Home Run

Dmitri got into the black Mercedes. He was normally ever-vigilant, but today he had stepped in some dog shit — ruining his Russian leather. Fucking mutt… A distraction.

Such an annoying inconvenience left him thinking. And not thinking about who was driving the Mercedes. They parked.

“Eh? Durak! Ty che, blyad, delaesh’?!” Dmitri said. He reached for this pistol.

“Too slow,” Jackson said.

The doors opened from both sides and Dmitri was cornered. They grabbed him.

Tied him to a chain. In an undisclosed warehouse.

“You killed my friend,” Jackson said angrily. He had a baseball bat in hand. It was Alice’s signature.

“Alice would appreciate this detail…” Jackson continued.

Two men swung Dmitri by the chain and like a pendulum he came back — Jackson swung for a home run! Fucker!