!” There was a brief pause, and then the voice repeated the command. Teddy sighed, stood up, and crept to the window.
He peeked through the curtains and saw at least ten different police cruisers parked in front of the bar, policemen scurrying about. Teddy scowled and made his way back to his seat. He kicked something soft on the way there, relishing in the dull thud the action caused.
Milo grimaced, turning a shade paler. “Don’t do that. We still have a chance of survival, we just have to think,” he murmured, eyes wide and full of panic.
“Think? Think? You think we can think ourselves out of this situation? You wanna run that by the cops outside? How about the little lady right here?” he asked, finger jabbing towards the underside of their table.
Milo swallowed audibly, eyes frozen on the shadow beneath the table.
“Did that work? No? Alright, how about you go ask the bartender? The old man beside the bar!” He was shouting, spittle flying from his lips. He ducked down below the edge of the table. “You think we can get out of this? Huh? You wanna talk to Milo for me?” Teddy popped back up, skeletal grin on his face.
Milo flinched, shrinking back in his chair and holding up one of his hands as if to ward off a blow. “Okay! Okay I get it, I’m sorry! Just please stop, don’t talk to them anymore!” he shrieked, a sob catching in the back of his throat.
Teddy smiled at him and sat back down.
“I can’t go back to jail, Milo.” Teddy’s hands were inching toward the gun on the table again, eyes bright and feverish.
Milo nodded wordlessly, mouth working as if he wanted to talk but couldn’t get out any words.
“I was released early on good behavior. They called me ‘a reborn man’, and then released me. Now, if I go back, that goes out the window, and I’m stuck there forever.” He stared at Milo, the gun resting easily in his hand. He couldn’t remember how many bullets he’d left in the magazine, but he knew that he had enough to enact his plans.
“Teddy, please, we can get out,” Milo pleaded, looking as if he were about to bolt.
Teddy ignored him, and continued with his idea. “But, if it’s you who did this! Imagine; I’d be a reborn man who just wanted to go out and have a drink on a Saturday night. I got to the bar to find you finishing off the last customer.” His voice had taken on a dreamy quality, but the gun was still pointed at Milo’s chest. “So you decided to take me as a captive, made me sit here and listen to you recount all the details of your night out. I wrestled the gun from you, but not before you shot me. But I shoot you before you can escape.”
Milo looked terrified, and he was shaking hard enough to rattle the table.
“Come on, Teddy. Quit joking, we have to get out of here.”
“I can’t go back to jail, Milo,” Teddy repeated, baring his teeth in a macabre smile. “I’ll see you around.”