Danny opened up the briefcase, an emotional cocktail stirring in his stomach strong enough to ignite an existential crisis in the most grounded of psychologists. His hands shook as the CLICK CLICK of the locks echoed throughout his empty room, settling finally into the memories of his brain.
I did it, he thought. I fucking did it.
Winning was not a common experience for Danny. He was used to losing. Usually it was his money, if he had any to begin with. He was also no stranger to losing a few teeth when he was unlucky enough to find himself in a fight. Losing had always been his purpose.
But not today, it seemed.
As the briefcase grew wider his black and white checkered smile followed suit until you could count the black spaces from across the room. Finally, the briefcase revealed its contents forcing a guttural croak from Danny’s throat. He stood up and immediately fell against his piss colored wall. While holding himself up with great effort, he began to laugh. Tears flowed down his face. Laughter filled his room. He closed the case with a CLICK CLICK and hugged it to his chest as he slid down the bare wall into a fetal position, cradling the case like it was his very heart trying to escape from his chest. The distant sound of knocking went unnoticed before it began penetrating his euphoria.
It took Danny a moment to process the rhythmic taps of knuckles on wood. Startled, he jumped up and began looking around his room like he didn’t already know every inch of the ten by ten square.
After less than careful consideration he lifted up his mattress, which he kept on the floor, and pushed the briefcase under it. It was sloppy, pointless even.
Danny wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, a productive nervous habit since his hands were always sweating. Who was at the door? After biting his thumbnail down to its root, he pulled out his six-shooter from his waistband. He’d almost forgotten it was there.
Not that Danny had any reason to believe the person or persons outside his door meant him any harm, but he checked his ammunition anyway. He was now a rich man, after all, and he didn’t get that way honestly. Three bullets remained. Not four hours before, the other three were fired so he may acquire the items that were now barely hiding under his mattress. Two men. Three bullets. That was really good for Danny.
Danny took a deep breath on his way to the door to satisfy the knocker’s request. It’s probably just the landlord again. He kept his weapon in his right hand shaking at his side while he gnawed away at what was left of his left thumbnail. Both unfortunate character traits.
“One second, already. Jesus.” The last words Danny would ever say rolled off his tongue through his gritted teeth and disappeared as he bent down to look through the spy hole with his right eye.
If he had time to see the man standing outside his door, or hear the shot of the man’s gun, or feel the bullet pierce his eyeball before it continued on to remove the back of his head, then Danny would have known. But he didn’t know. He didn’t have time to know. Danny’s brains covered his apartment before his sweat-soaked gun even hit the floor.
Danny didn’t see the man walk over his body or return a moment later with the briefcase. Danny didn’t feel the extra four bullets the man put into his head for good measure. Danny didn’t hear the man’s footsteps as he walked away with Danny’s prize. Danny didn’t know that he lost. Danny died a winner.
stormborns
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
