The haul was enticing.
A short, simple job. In and out. An hour at most.
It piqued his interest.
He once said he was done with this life. Swore he would leave it behind. But it was hard to resist that urge. It wasn’t even about the money. He’d never scored any real money.
It was about the rush.
He knew these jobs. They always went the same way. You make a plan. The plan goes to shit. Then you panic.
But you learn to love the panic. You sit in it. Let it in. And somehow, some way, you find your way out.
Finding your way out. Now that was the rush.
Some would call it art. But when money was on the line, well yes, it did feel quite like a heist.
He took out his computer. He stroked the keys. It was dark, and he winced at the bright white screen. He hoped it wouldn’t wake his family.
One last job. He’d win this time. He'd do something different. Something flashy with a big twist at the end.
A short, simple job.
200 words. No more. No less.
$500.
Bada-bing. Bada-boom.
He typed:
“The haul was enticing...”
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