Constrained Writing Contest #11 The Alternative Route

This is my entry for the Constrained Writing Contest #11, hosted by @svashta.

This week’s constraints are:
Tell a fictional story from (at least) two different perspectives
The entire story must be at least 300 words long
Upvote and resteem this post, and post a link to your entry in the comments.
Include tag #constrainedwriting among your other tags.

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The Alternative Route

I wasn’t where I should have been, in fact, I was about a mile away. The old Buick sat rusted, and exhausted; refusing to go another inch. I swore at it; as if it were the car’s fault the engine ran out of oil.

Who had time to change the oil? Not me. I was a man on a mission; slightly delayed, but still quite impressive.

With all the pride I had left, I took my nine from under the seat, and tucked it securely into my belt, and then began to walk down the deserted highway.

Before long I started to swelter. The mid-day sun beat down upon me; the only sounds were that of the squealing birds circling ahead; waiting for my demise.

“Not today birds. I can see the horizon. The city lies before me. I will survive.”

They ignored me, but that was fine. I didn’t have time for their nonsense. If I was to get to the city plaza before three o’clock, I would have to ignore the voices of the nay-sayers and muster on.

She would be waiting for me there. I had planned on demonstrating my clean, well-groomed, manly physique, but I’m afraid by the time I get there, I will not be as illustrious as I had hoped.

Not that I needed to impress her. She was planning on double-crossing me anyway. I just know it. She talked so sweet on the phone. “You are not going to want to resist this offer.” She had said.

But I had no choice. If she had the information proving that Jackson embezzled my father’s fortune, I could take that information to the police. My father would get his money back, and I could go back to the luxurious life I had become accustomed. It was worth getting my hands dirty, even if it meant killing her enemy in cold blood.

She sat there on a bench by the concrete statue, legs crossed, and her gaze off to the distance. She looked like a model who was posing for a magazine cover. But I knew better. She was dangerous. Just meeting her here I was risking my life.

“Quincy, I have been waiting for you. I don’t have much time. You need to put these papers back where they belong. If you can’t do it right, I’ll find someone who can.”

Quincy was jolted from his thoughts.

He suddenly realized where he was. He looked around to find the pile of folders that Nancy had placed in front of him. A sad disappointment washed over him.

Quincy sighed. At least he was still able to dream. They couldn’t take that away from him.

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