Don’t mess with Black Jack #fiction

Note: I was inspired by what Marc wrote in response to his daily prompt over at Daily Writing Practice today. You might want to read Marc’s words first.

The hitman was smirking at her. She was sure of it. She glanced around the seedy bar one more time. Now the bartender was glaring at her. Geez, what was with everyone tonight? Just ’cause she wanted to get rid of her husband …

Forget it. She’d do the job herself. She stood abruptly, throwing some money on the table. “Thanks for your time, mister, but I’m not going to need you after all.” She turned away, pretending not to notice her companion’s eyes narrow ominously.

He lunged forward and wrapped his forearm around her throat. He hissed in her ear, “It’s not as simple as that, lady. You don’t mess with Black Jack.”

She struggled, but soon went limp. He checked her pulse. Good, she was just out, not dead. He tied her up and left her in the back room of the bar with a note.

When she woke up, the first thing she saw was the note propped in front of her. It said, “I bet you can get out of there. When you do, your husband will be dead. You know what you owe me. Don’t mess with Black Jack.”

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