Dead End

John flags down the taxi and leaps inside, its warmth a welcome relief. He slouches into the seat as it pulls away.

All clear.

The driver doesn’t glance back, or ask his destination.

“Marlow St, if you wanted to know,” he says dryly.

“Not today.”

John’s eyes narrow at his tone. “You what?”

“Not today. He wants to see you immediately.”

How the fuck does he already know about-

“What you did doesn’t go unseen, friend.”

John scrambles at the doors: locked. The windows: jammed. No escape this time.

Fuck, fuck fuck.

“Relax, friend. This will all be over soon enough.”

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Author: jackkholt

Film graduate. Lover of lots of good films and quite a few bad ones. Reader. Writer. Novel in progress, obviously.

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