In part one of Classicalite's Original Fiction Series, we met our hero and his disassociative ramblings. He was stuck in a bank and had an itch he could not scratch. Is this the end? Well, if this one doesn't get more pageviews than the last one, it might.
I glared at the hoodlum. "What? What is your problem?" I asked him, more than a bit annoyed I had to take my attention away from the blonde, her fingernails and breasts.
"The wallet and the watch, now!"
Normally, in the hero pictures, the good guy does some fancy garbage and wrestles the gun away from the bad guy and no one gets hurt, but that would take too long and I wasn't feeling very ambitious. The economy was in the toilet and no one had any money. And, when no one has any money, they stop doing dumb stuff. My livelihood depended on people being as dumb as humanly possible.
My name is Hank Talbot. I am a Private Investigator by trade. I had better things to do than humor a wannabe Clyde Barrow, so I shot the hudlum. Boobs fainted, but I still had the watch my dad gave me. It was the only memento of his I had left.
The other people in the bank stared blankly at me.
"You shot him," a mother exclaimed, covering her young son's eyes.
"You're welcome."
Lieutentant Riker finally showed up a half hour after the dancing was done to get my statement. I sat in the bank president's office with a blonde dish on my right and a leggy brunette who wouldn't quit (I wasn't sure what she wouldn't quit, but I was sure aiming to find out) on my left. They were tellers but I figured, since now I was the only one in the bank carrying a gun, I had the option on making some requests.
My father's watch lay on the desk in front of me. I remember well the day he gave it to me. He was lying in a hospital bed, clutching on for dear life, tubes of all sorts attached to him. He motioned for me to approach and handed me his watch, his most prized possession.
"Son, I'm dying," he began, a ragged cough halting him.
"Nonsense, you're tougher than all of us put together," I tried to assure him.
"Would you shut up for a minute?" he shot back. "Son, I am dying. Take the watch and pawn it. Get me a hooker. Preferably, Delilah."
I was shocked. I had no idea Dad liked black girls.
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