C4 antho - Chamber Four

~150~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology
say it. I prepare to run.
But Cheetah stops, lips parted, eyes wide.
“You don’t know, do you? He laughs. “How precious is
this? He. Doesn’t. Fucking. Know.”
At this point the fat man sticks his head out the door and
says something about a buddy cop of his calling. Cheetah ignores
him. His eyes hold mine.
“Your old lady,” he says. “Where do you think I first met
her?”
“Fuck you,” I say.
“Cheetah,” says the fat man. “They’re on their way. Get
those little shits out of here.”
“On the set,” Cheetah says. “I met her on the set.”
“Bullshit,” I say, but I know he’s right. My mother hasn’t
always managed a department store, yet we’ve always had
the house and food and nice things. I remember her telling
me, six or seven years ago, that she entertained people for a
living. In my little-kid mind that meant a singer, or even a
magician. She never filled in the gap.
The sick feeling has turned to anger. I’m trembling all
over.
“That’s right. It was me and three other guys, in fact. You
ever hear of a train, son?”
Cheetah makes a crude humping motion. Gordon has
made it to his hands and knees and is crawling forward. As
he comes to his feet I see blood from a nostril but the same
rabid expression. My best friend will never quit.
“Cheetah―” says the fat man, but I don’t hear the rest. I
take the front, while Gordon takes him from behind.