Kyle Biery is a student at Full Sail University. He enjoys cooking new dishes in his free time.
“I do not like this, old friend,” Jackson said, his eyes focusing on their room and the results of Shay’s business inside.
Shay ignored his tone as he continued to read his newspaper. “Your opinion is noted. I’ll be going through with this business transaction anyways, as I always do after a job,” the Irish-American stated.
Jackson flicked some of his brown hair from his eyes with an angry huff. “You’re hopeless.”
“And you should get a hair tie. How long has it been since you got a haircut? Two months or three? I hardly recognized you with that magnificent muzzle and mane you’ve acquired.” Shay pointed at Jackson’s short brown beard and hair. “You should shave that like yours truly.” Shay ran a hand over his face, devoid of any blond fuzz. “Especially when you need to look like a respectable thirty-year-old, as you should.”
“Don’t you dare change the subject,” Jackson said. “Your little business transactions and jobs are going to be the death of us both.” Shay’s friend stood and stepped back into their hotel room.
Shay took a moment to enjoy the Miami sun before closing his paper and following Jackson. “It’s just a simple set of documents I picked up alongside the usual haul of watches and wallets. What’s so hard to understand about that?” Shay closed the glass door and tossed his paper onto the coffee table between their beds.
Jackson paced along the short distance between the beds and the main door, his hands flexing open and closed as he went. “What is so clear about these documents of yours is that the owners of these papers have had people killed over these things. Have you even looked at them?”
The object of their attention sat on Shay’s bed, a manila folder bound with thread. “I can’t say I have. I was more concerned with getting away from the police when I stole everything from the evidence lockup.” Shay poured himself a tumbler of bourbon before taking a generous gulp. “Considering how much my friends have offered for the lot, I’m willing to take a chance.”
Jackson grabbed Shay by the collar of his tan suit and slammed him against the wall, his nose now less than an inch from Shay’s. “That document has the name of a high-ranking Neo-Nazi on the front. One that’s been said to be from the Third Reich itself.” Jackson shoved off of Shay and stepped away. “Anything they are involved with is nothing I want to be involved with. If you were wise, you’d do the same.”
Shay stared at the manila folder with interest now. “I wonder how much a Communist would pay me for them,” he said. “I hear they’re starting to get a good foothold in the North.”
“Is everything you think about related to money?” Jackson asked, his fists shaking slightly.
Shay shook his shoulders. “Considering it’s paying for my daughter’s medical bills, I think I can be forgiven for my greed.”
Jackson threw up his hands as he started for the door. “A simple vacation is all I ask for. A nice tour of the sights, hit some bars, maybe even meet a few ladies, but no. I take my eyes off you for two hours and you’ve gone and hooked up with your usual friends in the area.”
“Three hours,” Shay said.
“Next thing I know, you’ve robbed the MPD’s evidence lockup, in three hours no less.” Jackson continued on. “So fuck you. I’m going to go down to the bar for a drink. If I find you’ve gone on another walk at five in the evening, so help me, I’ll-” He nearly yelled as he threw open the door, revealing a surprised bellhop. Jackson paused in his ranting and studied the boy. “Yes, what is it?”
The bellhop shuffled nervously under the brown bearded man’s gaze. “A-a call for a Mr. Finnigan, sir,” he said.
“Pipe it through. I’ll take it in here,” Shay called from in the room.
The bellhop nodded and raced away from the intimidating man at the door. Jackson shook his head and closed the door with a huff.
“Well that killed my anger,” he said.
Shay chuckled. “You always got a kick out of scaring other people, even when we were kids. I think Mrs. Gibbs still has a grudge against you for that incident with her apple pie in ’53.”
“We don’t talk about that pie. General rule we both agreed on,” Jackson interrupted with a raised finger.
“Fair enough. Though you never looked at her daughter the same way again.” Shay was failing to hold his laughter at Jackson’s slowly reddening face. The bearded man flipped him off as the phone rang. Shay snapped up the handle. “Shay Finnegan.” Shay listened to the speaker before a grin broke out on his face. “Marcus, my favorite seller. How are you? Never mind, don’t answer that.” Shay grinned at Jackson’s bewildered face. “I came into possession of something that could turn a profit… No, not the usual crowd… Tell me, do you know of any communists in the area?”
Jackson’s forehead met his palm with a great slap.