Fiction

The Guns of the Magi

by Scott MacLeod

12/20/24

It had been a slow year for the practice. As Mitch and Ted drove along the freshly plowed streets to their next job they wondered silently about the future. Their last outing had not gone well. Murray was a patient man but even he had limits.

They parked around the corner from the empty warehouse and walked slowly to its rear entrance lugging their long black duffels. Their counterfeit card key clicked the facility’s door open, and they quickly ascended the metal stairs to the top floor. Once on the snow encrusted roof they unpacked their gear.

“We’ve got a good half hour,” said Ted. “Let’s go ahead and exchange presents. Since money’s so tight this year it’s nothing big.”

He handed a small box to Mitch who unwrapped it and displayed a gorgeous high grade chamois mitt with a wry smile.

“To clean your beloved scope,” said Ted.

Mitch couldn’t bring himself to confess that he had sold his telescopic sight to scrounge up enough to afford his gift to Ted, which he handed over to his partner.

“Whoa, top notch mechanic’s oil,” exclaimed Ted, wistfully opening his box.

“To polish up that rifle stand you love so much,” explained Mitch.

Ted saw that Mitch hadn’t noticed the stand was nowhere to be found. Ted had hocked it to pay for Mitch’s cloth.

They sat silently for a bit until Ted noticed movement below. The make and model they had been waiting for pulled into a curb spot in front of the municipal parking structure across the street. Out of the newly parked car stepped the portly gent from the picture Murray had slid under their door last night. It was not their place to wonder who he was or what he had done. All they needed to know was there would be some lead in his stocking this year. They got to work.

As Mitch squinted into the primitive manual rifle sight and Ted tried to balance his weapon on his forearm, their bullets whizzed down, missing their target, thudding into the brick garage wall. The mark fled into the screaming crowd of scattering shoppers and carolers as the snow again began to fall. Murray was not going to be happy.

~ fin ~

Scott MacLeod is a father of two who writes in Central Florida. His work has appeared recently in Punk Noir, 10 by 10 Flash, Flash Fiction Magazine, The Twin Bill, Rmag, Micromance, Free Flash Fiction, Westwords, BULL,Flash Fiction North, Microzine, Dead Mule, Close to the Bone, Roi Faineant, Urban Pigs, Every Day Fiction, Wrong Turn Lit, JAKE, Underbelly Press, Bristol Noir, Havok, Witcraft, NFFD Write-In, Coffin Bell, Frontier Tales, The Yard: Crime Blog, Yellow Mama, Short-story.me and Gumshoe, with more forthcoming. His Son of Ugly weekly flash newsletter can be found on Substack at https://scottmacleod1.substack.com, on Instagram @scottmacleod478 and at http://www.facebook.com/scott.Macleod.334

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