Tucson

A mysterious crime for money or someting more?

         It was a hot summer. Hotter that usual I suppose. But that didn’t matter things still had to get done. I had been driving down this dry dirt road for some time now. I was about fifty miles outside Tucson Arizona and must have been about two or three miles from my destination. There weren't many clouds in the sky today. The only clouds were the clouds of dust that my old pick up truck was making from bouncing up and down on this god forsaken road. I loved the desert though. I loved the cactus, the jack rabbits, the coyotes howling at night. I loved it all. Looking around now I saw all the landscape for what it was. Sheer dangerous beauty. The mountains that reached for the sky but would never hold it. The huge rocks that sat in the washes forever waiting for water to lap upon there sides again. As I drove further my radio began to fade in and out. It was playing an old Gram Parsons song that I had not heard in ages and I was sad to hear it fade out. I had been driving for some time and was feeling a bit anxious. That and the revolver on my hip was digging into my side a bit. 

        I came to a steep hill and my pick up struggled to climb to the top. Small desert creatures ran from the bushes on the side of the road with horror from the noise it made. The wisps of dirt and rocks from my tires sent rabbits and squirrels running into the steaming desert. I finally made it to the top of the hill and saw where it was I was going. There was a small discolored old trailer off in the near distance. “There he is.” I muttered to my self. I continued on towards the trailer, my pick up still bouncing up and down. The Remington 870 in the rifle rack behind my head was bouncing with the road making a foreboding clack, clack, clack sound. 

        I neared the trailer and parked about ten yards from the front door. I sat in the cab watching to see if he had noticed I had arrived. No one came to the faded yellow door. I garbed the door latch of my truck and yanked it open. It creaked and groaned like it always did. I left the truck running. “I wont be here long.” I thought to my self. As I set foot on the hard hot desert ground I took the gun from the holster that hung on my leather belt and held it tightly in my right hand. The hard wooden grip of the revolver fit perfectly with my hand. Like it was an extension of me. The metal felt cold. I thought to myself how funny it was that no matter how hot it was outside guns always still felt cold to the touch. 

        I walked slowly and quietly to the door so as not to alarm the man inside or if he had any dogs that could turn the situation in his favor. The trailer was old. The sun had taken a toll on its once bright colored sides. It smelled too. It smelled hot and dead. I stood there on the front step of his door breathing harder and harder. I swallowed deep and tried to catch my breath. I was shaking a bit, though I am not sure why. I mean this wasn’t the first time I had done business with some one. I raised my left hand into a fist and knocked on the wooden door. The door was hot from the sun and almost burnt my hand. No one came to the door. I knocked again this time I heard some commotion on the other side. I knocked again. “Hold up man! F**k.” I heard on the other side. I held up as he asked and did not knock again. I could hear his heavy foot steps on the cheap floor inside as he approached the door and swung it open. “What do you want man?” he started out but could barely finnish as he stood there in the open doorway looking down the business end of my revolver. His eyes were crossed looking straight down the blued barrel of my 357 magnum. He knew there was no escape. He knew what was coming. 

        I eased the hammer back with my thumb and his eyes widened ten times there normal size as he heard the hammer comeback. The cylinder on my revolver turned to the left as I did this in order to put the round in line with the firing pin so I could dispense justice from it. It was the last thing he ever heard or saw.

        I got back into my still running truck and put it in reverse. I backed out of the mans yard and headed back down the dirt road I had come from. The message had been sent. It would be felt soon enough by the people who needed to feel it. The money would be waiting for me when I got back to Tucson. Heading south toward Tucson a lit a cigarette and tried to find that radio station that I had lost earlier.