Other Stories in this issue

Karma

by Jim Farren

About the Author: Born and raised in the mountains of West Virginia, Jim has lived in ten states and three foreign countries. Currently retired somewhere in the Ozarks, he has a passion for his wife, blended (not sour mash) bourbon, Hawaiian shirts, anything fried in bacon grease in a cast-iron skillet, stray dogs, and whatever vegetables are in season with the exception of Brussel sprouts and eggplant.

Excerpt

karma [kahr-muh] noun. 1. Action, seen as bringing upon oneself inevitable results, good or bad. 2. The totality of a person’s actions and conduct, regarded as causally influencing his or her destiny.

Things went exactly as planned until the bank guard decided to be a hero. The heist went off without a hitch—a tribute to the adage that planning is the price of excellence. Davis corralled the customers while I cleaned out the teller cages and Doc made the manager open the vault. Eleven minutes flat, from the time we entered until we were backing out the door loaded with loot—a textbook job if I do say so myself.

That’s when the guard decided to be a hero and pulled his gun. Doc shot him, but not before the guy got off a round that caught me in the side. Fuck. It hurt, burned and hurt, hurt and bled as the three of us piled into the stolen Jeep Cherokee and sped away thru the falling snow.

We were out of town and headed up the mountain before we heard sirens in the distance. They’d be covering the Interstate and the divided highway to Capitol City. Nobody would be stupid enough to make their escape on a one-lane back road leading nowhere, which is why we took that route. Planning, it all comes down to planning. The storm was worsening, snowflakes the size of post-it notes, visibility barely outdistancing the headlights. Doc and Davis were up front, Davis driving and Doc rifling thru the bank bags. “Nice haul,” he said with satisfaction then looked back over the seat, “You hit bad?”

Story Comments