No one else saw...no one else knew... A short story by Sheryl

He was like a crumpled heap on a mat of discarded newspapers…a street bum - man of grease - whose name was forgotten. Somehow, he had managed to let himself through a crack on the rusty and distorted fence of a deserted building undetected. It was cold there and other than the fence, there were no barriers that shut windows or even doors.

Inside, the illumination of the streetlights uncovered from the darkness walls of black vandalism. At one corner cigarette butts and ashes mingled with empty bottles of liquor. It was far from becoming a home. But it was better refuge than the streets. And it was his for the night.

He stood up on his bare feet, flexing the muscles of his thin, dark body that had accumulated a week’s dirt. He was clad in equally dirty clothes.

His stomach grumbling, he made his way out of the building and into the dark chilly October night to dig into trashes.

He stopped on his tracks, just inches from the fence. Voices…soft and guarded, yet clear to his ears prodded him to halt.

Male. “Don’t do it.”

A soft laugh erupted – sardonic, female. “You can’t scare me out of it.”

“I mean it. It’s dangerous,” the male voice insisted.

“And I’m not capable of protecting myself?” said the female.

What was happening? Tugged by curiosity, the street bum went closer to the fence and peered through a small hole. All he saw was a hand with a ring that had a skull engraved on it.

A female retort. “Why should I pass up a chance on a scoop?”

Frustrated, the male hissed, “What is the matter with you reporters? Don’t you ever learn not to poke your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“You’re supposed to be my friend,” the female muttered, then sighed.

But the male reasoned, “I’m trying to save your ass. You are crazy going to all kinds of lengths to get your story.”

“Those busters need to be exposed and put behind bars where they belong. But those people who call themselves police are not doing enough about them,” the female blurt out, her voice shaking with contained anger.

The bum yawned. He scratched his head that had grown unkept long hair. It took him only a couple of wobbly steps to turn around as if he heard nothing. He was going to find another way out…perhaps through another crack on the fence at the opposite side?

He went back inside, to a lobby that led to the other side of the fence. Suddenly, footfalls echoed through the walls. This time, he saw…

A lanky woman was leaning lazily on a wall. A smoke wafted gracefully around her as she waited for an approaching tall beefy man.

The street bum could not make out a countenance. The lack of light did not permit him. But this he heard…

“Do you have what I want?” the woman asked.

The man pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to the woman’s grasping hands…a wad of cash maybe? The man’s ring finger gleamed.

The woman stretched the neckline of her blouse as she smashed that something into the cups of her bra.

“Now I want your part of the bargain,” the man’s voice boomed.

The woman produced four packs of…white powdery substance? “How’s that little reporter?”

“Soon she won’t be bothering us anymore. My apprentice is taking care of that,” the man answered gruffly.

Bang!

It was a gunshot sounding from the other side of the building.

The street bum’s eyes snapped open…as if for the first time. His unshaven face came alive with uncontained fear. Amid the mix of eerie gleeful laughter of both male and female, a sound came out from the bum’s lips – a husky, rugged, piercing cry.

The laughter ceased. Then another gunshot…to loud for the man’s ears. He fell, succumbed to darkness. He lay motionless as a coin from his pocket rolled on the floor.
 

by Sheryl Joy P. Olaño, editor of publishing company of Cannon Creek Asia Inc.