Bathed in the glow of a street light a lone vending machine hummed. The neon lamp buzzed and flickered, plunging the storefront in and out of darkness. A car door slammed and its tires squealed as it vanished into the Cleveland night.
With a dull slap, a pale hand smacked against the glass at the front of the vending machine. There was a low groan as the hand’s owner clawed his way off the sidewalk, supporting himself against the glass. Michael Rockne spat, congealing a thick globule of red on the concrete. Leaning on the vending machine, he wiped his mouth leaving bloodstains on his torn sleeve. He took several deep breaths, battling the shooting pain all over his body.
“Oh God…”
A violent cough wracked his body, spraying more red on the pavement.
“Shit…”
He looked up, gasping, his face bathed in the blue glow from the machine. In the glass he saw a dark haired man, with huge, black bruises rising on his face and a long gash in his lower lip. One of his blue eyes was swollen shut while the other was bloodshot and watering. His nose didn’t look great either.
Joey stood over him, crowbar in hand.
“My three grand in three days, Rockne.”
“Joey, please, you know I don’t have it!”
“I can’t impress on you how important it is that I get that money. But I’ll try.”
Joey brought the crowbar down in a swift arc…
He’d never get that money in three months, forget three days. He was a dead man.
Greg pulled the blacked out Merc up to the kerb.
Joey opened the door and grinned at him.
“Three days Rockne. I hope that keeps your memory fresh.”
Joey grabbed him by the collar and tossed him out on the sidewalk. The door slammed and the Merc sped off…
Trying to push the pain aside, Michael cast his good eye around the face of the vending machine. A small screen to the right displaying square blue writing caught his attention
10c Credit Remaining.
Michael tried to smile but his face wouldn’t allow it. 10 cents; well it was a start.
Supporting himself against the machine with his left arm, Michael pushed in the change return button with his right hand. A single coin jingled into the slot. He pushed his hand into the slot, fumbling for the dime. His fingers grasped a cold disc and he pulled it out, holding it up in front of his face.
It wasn’t a dime. One face was completely blank and the other was covered in tiny markings arranged in a spiral.
Suddenly, Michael’s brain finally realized how much pain his body was in and shut down. He blacked out and slid slowly to the ground, splayed like a bloody rag-doll on the pavement.
Thanks to Claudette and Ofour. I think I've ironed out the paragraphs/punctuation etc. but I can't be sure because I just copied and pasted the text from My Documents to here. I've dropped the FBI agent and the city-pentacle thing too (You're right it's a lame idea). I can put the continuation of this piece up if anyone wants to read it, but be forewarned, it gets kinda confusing at times.
All replies appreciated and thanks again!
