“He’s dead.” Radeezer let out shortly, his words heavy in the mute and itchingly still air. He looked around at his companions, dazed, still not getting the loss. Yet it was all around him; Boustrophedon was on his hands, on his knees. Boustrophedon stained his shirt.
“He’s dead.” Radeezer loosely lipped, “Boustro’s DEAD!” he pronounced now.
“Shut up! We know. Dead. Just shut up!” Shanks had his plate too full for whimperings. He looked at the body then paced back to the window overlooking the courtyard. The sun was still not high enough; nobody was waiting on the bench yet. Robinzx, laying orderly on the bed, lit another cigarette and took a long draw. Shanks sensed this and turned around nervously, bidding his friend for a smoke. The supine, high classed gentleman, was not one to let anyone needing, and thus proceeded to hand him a sample from his fine and imported selection.
Shanks fumbled the cigarette in his cold hands as he, again, looked out into the courtyard.
“… he’s dead.” Radeezer mumbled once more.
“I told you to shut up! We all know he’s dead! We all know what happened! We all saw that one ‘brave’ idiot. We saw him shoot. We shot the little er down. We did! We weren’t prepared for that, but ! It happened. So shut up! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP-“
“Be quiet, you moron. They’ll hear us.” Hesus was the calmer of the B. Brothers and, by far, the more mature, “And stop shouting at him, you’re just making the whole thing worse. The Boustro thing was sad, yes, but we’re still trying to get out of this mess.” He got up from the couch he was resting on, not forgetting his drink. Looking at his watch he asked Robinxz, “What was the signal again? The marker?”
“Two napkins tied reef.” shot back the curt answer.
“Good. Shanks, go down to the café across the street, wait for my signal. Robinzx, you…” he hesitated, “you’ll just stay with me. Radeezer, go get yourself cleaned up and wait for us here -we’ll be back soon.”
Shanks let out a cuss and barged out the door and down the hall. Ronbinzx acquired a standing position, he nodded to Hesus and they exited the room as well. The thin-mustached, classy man looked down at Radeezer as he went out; He smiled and gave him a wink.
The thud of the closing door signaled the return of the oppressing silence, the reminding silence: reminding Radeezer of his hopelessness. The bloodied man finally stood up and wobbled his way to the bathroom. Opening the tap he watched himself in the mirror; listening to the constant flow of the erupting water. He looked at his tired face, his suffered face. What a different face it had been in the morning, before everything went so awry. He wished that he could just start it over and mend it all again. He knew it was his fault, all this. He saw that guy pick up a gun. He saw it but didn’t say a thing.
Radeezer beat the mirror with fury, shouting in anger, but in vain, his situation was still the same and the only he managed to do was bruise his knuckles against the sturdy glass. Radeezer ran his hands along the cool water, they burned. He noticed something behind him, turned, it was nothing: a simple little painting. But this little thing caught the man’s interest; he swiveled to look at it now, ignoring the flushing water behind. It didn’t matter, the world, all his interests and attention was this black and white painting. For now it was all he had to worry about. The thing was intriguing, mysterious. It tricked his eyes, he couldn’t make out the truth, couldn’t see the root of the illusion. And so he continued to stare, free. Freedom! That alluding idea. It came across his mind many times, now more than ever. Maybe now was the time, maybe now the moment for his freedom had finally come. The tap remained unheard to his ears.
Radeezer did not hear the gunfire. It erupted suddenly from the courtyard and across the street. Some shouts were heard, insults and quick orders. The morning’s usual pedestrians screamed and ran from the scene though others flocked to it. Bodies, streaming, lay unattended. The gun fire continued, each burst shorter and more spaced then the last till it subtly stopped. It was then was replaced by the commotion, and the footsteps and the sirens.
The last gunshot rang in the morning, but no one heard it. No one heard the tap either.
Grote Smurf
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