Better late then never, eh? Here's my first crack at flash fiction. Written nearly a year ago for Flashing in the Gutters, but never submitted.
“And the kid says, ‘Milk and cookies’.” Tony laughed at that joke.
“Good one, pops,” he said.
“Did I ever tell you about how they sent me up the first time?” Tony shook his head. “It was just like a scene from one of those heist movies. Ya know, something like Elmore Leonard would write. So, the job goes off without a hitch. As I’m walking out of the bank, the manager hits the alarm. Not that it matters because I can already hear the sirens a couple blocks away. So I get in the car and the driver takes off. He seemed like a smart kid. Knew all the back alleys and side streets. Picked out the perfect getaway route. Only thing is, he didn’t fill up the tank before the job. We get about three, four blocks away from the bank and the piece of shit car runs out of gas.”
“Man! What’d you do?” said Tony.
“Nothing much I could have done. There was a black & white screaming down the same street we were on heading toward the bank. Somebody must’ve radioed in what our car looked like because he pulled over and nabbed both of us right there. I got five years, and the driver got less. But that’s OK. Somebody took out his knees in the joint. He won’t be driving anyone around any more.”
“That’s hard core, pops.”
“Then, the second time was even worse. Same thing as the first. I’m walking out of the bank with the take. I hear the sirens a couple blocks away. So I open the door of the car to throw the cash in, the driver panics. He blows out of there leaving me with all that money in my hands and who knows how many cops converging on the place.”
“That guy was a punk!”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t the worst part. He ran over my foot while taking off! Broke every bone in there. So I gotta start my stretch in a cast!” The older guy had a good laugh at himself over that. Enough time had passed that his anger toward the driver had mellowed.
“Ha! Ha! I’m sorry, pops,” said Tony, “but that’s funny!”
“Go ahead, kid. It is pretty funny. Now, I’m not telling you these stories because I want us to be friends. I’m not telling you because I’m some senile old bastard who likes to talk. I’m telling you because if you screw up, I will bury you. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill your wife. I’ll kill that sweet two-month-old daughter of yours. Now, let’s go rob us a fucking bank.”