by Mitch Goth
It was nearly midday by the time Bruce Dando had gotten through half of his deliveries. The bag of pills in his jacket was still heavy, but there was certainly a lot more breathing room in the bag. It felt good to feel his progress with every movement.
He knew it would go far quicker if he drove to his drop points, but he just liked walking too much. The slow moving open air cleared his mind from whatever was holding him down. Plus he could see the sky much clearer, walking gave a great view of heaven in his perspective.
Apparently, on this particular day nobody felt the same as him. The sidewalks were barren. It was a nice enough day, Dando couldn't quite put a finger on the reason for the desolation. Maybe it was the lower class neighborhood he was sauntering through. Maybe it was that he wasn't exactly on the largest street in the city. Maybe people were scared of him. He figured the latter wasn't very probable, but he had to cover all the bases anyway.
There didn't seem to be many cars on the streets either. He couldn't help but wonder if there was some big event he was missing. Did the Superbowl change its date all of a sudden? Dando chuckled with the thought that maybe his next pick up would be a no show, wanting to join in on the abnormal absence around the city.
All of a sudden, his lonesome train of thought was abruptly interrupted. The sound of cars finally entered his head. But, it didn't take him long to realize that the engines didn't quite sound right. They weren't cars, or trucks for that matter. The rumbling was unmistakable now that it was so close. Motorcycles, the big chopper kind. They sounded as if they were just idling at the curb behind him.
Quickly put on edge by the engines, Dando spun around on his heels. Before he even knew what was waiting behind him two new sensations took over him. First came the ear splitting crack. An all too familiar sound. Second came the sharp, overtaking pain that appeared in his abdomen. His vision blurred in an instant. He could barely make out the two KC Devils on their bikes at the curb. It took him even longer to realize which one was aiming the large, smoking pistol in his direction.
His legs began to feel weak. He fought this feeling as best he could. Dando knew what falling to the ground meant. Falling is a certain death. Always stay standing if you're alive, always. He knew he needed to act.
Dando reached for the pistol at his waist. He was able to pull it from its holster before the second biker pulled and aimed his gun and the both of them began unleashing thunder and fire in his direction.
He felt four bullets pound into him and that was enough. His pistol fell out of his grasp, not a single shot fired. Dando was fast to join his weapon on the concrete. The legs beneath him couldn't take his dying weight, not by a long shot.
His shaking knees held him up surprisingly well once planted on the ground. His eyelids weren't quite as powerful, they got heavier and heavier by the second. Throughout all the pain, all the blackness closing in, Dando's mind still managed to wander off from the situation. Away from the last few moments of his life.
It was strange. He'd spent his life devoted to God. All his life he didn't fear death, as it would be his long-awaited opportunity to see his lord. But, now that his life was quickly ending, he couldn't help but feel apprehensive. He hardly felt prepared to meet God.
The thought didn't last long. His knees gave out and his eyelids lost all power simultaneously. Dando fell onto the concrete and into the pool of blood and orange pills. The first shot he'd received tore right through the half full bag and spilled the drugs all across the sidewalk.
Seeing their job was done, the two bikers roared away. The piercing sound of their engines entered Dando's closing mind. It would be that last thing that ever would.
24
