A run of bad luck

Arnold winced as a mobster's boot connected with his ribs. His eyes went wide as he struggled to draw in a breath, clutching his side with one arm and desperately trying to block the next strike with the other.

“This is the third time, Arnold!” a short, stubby man said. He leaned against a large garbage bin in the alley while his colleague proceeded to play soccer with Arnold's body. Arnold tried to respond in between kicks but all he could manage were a few blood-spattering grunts.

“Get him up, Bugsy,” the short man said. Arnold was swiftly lifted onto his feet. Pain shot down his body as his fractured ribs protested.

“Pl– please, Tony. Give me a chance,” Arnold managed to rasp. Tony straightened his navy blue, pinstripe suit jacket, the unofficial uniform of the New Port mafia. Tony smirked and spat out the toothpick he was chewing and nodded to Bugsy, who was holding Arnold up by the collar. Bugsy let go of Arnold and dusted his shirt straight, relief settling over Arnold. The relief was short-lived as Bugsy suddenly gut-punched Arnold, another bout of wheezing echoing through the alleyway.

“Where’s our money, Arnold? I would have thought that a couple of broken fingers would have motivated you to get us our cash,” Tony said. Arnold winced as he remembered the incident a couple of months ago, as he rubbed his bandaged hand.

“I can get you the money, I swear. Just give me a bit of time, please, Tony,” Arnold said. Tony rubbed his chin. He didn’t respond for a whole, excruciating minute. Arnold quieted his wheezing, not daring to interrupt Tony’s contemplation. Finally, Tony looked up.

“One hour,” Tony said.

“Wha– what?” Arnold said.

“Did I stutter? You have one hour to get us the five grand,” Tony glared at Arnold and then looked down at his watch.

“Tony, please, I need more time than tha–,” Tony put his hand up, silencing Arnold and shook his head. He tapped his watch.

“Time’s wasting,” Tony said. Arnold’s heart started racing. Where could he get that much in an hour? It wasn’t possible.

“If you don’t get us our cash, you’re not going to like the consequences, Arnold,” Tony said. “Go. Now!”

Arnold stared at the mobster. Tony looked at his watch again. “Fifty-eight minutes,” he said.

Arnold scrambled backwards, slipping and stumbling his way to the alley entrance. He limped to the sidewalk and looked around widely, a crazed desperation in his eyes. Maybe he could run, and get out of town. He thought about it and then scrapped that idea. All he had to his name was eight bucks, not even enough for a bus ticket out of town. Plus the mob have people everywhere, he thought. He began to feel the bile rise in his throat. They’re gonna kill me.

Arnold quickly steeled himself. There must be a way. He glanced at the passersby, a plan beginning to form. He was in the upper side of New Port City, a classy district. Arnold imagined the apartments cost more than he could afford in ten lifetimes. He was homeless at the moment so he was able to frequent the area, avoiding the police where he could. The residents couldn’t comprehend homeless wanderers tarnishing their perfect little district.

He contemplated breaking into one of the fancy homes, imagining the fortunes hoarded within them. No, there’s no time to plan a burglary, he thought. It has to be something quick. He glanced at his watch–the glass was cracked after his beating. Fifty-four minutes.

He watched people walk past him on the sidewalk, some giving him severe looks. His clothes were covered in blood but Arnold didn’t care. One woman stood out to him. She was wearing a fine, fur coat and carrying shopping bags in both hands. Her handbag was slung over one shoulder, but that’s not what drew Arnold's attention. On her finger, a giant diamond ring glinted. That should be more than enough to cover his debt.

Arnold glanced around him. He didn’t have anything resembling a weapon. He sighed and glanced at his watch again. Fourty-nine minutes. His body filled with adrenaline. This was life or death. He pulled his bloody hoodie over his face, trying to hide as many features as possible, without hindering his imminent mugging attempt. Sticking his bandaged hand in his pocket, he looked at the bulge to see if it resembled a gun. He sighed, good enough I suppose.

He trailed behind the woman until there was no one around them. Arnold moved swiftly and grabbed her shoulder and sticking his makeshift gun into the woman’s back.

“Don’t make a sound and you won’t get hurt,” he said. The woman dropped the shopping bags and shrieked in surprise. Arnold could feel her shaking.

“Give me the ring,” he said, grabbing her hand.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she said. “Take it.”

Arnold slipped the ring off her finger and looked at it. He was awed by the giant diamond clasped in it. Something moved in his periphery and he looked up to see the woman, who no longer had his attention, was running away. His eyes widened as he saw where she was running to. The familiar blue and white decals of a New Port Police Department patrol car. She was gesturing and shrieking at an officer through the window of the patrol car. Arnold was staring at the exchange, briefly forgetting that he was most likely the topic of their discussion until the woman pointed in his direction. He jolted himself out of his stupor and sprinted for the nearest alley. As he ran, he heard sirens begin the whine behind him. 

