TURNING A CORNER - by Christopher Grant

TURNING A CORNER

That dumbfuck Duane is on the corner, thinking he owns it. You can just see that he's stoned to the gills on his own shit but he thinks he's okay to be slinging. If only everyone on the crew was as stupid as he is, I'd have this entire block, Terrence thinks, sitting in his Escalade and watching from the mouth of an alley.

This block is a major component of Andre's territory and, with it, Terrence could start making huge inroads on wiping Andre and his soldiers completely off the map.

His phone rings, he digs it out of his pocket and flips it open. It's on speaker. Anything anyone has to say to him is fine for his companion's consumption. Terrence doesn't say a word and all they hear is, "Watch." The caller hangs up. Terrence wears a confused look, glances over at his driver and right-hand man, Aaron, who just shrugs.

They've got a front row seat as, across the street, what the caller was apparently talking about materializes. A pair of black-clad triggermen, carrying Tech-9s, pistols in their waistbands, are sneaking up on dumbfuck Duane.

"Who the fuck is this?" Terrence asks Aaron.

"New players in town," Aaron says, his piece out, up and drilling a hole through Terrence's skull.

Dumbfuck Duane is so stoned he either doesn't hear or doesn't fear the gunshot. His crew takes off running for their pieces, hidden atop the tires of nearby cars.

The triggermen come around the corner and put Duane down immediately, his body twitching with the hits as he goes to the sidewalk, dying before he hits the concrete. Duane's crew, having watched their boss just take a hail of bullets, and despite being strapped themselves, scatter to the four winds.

BIO:
Christopher Grant is the editor and publisher of A Twist Of Noir and a writer of crime fiction. His stories can be found at Thrillers, Killers 'N' Chillers, Powder Burn Flash and The Flash Fiction Offensive.