Page 11 of Johnny

If this girl were Charlotte I would save her. I’d pick her up and carry her all the way back to my

boat.

Why?

I laugh.

“Please,” she mumbles.

Because I need Charlotte. I can use Charlotte.

And this girl? I turn back to her, pointing the flashlight at her face again. This girl is nothing to me.

Nothing.

She can give me nothing. There are no answers hidden inside her. No revelations to be learned. No

secrets to be mined for future use.

I walk over to the wall of the room, lean up against it, and slide down, flashlight and gun both still

pointing at her face.

“Well, I am,” I say. “I’m fucking done here. I don’t wanna fucking live anymore. Maybe I should

kill us both. Murder-suicide. That’s got a romantic ring to it, right?”

She stares into the blinding beam of light and mumbles, “Coward.”

“What the hell do you know about it?” I ask, suddenly hot and angry. “You don’t know shit. You’re

just some… some dumb, worthless fucking bitch who probably didn’t do her job.”

Why else would she be down here?

I point the flashlight around the room so I don’t have to look at her anymore. Fuck this girl and her

judgment. Has she been running money for a secret global crime syndicate for five years all by

herself?

No, that was me.

“Coward. Fine. Fuck it. I’m a coward.” I get back to my feet, walk over to her, point my gun, and

shoot.

Her body recoils from the sound, but the chain holding the metal cuff around her right wrist

shatters.

She covers her face with her newly freed hand when bits of metal fly off.

A sharp sting on my cheek lets me know I should’ve done the same.

I point again, shoot the chain holding her other wrist, and then pan the flashlight to see if she’s got

shackles on.