CrimeBits Writing Prompt #3

CrimeBits Writing Prompt #3

This is the space to tell us how you would answer the writing prompt that appears in CrimeBits on page 123. 

The old guy was sat on the same bench most days at around two o’clock in the afternoon. I first noticed him around a month ago. Always well dressed, suit and tie, polished shoes, the works. Always the same bench. After the first few times, he started nodding at me in a polite greeting as I passed him. I was always told to respect my elders, so I always reciprocated the nod. It’s not often you see that these days. Everyone seems to be in their own little bubble, ignorant of other people around them. But this old guy was still espousing the social orders of old. He interested me. Always sat on the same bench most days. Not every day though. I walk through the park Monday to Friday at the same time, going home after the six am to two pm shifts I work. I’d say he was there at least three days out of those five.

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The silent exchange became a pleasant routine. I’m not usually the sentimental type but on a day the old guy wasn’t there I thought about carrying a small gift with me on my next walk. Christmas was coming up. I had grown to count on our exchanges and there weren’t many things to count on anymore. I took note of the shops I passed daily. If this was a Hallmark movie, I might buy a gift based on what little I could observe about the old guy. He’s a sharp dresser, so a tie clip or cuff links. But this wasn’t. So, gift card it was. I stopped in front of Au Bon Pain but it seemed a little too “accredited university”. I kept walking. Panera Bread was just “community college” enough. A nice, impartial gift fit for a total stranger. I popped into the cafe- I used to think I was fancy going there, but now some hospital food is catching up- got a gift card, and left. I stepped through the silver early afternoon. Everything looked washed out, but a few holiday garlands along storefronts and around lampposts suggested festivity. I fingered the gift card envelope in my coat pocket, scanning the park in front of me. Even though one could already see one’s breath in puffs, there were people jogging the park in athletic wear so skimpy their bits and pieces threatened to show. Fuckin’ joggers. I watched as one of them descended on a drinking fountain, leaning on it with his forearm and hanging his head to pant dramatically. Looking around to make sure someone sees him holding the fountain, and by extension, the whole planet up. A modern-day Atlas. Boy, he hoped someone would see him. Me, I had the old guy on the bench to look out for. Admittedly, my attention drifted from anyone in my path as I gazed to the taller buildings on the opposite side of the street. Nondescript office space above assorted ground-level eateries. The rows of glass windows were dirty, or whatever cheap tint applied years ago was degrading into an awful, dark grey with a pearlescent hue, like leaked oil in a parking lot on a rainy day. If you could ignore that, the reflection of the sky and clouds upon it was pretty. A fair metaphor for this town- half of it pretty and idyllic but with a foreboding shit-smear of gloom just underneath. My gaze hardened as a flicker of red light rebounded off the windows. I snapped out of it, and diverted my attention straight ahead to a parked ambulance. The lights were going round, engine idling. Men at work. I broke into a swift jog, wrinkling my brow, jaw slacking. My heart dropped when I observed EMTs lifting a gurney that carried what looked to be someone in a herringbone tweed suit. Pigeons hopped about, flapping irritably as they found themselves underfoot of accumulating onlookers. Joining their ranks, the gift card envelope now buckled in my tightening grip. Shit. It was the old guy. I looked to the benches adjacent to the scene. One of them was showing its holiday cheer with a merry spritz of red. Fresh. I fumed as I watched them load my guy into the back of an ambulance. Who got him? And who was this guy that someone would want to get him in broad daylight at a park? “Excuse me,” I approached an EMT behind the ambulance, nonchalantly craning my neck to see the old guy inside. “Which hospital are you taking him to?” “Are you family?” the EMT asked dryly. I fucking hated when someone answered my question with a question. “Yeah, I’m his dear Nonna from the old country, where the fuck is he going? “Sir, I cannot disclose that for privacy reasons, but I can direct you to the police for further inquiries. Now please stand clear of the ambulance.” As he turned and made for the passenger side, two technicians pulled the back doors shut from inside. I stood amongst all the other clueless assholes, molars biting the insides of my cheeks. Cutting my eyes at no one, I looked around for a cop. I had to find out where they were taking the old guy, or I had just wasted twenty dollars on a gift card. He had to stay alive. He had to. I needed to finally talk to him. To find out how he knew my way home from work, so he could pretend to be a random stranger on a bench. Because I saw through the friendly nods. I knew he was there the night my ex-wife died. I just knew. I just didn’t know why he never went to the cops after he saw me loading her body into my truck.
Shaun Johnson

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