Arnold wound his way through alleyways and roads, heading towards a pawn shop he knew of. He stopped to catch his breath and sat down behind a vine-covered fence, taking huge gulps of air. His body was on fire. Cracked ribs creaked and stung with every breath he took. He looked at his watch. Thirty-two minutes. He forced himself to his feet and made his way to a tacky-looking building where a faded sign read Jimmy’s Cash & Pawn.

The door jingled as Arnold entered the pawn shop. There was a thick slice of glass between Arnold and a man, who he thought must be Jimmy. Arnold approached the man. Jimmy’s balding head glinted in the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. His round, stubbled face nodded at Arnold.

“What can I do for you,” he said. Arnold carefully placed the ring into the small opening in the window.

“How much for this,” Arnold said. Jimmy picked up the ring, pulling out a magnifying glass from under the counter. He examined it carefully. Arnold looked at his watch. Twenty-six minutes. Jimmy placed the ring on the counter again.

“Fifty bucks,” Jimmy said. Arnold stared at the man.

“Are you mad, that’s a diamond ring!” Arnold said.

“Actually, it’s glass. But it looks good. The best I can do is fifty,” Jimmy said. Arnold’s heart sank. He stared at Jimmy. Arnold grasped the counter and pressed his face close to the glass.

“Come on, man! Don’t fleece me. That’s at least ten thousand,” Arnold said, clear desperation in his voice. Jimmy laughed and then his happy demeanour faded.

“Alright, I’ve had enough. Beat it,” Jimmy flicked the fake diamond ring off the counter and it rocketed into Arnold’s chest.

The panic had returned and a haze began to fill Arnold’s head. This was supposed to be his ticket to freedom. I’m a dead man, he thought. He quickly looked at his watch. Twenty minutes. Shit! An idea quickly came to him.

“Alright, I’ll take fifty,” Arnold placed the ring on the counter again. Jimmy paused and looked at Arnold. He grunted, shrugged and started tapping at the cash register in front of him. The register pinged as the cash drawer slid open.

Arnold was already coiled. He sprang forward, his arm darting through the opening in the protective window, just barely able to make it to the register. He grabbed a handful of cash.

In an instant, he was bolting towards the door. Almost there, he thought. A sudden pain exploded from his shoulder as a gunshot sounded in the shop. He was flung against the door, but the adrenaline numbed the pain.

“You thieving bastard!” Jimmy bellowed, a pistol sticking through the slot in the glass.

Arnold quickly scrambled for the door handle. The next shot came. It missed. The glass around the door shattered, spraying Arnold’s face with stinging shards. Arnold twisted the handle and flung the door open. He quickly sprinted down the sidewalk, desperately searching for an escape route. A glance at his watch told him he had fifteen minutes to get to the New Port Customs offices, where the mob was headquartered. He was tired, sore and dizzy but if he kept pushing, he should make it just in time.

With about two minutes to spare, Arnold found himself at the security gate to the docks, panting and leaning against the gate. A security guard approached him.

“Name,” the guard said.

“Arnold.”

The guard looked down at the clipboard. He pulled out a radio and spoke into it for a moment, then opened the gate, pointing Arnold to the office building nearby. Arnold ran, not sure if they would count this towards his deadline. He knocked fast and hard on the door. A familiar face greeted Arnold.

Tony looked at his watch and smirked. “Close enough,” he said, looking Arnold up and down. “You look like shit. Well, even worse shit than we left you. Get inside.”

Arnold cautiously walked through the entrance, noticing a couple of goons flanking the doorway, including Bugsy, his torturer from the alley. Arnold felt sick. Blood poured from his shoulder and he was slick with sweat.

“Give us the cash,” Tony said. Arnold looked at his hand clenched around the cash he grabbed. There definitely wasn’t five grand there, but he did manage to grab the large notes, so maybe it was enough to make a down payment and keep Bugsy from kicking him into paste. He showed the cash to Tony, who nodded at Bugsy. Bugsy grabbed the blood-soaked cash from Arnold's hand and began counting it.

After a few nail-biting moments, Arnold watched Bugsy shake his head and look at Tony. “One-thousand two-hundred,” Bugsy said.

Arnold began to explain, “I know it’s not all of it, but I can get you more, I have a few ide–,” Tony cut off Arnold, raising his hand.

“I told you there would be consequences, Arnold. Yet, you still treat us like we’re fools,” Tony said.

“I know, Tony, but there wasn’t much time. I tried my best. I even got shot!” Arnold pulled his hand off his bleeding shoulder, showing Tony his wound. Blood poured from it. Tony closed his eyes. A moment went by and Arnold tried to think of something that would convince Tony to give him another chance.

Tony looked at Arnold with pity in his eyes and sighed. “You’re the worst investment we’ve ever made,” he said. He pulled out a revolver from a side holster and pointed it at Arnold. Arnold’s legs gave way and he fell to his knees. He took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes in resignation.