Reckless

Chapter 3

The walk home was about as cold and eerie as it gets. I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the platinum haired girl that nearly gave me a bloody nose and no telling what. Her porcelain skin almost sickly and her petite frame were all I could think about.

That's when I heard it again.

Gun shots fired in the distance, but it was still too close for comfort, maybe a couple allies over on the next street. Maybe it was further? But the closeness of the apartments and shops made the noise carry on forever, echoing in the night.

I stop in my tracks and scout out the area. Brown and faded white brick apartment buildings line my left side and a street lamp lit road the other. I had only counted about four cars passing me the last hour or so which should be unusual for a New York Friday night, right?

Sirens begin to follow soon after and I find it in me to continue walking. I hug my thin jacket closer to me in a weak effort to smooth down the goose pimples that line my arms, no idea if they are from the cold or the all too familiar sound of a gun shot that is still ringing in my ears.

|flashback|
"I swear to God, Styles, if you don't hand over my money I'll shoot your ass!"

"James, I got the money. It's at my house. Just put the gun away and we can go get it." I say as calm as I can as I try and hold my hands still as I reach out to him to take the gun.

"Styles, I need my shit. You done me like this one too many times. My shit comes with a price and it's about time you payed." He said as he wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead. "I like you, Styles. But I'm not letting you walk away this time." He raised the gun a little more so it was pointed right between my eyes. His hand was shaking and his breathing quickening.
I knew he had never killed a man. He never had to. James Gordon was too good of a man to cheat. That was before I came along and made his life hell.

"C'mon man. The money is at my house on the dresser. Just come with me and I'll give it to you. You don't have to pull that trigger. We can fix this."

"Harry, I can't let that happen. I know you. You're sneaky. You like tricks but I'm no fool. I'm done with your shit." I felt the cold tip of the Glock touch my sweaty forehead hard enough to imprint its round shape. "I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry. It didn't have to be this way. Why'd you have t-"

"James? Styles? What's goi-"

The noise was painfully loud and that moment was nothing but a blur.

My only real friends body collapsed to the damp pavement in a heap of flannel and bright red blood.

"Jimmy!" I screamed with all my might. My lungs and throat completely stripped of creating anything but a raspy screech of air and spit.

He was gone. The hole in his chest right below his throat was more than enough to prove that.

|end flashback|

Jimmy Fallon was a hole lot older than me but he meant the world to me. He kind of filled in the place of my dad. He showed me how to be a man and how to make it in life. He was a mechanic but he used to talk about how he wanted to act and maybe one day be a talk show host. He would have been so good at it too.

That was the absolute worst day of my life. It was the first rain of the new year. I remember it because it was the same day my mom had almost fully committed. She had just gotten out of rehab and came home to find my stash that wasn't even mine. James had discovered a way to take prescription drugs and crush them up and put them into pill capsules to help him in his business. I had told him that it was a bad idea and that if the guys that gave him business found out he'd be a dead man, so he had the idea to leave it at my house. I lived in a nice neighborhood with my mom and her boyfriend where the scariest thing to happen here was the man that lived down the street who had Alzheimer's would sometimes forget to put his robe on when he would walk his driveway to get the morning paper.