The barrel-chested man sat behind the wheel of his plain, white van, parked at the corner. He’d had a clear view of the front of Ralphie’s building and screwed up his face in a snarl watching the female police officer enter. He’d been so worked up his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest, but now he’d wait. There was something about those guys that really didn’t make any sense. He knew Max wasn’t dead, though at the close quarters outside the deli the cops should have been picking up pieces of Max from the sidewalk along with the sandwiches. And that downpour? Where the Hell had that come from?
The engine of the plain, white van roared to life and the barrel-chested man pulled slowly away from the curb and into traffic, heading deeper into the heart of the city. There would be another time to take care of this situation. He couldn’t afford entanglement with the authorities again.
This was in response to last week’s prompts at Studio30Plus.com.