Last Chance (A Story Out of Minnesota) Flash Fiction
Davis Morton, had made friends with Tony Robbins, Tony’s father was a retired actor, whom now was taking any kind of job he could, the golden days of the cinema were over for him but in his heyday, he was well known. Robbins, had found a job in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and Davis was from St. Paul, Minnesota, just a few miles difference, perhaps four, a bridge that crossed the Mississippi, separated the two men, both now friends, had met in a bar, and chummed about for several months now.
It was in the third week of September, they were at the Mall of America, when Davis, sitting on a bench, somewhat kidding said,
“Could you get an autograph for my collection from your father?”
Robbins, looked at his friend a tinge strange, but with a half smile, the other half of his lower face, the other side that is showed a somewhat annoying grin, he cried in a squeaky voice,
“No we don’t, we don’t see eye to eye on things anymore!”
Said Davis, with compassion, a sympathetic voice, and to the point, “You must make up with him, who knows what can happen in life, I never had a father, but if I did, I’d not want leave this earth wondering why I never tried.”
During the process of young Davis’ giving his friend advice, Johnny Langdon, a friend from his old neighborhood came by, one he had not seen in years, was sent to prison-as far as Davis knew-some years back, said as he walked by,
“Troubles on the way,” and kept walking.
Then, Thomas Redding, stopped by, someone Davis didn’t know, but evidently Langdon did (perhaps friends in some kind of scheme to take place at the mall, it would appear to be so, in that there are a lot of thieves that pace the mall), they both overhearing Robbins anyhow, and Redding seemingly, had taken sides with Davis, he stopped, sat down by Robbins’ side on the same bench as they, pulled out a thin sharp knife, about four-inches long, put it next to Robbins’ neck, ready to cut, to slice open or out, a part of his flesh, his eyes widening, almost in a frozen stance, and almost simultaneously with Davis’ actions (but with Langdon asking,
“What are you doing with your right hand under your sweater?”
And Davis saying, “Nothing my stomach hurts!”
But no less than a second or two after the knife went to Robbins’ neck, Davis hand his 38-revolver pointed at Langdon’s forehead, said:
“Drop the knife, now!”
Surprisingly, he did what was asked, with a laugh, saying,
“I almost proved your point, Davis!”
And then Langdon stood up, Davis at the same time giving back the knife to him.
A police officer had saw a portion of this happening, and thereafter came hurriedly to the incident, asking quickly, why he had drawn his revolver, and to show him his permit,
Said Robbins (as Davis was pulling out his permit), “A stranger had pulled a knife on me, and if it wasn’t for my friend here, Davis, I’d perhaps be dead, you are questioning the wrong man, and to be frank, where were you when the knife’s tip was next to my vein?”
In other words, after the fact, and without the culprit, he was acting pretty brave to the victims.
The police officer could no longer see the head of the assailant, but quickly rushed off down the corridor to find him. Robbins, just looked at Davis, as if to say: was this a coincidence, or sham, perchance he was in shock, trying to piece the moment back together, but Davis never said a word on the matter.
Written 9-21-2008, in the morning (from a dream)
write by Olwen