Soon Silence

His leather shoes clunked in the puddle of oil and rainwater in the broken street. The shadow of a rainbow greyed in the black light crossed his view. Phillip ran, briefcase clutched to his tight chest, towards the dimly lit diner in downtown Chicago.

He stopped under a streetlamp to collect his breath and loosen his boring brown tie. Phillip was shaking and his heart was racing. "Get it together," he said aloud. He took out his phone.

Phillip's wife answered on the second ring, "Hello," in her upbeat voice.

"Miriam it's me," he chocked up a little, " How are you?"

"My day was long," she began, rubbing her right foot, "I had to clean that bathroom, your shavings were everywhere, then the market ran out of London broil..." she paused, he was whimpering.

Phillip said, "I love you."

Her voice changed, "Phillip what's wrong?"

"I want you to know," he said crying, "That I love you and I tried to make it better. Please Miriam."

Miriam stammered, "What on Earth are you talking about?"

"There comes a time when you will see. Soon you will see."

"Phillip, where are you? Come home! I love you, too, but you're scaring me. Please whatever is going on we'll work through it. "

"Of course we will, dear. Please don't be alarmed. I have a quick stop to make then..."

"Come home," she urged.

Phillip simply couldn't bear it. He just said "Yes, dear." He hung up the phone. Phillip stood there, soaked and scared weeping.

He trudged through more cracks and crevices bleeding water. He wanted to walk on home or keep walking, walk right out of Chicago.

Phillip imagined the midnight train hurling into nowhere with no one. This was a horror movie in real time. And, Phillip was the unlikely hero. He looked down as water spilled into his shoes and wet his casual business socks. To hell with those socks, he thought. He thought about sprinting away.

But, he didn't. He dutifully trod to that greasy spoon. The "D" was out so it read "Iner." Through the darkened window he saw his friend and go- to man Genovese.

the door creaked, metal wet, and led into the smell of hamburgers and onions frying. He walked over to the table relaxing a bit.

Phillip said in his small voice, "I'm here." After he said it, he felt stupid because it was obvious. He sat down shaking his head. Genovese was larger than life.

"Holy Toledo is it coming down out there!" Genovese said clutching his bald head adorned with a crown of curly dark blonde hair.

Genovese's Armani coat looked peppered with rain but otherwise he looked dry. He called over the waitress and ordered. Phillip politely declined food.

"Let me see the briefcase, " Genovese smiled.

Phillip glanced at his watch. "It's crowded in here." He darted his eyes around him.

"No need to get spooked old pal," Genovese smiled. He sucked on a coke.

They made small talk very inpatiently. Both men were sizing each other up, quietly. The waitress appeared with a large plate of food, french fries pilled high.

Phillip tried to speak but Genovese ignored him and gulped food with air, and sprinkled salt and ketchup on his fries.

"Genovese," Phillip sneered, "We don't have time to eat."

Genovese chuckled, "We always have time to eat, Phil." His hand wiped sweat from his brow.

"It's already spreading. Time is of the essence. If you're gonna use it, Miriam and I, and..." Phillip stopped.

Genovese smirked, "Now what makes you think I'll share?"

"You monster!" Phillip sank deeper into despair. Why did he trust him?

"Do you have it?" Genovese's face dropped. Phillip was seeing his childhood friend the way most people see him. He was old, terrible, and grizzled.

Phillip rushed for the entrance where he came in. He white-knuckled the briefcase.

"Sit down, Phillip," Genovese aimed the gun at him under the white formica table and laughed grating.

Phillip felt his head go numb. He checked the exits-two. He checked the gun- looked real. Considered his options and glanced down at the wristwatch Miriam had given him on their tenth wedding anniversary. Obediently he sat. This was a last-ditch effort to get home to her.

Genovese was chomping on his corned beef and cabbage sandwich. "Yum," he licked his stubby fingers. "The briefcase."

Phillip wanted to run, he calculated the distance to the side door. Miriam would already be dead, so would he, why should anyone else be any different. Why could Genovese live?

Who had done this terrible thing and why had he agreed to smuggle it out? Phillip just wanted to end the chaos. He didn't know who else to call, not in Chicago, not anywhere. Then again, it was Genovese who reached out to him. He banged his head against the window. Someone gasped. Phillip didn't care.

The waitress approached the table. She asked if everything was okay. Phillip was sweating. Genovese waved her off. "C-c-coffee," Phillip managed to stammer, never letting go of the briefcase.

"Quit acting like an idiot," Genovese snapped.

Phillip leered at him. He thought of Miriam sitting at home waiting for him. Her sweet perfume and beautiful dresses over her curves. He felt a dash of hope. Maybe he could make it home?

"I hate to belabor the point, but hand over the briefcase." Genovese shoved the gun forward.

"You're already dead, " Phillip laughed manically, banging the table. "Chicago is dead. And who did it, was is you?" A few people looked at them.

Genovese shrugged, "Does it matter, it's done."

"I should have gone home and held my wife. I was foolish to think you could stop it." Phillip was almost shouting and more people stared.

"I can, give me the case," Genovese whispered.

Phillip slurped the coffee as soon as the waitress brought it over, "good," he said eventhough it was stale and greasy. It didn't matter. This was going to be infamous like the end of the world. Phillip felt insignificant. What was his life when all these people were dying. No one would ever know he existed or tried to stop the annihilation of an entire city.

Phillip's identification card from the BioTek biological facility slipped around his neck on the pale blue lanyard. Phillip thought, the horsemen. "And one was death."

Genovese stared at Phillip. They faced off. Genovese had cabbage stuck in his beard. Phillip pointed and for a moment they were friends again.

Phillip stood, Genovese was shouting now, Phillip ran. He pushed through the door and out into the pouring acrid rain.

Freedom, he thought, as one...two...three gunshots ripped through his chest.

Genovese tore the briefcase containing the antidote from his dead friend's hand and pushed Phillip's face into a swollen puddle. "Chicago's dead to you."

As Genovese walked away he noted the screams inside the diner and smiled," Soon it will be silent."