The Good Soldier
“Pablo had been sleeping, his head down on the wooden surface. He jolted upright, lifting his chin off the table in time. "What the hell, man?" "I should be asking you that," Frank said. "Who are the men at the house?" Pablo smiled and shrugged. He turned his palms up. His eyebrows rose into his forehead. "What house? What men?" Anyone could have taken a single look at Frank and realized the man meant business. But for some reason, Pablo must have felt like he could string him along. It didn't w...ork out that well for him. Frank lifted his right knee and drove his foot into Pablo's chest, sending the man and his chair careening backward into the wall. The chair hit first, colliding with a clank. Pablo's head followed, smashing into the wall with a thud. He slumped out of his chair and to the floor. A long smeared line of blood followed him.
"Shit," Frank said.
"Shit is right," I said. "Better hope he's not dead." Frank took three steps forward and leaned over. He reached out and felt along Pablo's neck.MoreLess
"Shit," Frank said.
"Shit is right," I said. "Better hope he's not dead." Frank took three steps forward and leaned over. He reached out and felt along Pablo's neck.MoreLess
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