A recent writing exercise by Diane Lynn McGyver.
Franklin snatched the leather pouch from the table and slipped it behind his back. He checked to see if his wife noticed; she didn’t. Once outside the house, he looked up and down the street for anyone lurking about but didn’t see anyone in the glow of the streetlights. As he started down the sidewalk in the direction of town, he continued to search the area for anyone suspicious. The mysterious phone call earlier in the day had his nerves on high alert. If he didn’t get those papers to his contact, he wouldn’t be the only one in danger. He fingered the pouch in his pocket. There was enough money in it to get him out of the country if necessary.
A figure came out of the shadows between two buildings, making Franklin jump. To his relief, it was Carl. The young man walked to the nearby vehicle.
“Hey, Carl, how are things going?” Franklin pasted on a smile.
“Great.”
Carl pulled his coat around him and rubbed his hands together in a show of how cold it was. “Are you heading downtown?”
He shook his head. “The girlfriend’s.” He pointed in the opposite direction.
“You couldn’t give me a lift to Sanderson Street, could you?”
“Sorry. I’m already running late. See ya.” He got into his vehicle and drove away.
Franklin grimaced. His left leg still ached from the scuffle earlier in the day. It’d be a slow walk into town. The sound of someone knocking over a garbage can made him turn. He searched the darkness near the houses but saw no one. His pulse raced and his hair stood on end; he had to get moving. He started to jog. With his injured leg, he wouldn’t get far, but where could he go for help?
Diane McGyver 