Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Sudetenland Tales
Page 403
Bags
It started with silence; just the humming of the wheels on worn pavement as Troy Gates drove his passenger, Roger King, creeping through a West Garfield Park neighborhood in Sudetenland that didn’t welcome strangers, not even in daylight. Boarded windows stared from the crumbling brick like hollow eyes, and the only movement was the twitch of curtains retreating from view.
Troy was behind the wheel, knuckles white against the steering wheel. “I told you, man. The shortcut google sends you on through West Garfield is never a good idea.” Fiddling with the ancient, inoperable, cassette deck, he further grunted. “And yet, here we are. You wanted to save five minutes. That’s on you.”
Roger held both hands palm skyward, saying; “Trust me. I had a premonition that something good would happen here.”
“That would be a first.”
Then it happened.
A gust of dry wind swept through the street with a fury that didn’t belong in a humid city block. Around the corner, like surreal tumbleweeds, came duffle bags; five or six, blown and bouncing like they weighed nothing. They skittered across the asphalt, finally halting dead against the front of the car.