Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 98: The Dull Life

This is the 98th in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

The Dull Life, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 9th March 2013

Word count: 979

The story:

“Its simple, all we want you to do is going in there small talk about whatever, make the switch and get out,” the blue suited detective said, “at all times there are going to be a dozen cops ready to protect you.”

“Simple,” he said. Simple is a con, it’s a lie, a devastating one as it turned out for him and his team.

I went in, and as soon as Breaker saw me, I lost my bottle. I didn’t grass, I never said a word, I didn’t have to.

“Where’s the device?” he demanded of me, and without thinking I handed over the ornament.

From outside there was the sound of screeching tires, there went the backup, and then there was an explosion outside. The flash was visible through the blinds.

“Do you know why I asked you to come here?” Breaker asked.

I shook my head.

“We share the same employer you and I,” Breaker said, “I knew they’d be bugging you, I let slip to one of their informers that I was going to contact you. Naturally they jumped at the chance to get inside my organisation.”

“I work for a bank,” I said in all innocence.

“I’m taking about the CIA,” Breaker said, “I’ve seen you meet with my contact.”

“I’ve nothing to do with the CIA, I’m just a mortgage adviser,” I was confused, and more than a little scared.

“You met with John House last week, at Union Square, I saw you with my own two eyes, it’s no good denying it. They won’t protect just me from this, but they’ll have no choice with both of us, and I’ve got rid of that pain in the ass. You need to phone your contact though.”

“I’ve only met my brother in law in Union Square recently, and I doubt he has anything to do with the CIA.”

Breaker held out a phone, it was an old fashioned one with a keypad, “Dial this number,” the he instructed.

I did as I was told, it was a terrifying mess I was in. Two days ago I’d had a call asking if I would see a client out of hours, my manager ok’d, which had surprised me. Then a van pulls up, just as I get home that night, and I’m yanked off the street. I get questioned by the blue suited detective, he was quite aggressive. Finally he was satisfied I was as dumb as I looked, (his words), and instead he tells me that if I don’t do a job for him, I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison.

Well what could I do, I agreed. It was only then they told me who Breaker was, what he does, and what he’s done.

Given where I was, in the tastefully decorated living room of an insane killer, I did as I was told.

The phone rang for an eternity, then someone answered.

“Hello,” I said nervously.

“Breaker what is it? I’m not helping you with this latest idiocy,” a familiar voice said.

“Bryan?” I asked, increduously the voice sounded exactly like…

“How the hell are you calling me on this number Michael?” Bryan asked.
Breaker indicated I should hand the phone back, I did.

“John,” Breaker said loudly, “Or is it Bryan? It appears we have a cosmic mix up here. I think we should meet to discuss what it all means. I’m feeling quite existential, if you get my drift.”

Breaker went silent for several moments, “I understand,” he said finally, and then hung up. He turned his attention back to me, “You’re free to go,” he said.

“What’s happening?” I asked, this indication of my release emboldening me.

“What’s happening? What’s happening? You’re the fucking curse of the fucking devil,” Breaker said, “Now get out, and get gone.”

I didn’t need to be told a third time, I high tailed it out of there. I braced myself for the long walk home, my ride home was a smoking ruin just a few yards ahead.

That ‘simple’ night wasn’t over just yet though, as I got to the end of the cul de sac, Breaker’s house exploded. I mean exploded, a huge firey smokey explosion. I was thrown clear off my feet, and several feet closer to home, wood and bricks pelted me.

A car pulled up as I was getting myself to my feet and dusting myself off, and looking at the myriad wounds, nothing major it seemed though.

“Get in,” it was Bryan in a BMW 5 series.

“What the…” I started to say, but he just popped the rear door, and I half limped, half dragged myself in.

“Now be quiet, I’m going to take you to the hospital. Whatever you do, do not mention me, and do not mention Breaker, nor the cops that were with you. Just keep quiet, and the rest will be taken care of.”

“I don’t understand,” I started to say, as I pulled myself up into a sitting position.

“Don’t try, it’s best. I’m sorry you got mixed up in this, but it’s the last we can ever discuss it. I’ll make sure you and my sister are protected,” he said, as if he was doing me a favour.

I went along with it, after all, I didn’t really have any explanation for any of it.

A few years later, me and my wife got divorced. Do you want to know why? Because she felt I’d not had a single day’s excitement in my whole life. If things hadn’t gone so bad, I might have told her about that day, but some things aren’t meant to be. Now I’m just a mortgage adviser at the bank, and I have a second job as a property adviser to people who I’m not even sure exist. My life is far from dull these days.

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