Math, Memories, and Hurting People

6 grand had been turned into 4 guns, 2 lbs of explosives, and 200 rounds of ammunition. 38 hours in town so he now had 62 hours before it would be too late. Based on his math, he could afford to wait out the glaring daylight hours in a cheap motel room, but nothing too trashy.

Micah was good with numbers; this he knew.

Reclined on a hideous purple bedspread, Micah remembered the promises made echoing out of his past. He knew every word, every syllable that had now been violated. Details, habits and tendencies, came easily to mind for planning. On an unrelated note, he had the lyrics to that song about a painted pony stuck in his head.

Micah was good at remembering; this he knew.

His plan, as he’d formulated it so far, was rather ugly. He’d have to go through the bouncers, hired guns, a low-life friend or two, and maybe an uppity stripper. In the end, it would be him and Dino, two old friends. He’d have to do the final punishing then, make him hurt.

Micah was good at hurting people; this he knew.

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