Dirty Money

short story, flash fiction, humor, Modern PhilosopherTrent and Monica cuddled on the couch as they watched TV.  There wasn’t anything exciting on, but at least it was something to do when there wasn’t much anyone could do.  At least they had each other.

A knock on the door startled them both.

Monica used the remote to shut off the TV.  “You expecting anyone?” she whispered.

Trent shook his hand and reached under the throw pillow at the end of the couch.  He kept his Glock there, and tucked it into the back of his pants as he stood up.

“Wait here,” he ordered.

The tone of his voice made it clear that he considered whoever was at the door to be a threat, but if that wasn’t clear, the gun in his waistband cleared up any confusion.

As Trent crept towards the living room doorway, the unexpected guest knocked again.  He could see a shadow cast on the floor from whoever was on the porch, so he turned to Monica and held up one finger.

She nodded that she understood, and remained on the couch, clutching the pillow to help her deal with the tension.

Trent poked his head into the foyer so he could get a glimpse of the visitor, and when he did, his body relaxed, but he let out an angry growl.

short story, flash fiction, humor, Modern Philosopher“What the hell are you doing here?” Trent yelled through the front door at the guy with the long hair and beard on his porch.

He looked like a shabby Jesus, if Jesus had worn sunglasses and a jean jacket.

“I need to talk to you, man!” he yelled back.  “Let me in.”

“Is that Brody?” Monica called from the next room.  “What is that idiot doing outside?  Get him off our porch.”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Trent bellowed through the door.

Brody tried the doorknob, but it was locked.  So he banged on the door instead.

“Just let me in, man,” he implored.  “Don’t leave me out here.”

Trent shook his head emphatically.  “You know what a stay at home order is, right?”

“This is about a job, man,” Brody explained.  “I can’t talk about it out here where someone might overhear me.”

“There’s no one around to overhear you,” Trent countered.  “Everyone is home.  Where they’re supposed to be.  So they don’t get sick and die.”

Brody paced on the porch, his long hair flying wildly behind him.

Monica appeared in the doorway.  “What does he want?”

“Something about a job,” Trent replied with a frustrated shrug.

“Get rid of him,” she demanded.  “Someone’s going to notice and call the cops.”

short story, flash fiction, humor, Modern PhilosopherTrent nodded as Monica headed back to the couch.  He knocked on the door to get Brody’s attention, and the anxious Jesus hustled back to the door.

“Go home,” Trent ordered.  “Monica’s pissed.  You’re drawing attention.  Besides, we’re not doing any jobs.  There’s a damn virus out there killing without mercy.”

“That’s the thing, man, no one would expect it right now,” Brody pleaded his case through the door.  “Everyone’s wearing a mask, so you could walk right into a bank and not even arouse any suspicion.”

Trent chuckled and shook his head.  “Banks aren’t open now.  They want everyone to do things through the ATM.”

“You’re wrong, bro,” Brody countered.  “That one on the corner of Eighth and Howard is still open.  There’s a huge sign in the window bragging about how they’re the only bank in town still keeping regular hours.  They’ve got a skeleton crew, which includes only one security guard, and the dude is older than my grandfather.”

“Speaking of masks, where’s yours, shithead?” Trent barked.  “You’re roaming around during a quarantine bringing germs to my doorstep and an idiotic plan to hit a bank during a national lock down.”

Brody fumbled in his pocket for a bandana, and quickly put it on to cover his face.

short story, flash fiction, humor, Modern Philosopher“I didn’t want to knock on your door looking like I’m some Old West outlaw about to rob a stagecoach, bro,” he explained in muffled tones through the mask.  “I know you keep a Glock under the pillow, and I didn’t want you to shoot me.”

“I should shoot you for showing up at my door and risking infecting me and Monica,” Trent hissed.  “Go home.”

“But I’m going ape shit bouncing off the walls!” Brody argued.  “I want to go back to work, man.  I need some walking around money.”

Trent was so frustrated that he kept reaching for his gun.  He knew he couldn’t shoot Brody.  He was one of his best friends, an important part of the crew, and the whole shooting someone on his porch thing was bound to bring the cops.

“You don’t need walking around money because you’re not supposed to be walking around,” Trent shouted because he had to let out his anger somehow.

Brody gently tapped his head against the door.  “This is free money for the taking.  No one inside to stop us, and the cops are so short staffed from the virus that their response time would be outrageous.  We could walk down the street in masks, carrying bags of money, and no one would think it weird or try to stop us.  Why don’t you like my idea?”

Trent really wished he could open the door and wring Brody’s neck, but that wasn’t an option during this challenging time.  Instead, he got as close to the door as he could and shot his visitor the iciest glare he could conjure while this annoyed.

short story, flash fiction, humor, Modern Philosopher“You know why I don’t like your idea?” he asked calmly.  “Do you know how filthy that money is?  All the germs on it?  How many people have touched it?  There isn’t enough Purell in the world to make me feel clean after I touched all that dirty money.”

He pulled the gun from his pants and tapped the glass in the front door with it.  That immediately got Brody’s attention and caused him to back away.

“Now get the hell off my porch before I shoot you for creeping me out think about all those germs crawling all over me!”

Brody sprinted off the porch without looking back.

“Babe, do we have any Purell?” Trent called out as he tucked the gun back into his pants.  I feel like I need to wash off that conversation before I infect you with its stupidity…”

About Austin

Native New Yorker who's fled to the quiet life in Maine. I write movies, root for the Yankees, and shovel lots of snow.
This entry was posted in Humor, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Dirty Money

  1. jenanita01 says:

    I am expecting a crime wave to start round about now…

  2. markbialczak says:

    You have plumbed the furthest reach of the pandemic with your creativity, Austin. Quite cool.

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