"Doublecrosser" by Gary Kirchner — Our September 2021 Bronze Medal Winner

Gary is our third place winner from the contest posted in our September 2021 issue!

What the judges had to say:

“Fantastic telling of a well-paced, terse, moment that brought the image into play without being distracting. I really enjoyed the ending in particular. ”

“A surprising twist... ”

“Great build of dramatic tension.”

“This story just sizzles with energy, suspense, and momentum... a fun ride.”

Meet Gary

Gary Kirchner studied physics at McGill University. His academic interests are sports biomechanics and astrophysics, and he is a recipient of Football Canada’s Gina Fracas Award. His novel, Cromby’s Axiom, is available on Amazon. www.garykirchner.com

Doublecrosser

the unedited story by Gary Kirchner

It’s foggy and it’s twilight and we’re heading into the twisting turns of the Dogtooth Hills with my speedometer showing 90 and Frankie’s only a hundred metres behind me now and he wants to kill me.



What the bloody hell am I doing here?



I’m so scared I’m hyperventilating. The window’s fogging up on the inside because I’m breathing three times a second and I’m leaning forward so my chin’s right over top of the steering wheel. I’m squeezing so hard my forearms are aching but I’ve got to take one off and—Where’s the button for the bloody fan! Where’s the—Okay. Okay there it is. I’m sweating, there’s hot air on my face and the noise of the fan just adds to the pounding of blood in my ears. We’re into the hills now, slopes with trees on both sides, cutting off what’s left of daylight. Bloody hell.



“Bloody, bloody hell!” 


Too fast! I barely make a sharp turn, and now the road dips. Suddenly I’m in fog and I can’t see a damned thing. I hit the brakes, the tires are screeching, and I veer right just in time to miss a yellow sign that has appeared indicating ‘curve right.’ 


How did I ever get myself into this? I’m so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Guy I’ve never met before, says he’s my second cousin. Suddenly we’re best buddies. Introduces me to people. We’re all businessmen. I make five thousand just like that. The wife’s real impressed by her new sparkly necklace. I should have left it at that.



Another patch of mist, small this time; I accelerate as soon as I’m through. No lights in the rear-view! I push the speed to 60, reckless in my sudden hope that I can get away by being more daring than Frankie through these foggy hills. Reduce speed the sign had said. F—you.



"Great job, Dave," my second cousin says. "You’ve got a good head." Ten thousand, and I fly the wife to Paris. Twelve more. Business is real good, I tell her. She’s happy.



You ever find a lousy loony on the road? Or a five dollar bill left on a bench? Well I wasn’t finding five dollars on a bench. I was taking home twenty-five thou’ in a briefcase. Hard to stop.


I wasn’t a criminal, though. I was just investing. THESE guys were the bad ones. The professionals. The ones who sold drugs and smuggled guns and blackmailed politicians. I was cleaner. Smarter. 


Bloody hell! Headlights behind me! He’s still with me! 


A little double-cross, I thought; no ties to yours truly. A final eighty-thousand payday, and then I’m out of it. And the money comes from the pockets of the criminals, so I’m actually doing a bit of off-the-grid justice. Yeah. Right. Well things screwed up, two people were shot, and now Frankie wants to kill me. 


More fog, thick! I have to break—I can’t see trees, road, anything! White everywhere from the diffuse reflection of my high-beams. Only a second has gone by, but I know the road can’t be straight for much longer. Now some grey in the rear-view—Frankie’s headlights. Suddenly in front there’s a tree, TREES! TREES! I swerve sharply to my right, the tires screech horribly, and I’m crashing into a ditch. BAM!


I’ve been walloped in the head—the air bag. I’m dazed, but I have to get out of here. NOW. By the time I’ve extricated myself and rounded the crumpled front of the car, Frankie is pulling up. The ground sweeps uphill away from the road, and I’m scrambling as best I can through bushes and undergrowth that I feel but can’t see.



I reach the top of the ditch just as Frankie’s door closes. I hear his running footsteps and see a sweeping illumination of the mist below—he has a flashlight. I shuffle away in absolute darkness, furiously groping for trees with my hands. My left foot steps on something which gives way, and I hear stones and earth clatter into an unseen ravine. I’d come THAT close to falling over the edge. I sense light. I can’t pause. Frankie is coming up the side of the ditch with his flashlight.



I suddenly realize just how much damned noise I’m making! I get behind a tree and freeze. Frankie has reached the top of the ditch, and the snapping of the underbrush with every step he takes cracks the silence. The light swings side to side, illuminating the fog, and then slowly moves in my direction. Oh God.



What the bloody hell am I doing here? I’m an accountant! I’M AN ACCOUNTANT! I look down at my hands, shaking like pennants. The wife thinks I’m playing cards. I want to cry.


Suddenly I hear a shriek, a startled “Shi-i-it!” The light skews wildly and then disappears amidst the crashing sounds of a body falling downhill. 


Quiet.



I don’t move. Did he fall down the ravine? A minute goes by. Two. Three. Is he dead? Did he hit his head? Did he break his neck? Terror and elation and dread fill me in such measures that I’m afraid I’ll explode.



I dare to move. Carefully.



The mist has thinned a bit. I sense the edge of the ravine and I peer over the edge. I’m panting like a dog. 


It’s not a ravine; it’s just a small drop. Maybe two metres. The flashlight’s on the ground, illuminating bushes and trees where it’s pointing. Behind it is black. Black and silent. Is he dead? Injured? What should I do?



I carefully slip down the slope, giddy with fear. My fingers are tingling. I probe the area behind the light with my toe—nothing. No body. Must have rolled farther away. I bend to pick up the flashlight, and beside my head I hear a click. A metallic click. The metallic click that I’ve heard a thousand times on TV.

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