MARCO GAMINO - RETIREMENT
Marco Gamino is a young and aspiring writer from Utah. He mainly focuses on writing Science fiction and fantasy, since those are the stories that spoke to him the most. To see what he does next you can follow him on twitter: @MarcoGaming_
The doorbell rang softly early in the morning, the sound stirred me from my sleep. I got up and headed to the door, annoyed that someone was at my door this early in the morning. I looked at the clock I had in the living room, four in the morning. I opened the door, a cold blast of morning air carrying the smell of rain rushed in.
No one was standing there, but a box the size of a toaster sat at my doorstep. This is an odd time to deliver a package. I stepped outside, the cold concrete sending shivers up my spine. I looked down the street, it was a small neighborhood. All the homes had basic lawns, white fences and they all looked similar. It was a good place to keep quiet.
The strange thing was that there was no delivery truck, there was no one in sight. I looked down at the small package and went back inside. I opened my closet, inside were mostly coats and vacuum supplies. I moved the coats aside and opened a small compartment hidden in the back.
Inside were some old supplies. I pulled out a small silver case, inside was a prong and a meter that read for any signs of explosives. I turned it on and went back to my door, I cracked it open to make sure no one was looking. I waved the prong around the entire box. The meter made no sounds, meaning that there were no signs of explosives.
I picked the package up, it had a bit of weight to it, one that was familiar. I brought it back inside and set it on his kitchen counter. I opened the package and its bubble wrap. At the bottom lay a standard black hand gun on top of a photo of a woman. The woman in the picture was attractive, she had long raven black hair, her piercing dark eyes gave a sense of authority. She wore a dark suit complementing her small figure.
It seemed to be a surveillance photo in the way it was taken. On the back of the photo was a note, “Call,” then a phone number. I grabbed a small black flip phone from my small compartment and dialed the number. The phone rang once then it was answered.
“Who’s this?” I demanded.
“An old acquaintance,” an old familiar voice said.
“Diego, what do you want?”
“I’m calling in an old debt.”
“No one told you? I paid all my debts, plus I’m not in that line of business anymore.”
“You didn’t pay all of them, not yet, anyway.”
“You assume I’ll take the job, but like I said, I don’t do that anymore.”
“Yes, you do. Or should I pay a little girl in Santa Monica a visit, her and her mother.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Her name is Detective Tiana Stark, she has made my line of business a little less, lucrative,” he took a moment for any questions. I didn’t have any. “The last couple of years she’s been busting key locations for my operations. I think it’s time for her to retire, early, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I think I know what you’re trying to say,” the line went dead.
I sat down, my eyes stayed glued to the gun. I thought I had left this life behind, how did Diego, find me? I looked down at the woman in the photo, Tiana Stark, a detective known for her arrest rate and the high number of enemies she’s made throughout her short career. Your demons always find a way of finding you.
If I didn’t do this, my daughter could be caught in the middle. If I did, then a young detective loses her life, and all she did to deserve it was helping the world. I kept listing pros and cons for a good couple of hours. This had been one of the most stressful decisions I had made since I decided to quit the business. I knew what I had to do. I picked up the gun off the table. It’s what I do.