Prompt 7 of 31

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 68 "You are riding a crowded subway with a huge wad of cash in your inside pocket."

start time: 10:24

I know I shouldn't, but I keep looking down regardless. I check and recheck to make sure that the bump isn't visible from the outside. The more I look the more in begins to protrude from my left breast pocket, hidden within my trench coat. My heart starts to pound in my ears and my breathing is quick and deep.

I look up and around at the subway. I try not to meet anyone's eye but I invariably do. People have that sensor in their brain that tells me they're being looked at. I meet the eye of a pregnant woman nursing another baby in her arms. The cloudy eyes of a man looks up at me from behind his crime novel. Then a man leaning against the banister by the automatic doors. His hands are tucked securely into his armpits, his arms tight around his chest. Each one acknowledges my glare and returns to their task.

They know. I know they know.

BUt do they? They don't know that I had stabbed a man in the alley to get it. NO one would expect a man with a suite and tie, pressed slacks, and a cashmere scarf to be a culprit of such evil. Neither would I if I saw such a man. But as I catch the look of my own eyes in the reflection in the glass across the crowded subway car I see a killer.

I quickly look away. I see the evil lurking in the eyes. If I can see it as can they. I look down and keep it down.

This is my second kill. Completely at random. I've watched so many crime dramas and I wonder what my motive it. What is my M.O.

I shake my head. I don't have one. I'm not going to do this again. I said I would do it til I had enough money to put back in the petty cash.

I close my eyes tight.

Fuck. I am an imbezzeler too. To top it off I used the cash to pay the credit card I had used on the business retreat in Las Vegas. I was supposed to be building a bond with my team instead I built a bond with the madam and three of her girls. Crystal. Revy. Caramel.

God, if my wife finds out...

I shift nervously.

The elderly woman in front of me glances at me out of the corner of her eye. I look at her and force a smile and nod. She does the same before moving her shopping bag to the other hand.

"I'm not a bad guy," I tell her.

She looks at me confused.

"I know what you're thinking and I mean you no harm."

"Good," she says and takes a small step away from me.

I look up and around. Everyone is looking at me.

"I'm a good guy." I say to everyone.

Everyone is still. There eyes blinking like Christmas lights.

I lower my head again. I shut my eyes tight and stare into the darkness.

The subway begins to screech to a halt. The overhead speaker announces the stop under the sound of static. If I didn't hear it everyday I wouldn't have known it was my stop. I quickly get off. Shoving my hands into my coat pockets I rush through the station and up the steps to the streets above. The winter chill is growing. My breath steams out of my like a locomotive as I scurry through the streets.

Then in a blur I see a hand shoot out like a viper and grip my arm. It rips me into the alley.

The hand multiplies and grip my lapels and throw me up against the wall.

"Hey there, Justin," Big Bowie says.

I look into his cold blue eyes. They narrow at me as he sneers.

I look to my right at the foot traffic hustling past uncaring.

"Where is my money?" he says close to me. HIs breath hot and humid fills my visison and nostrils. It reeks of garlic, cheese, and bile.

I gag.

He shoves me against the wall again and repeats himself, louder. As if that will somehow produce better results. I never understood that.

"Let me go," I say.

"Oh," he says cheerily, "So you do. That's good to hear."

"I didn't-"

"I know that Mickey wouldn't like to know you flaked on him for a third time." He holds up three fingers. "You're out."

He begins to reach into his pocket.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the wad of cash. This wasn't what it was for but I could die.

I slap the wad to his chest. He fails to grab them and they flutter to the damp asphalt.

He sniffs and leans forward to pick it up. That's when I pull the knife from my pocket it and plunge it into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

He screams and the passerbys look into the dim light of the alley, but they fail to stop.

I quickly pull it out and he stands up. I shove the knife into his gut and use my free hand to remove him from the blade and simultaneously shoving him backward. He stumbles and falls.

I drop to my hands and knees and pick up the money. I shove each bill into my pocket.

I crawl like a dog to him and dig into his pockets. He tries to fight me but groans and screams in agony.

"Help!" He screams.

My hands slither up to his mouth and muffle his screams. I follow them up and climb onto his chest. That's when I start to punch him with a left and right. I hit one after the other putting every ounce of fear, panic, pain, suffering, anger into that his cries begin to stop and his eyes begin to bleed.

I pull back exhausted. My arms stiff. I catch my breath and catch sight of the crowd gathering at the mouth of the alley.

"What're you doing?" Someone says.

"Someone call 9-1-1!"

I get to my feet and head down the alley.

I hear footsteps of someone chasing after me. Two sets. There pattern becomes intermitten.

I try to look but I can't see. I stumble over some debris but catch myself before I can fall.

Their paces match mine. I can even hear them huffing away.

There is a grunt and I am tackled to the street. The money gushes out of my as a fall. They flutter all around me as green confetti. The man spins me around and I look up into the face of my neighbor and brother-in-law.

"Justin?" He says, his eyes wide.

I am caught.