by Rod Drake

Gina waited by the phone, nervous, chewing her lower lip. Frank would call; he just had to. Otherwise what would she do with all the stolen money, the dead body and the still-smoking gun in her hand? Lisa jumped when the phone finally did ring, grabbing the receiver like it was a lifeline from a rescue ship. “Hello, Frank, thank god you called,” Gina rambled on, “I was getting worried, waiting here alone all this time, afraid the cops might be getting wise and …” But it wasn’t Frank; it was the police, informing Gina that the building was surrounded, that Frank had given her up as part of his plea bargain.


Rod Drake, author of Mental Chess, watched too much television growing up, which obviously warped his imagination. Check out Rod's longer stories in Flashing in the Gutters, Flashes of Speculation, Fictional Musings, Flash Flooding and MicroHorror.

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