by Gary R. Hoffman
When they finally tracked down the bomber, he was in his workshop. “Okay, where’s the last bomb you set?”
“You really think I’m gonna tell you? And they aren’t bombs. They’re events. Art work. Rockets soaring. Bountiful bedecked butterflies.” The serene look on his face stiffened as he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s gonna go off in thirty minutes, and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.”
“Maybe we can help change your mind. Jacobs, can you finish the bomb he was working on?”
“Sure. Just a matter of hooking wires to the timer.”
“Good. While we tie him to a chair, finish the bomb. Set it to go off in fifteen minutes. We’ll see if he likes to be part of his next event.”
The bomber squirmed as he was tied to a chair and the bomb placed underneath it. “Last chance to change your mind before we leave.”
“You can’t just leave me here!”
“Remember that in fifteen minutes.”
“It’s at 209 West Franklin. In the basement. In a tool box.”
“If you’re telling the truth, we’ll be back in ten minutes. If you’re lying, we’ll be back in twenty minutes to see how many pieces of you we can find mingled in your next piece of art.”
The bomb squad started to leave. “Wait!” the bomber yelled. “It’s in the kitchen. Under the sink.”
4 comments:
Good tension and even a bit of humor in this piece.
And he still had the right to remain silent.
I liked this a lot. Nothing like a little dose of rough justice.
I enjoyed reading this story and I liked the imagery. Good job!
Post a Comment