The Fate of Juliet and Other Short Stories, p.1Beth Lindsay / Fantasy
The Fate of Juliet and Other Short Stories
Copyright © by Beth Lindsay 2017
All rights reserved
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
The Fountain Heist
The Multiple-choice Life
The Fate of Juliet
About the Author
The Fountain Heist
“I can’t believe that we did it. We did it, Johnny!” Al said as he slapped Johnny in the arm.
Rain rolled off the windshield of the truck as the wipers swept back and forth. Thunder roared in the distance.
“Yeah. We did. Now, pay attention to the god damn road,” Johnny said. He leaned back in his seat, resting his head on the window.
When they approached a red light, Al dropped his lead foot onto the gas. “Hell yeah!”
“Are you trying to get the police's attention?” Johnny asked.
“It’s the worst storm of the century. There aren't any cops.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t see two feet in front of you.”
“Do you see anyone dumb enough to be out here?”
“Us?” Johnny said.
“No. We are the smart one. We went out when no one would be and stole seven billion dollars’ worth of artworks.”
Johnny threw himself back into his seat. An exaggerated sigh escaped his lungs. “This is nuts. You are nuts.”
“If by ‘nuts’ you mean that we are going to be filthy rich, then yes.”
Johnny shook his head. “Not if your driver screams, ‘pull me over.’ You know the feds are going to be after us as soon as this storm is over, right?”
“Ha Ha,” Al said, “It’s a win-win then. If we get away without them catching us, we become stinking rich. If we get caught, well, we become stinking famous. Can’t lose.”
Johnny inhaled and nodded. “Famous in prison with my crazy ass brother for life. That is how I want to spend the next fifty years.”
They approached another light. Al stopped for this life. He drummed his steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio. The light turned green, and he proceeded forward.
“Happy?” he asked Johnny.
“Not until we get the truck and goods back to the warehouse.”
Blue and red lights reflected in the rearview mirror and on the puddles on the curb. Sirens whined from behind them.
Johnny glanced at Al.
“Don’t say a word,” Al said. His hands coiled around the steering wheel. The muscles in his arms and shoulder tightened. He inhaled deeply. He exhaled. “Not. A single. Word.”
He rolled down the window and water rushed into his lap. “May I help you, Miss officer?” he asked the officer as she walked up to the window.
Her dark brown hair stuck to her face, forcing her to push it back. “Yes. Are you aware that due to the weather, you shouldn’t be on the roads until further notice?”
“No ma’am. I did not,” Al responded.
“Where are you heading?”
“Well, it isn’t safe in your vehicle, sir. Please find a place to take cover for the time being,” she said.
"No thank you, Ma’am.”
“Yeah, Al?” Johnny asked as he glanced behind them.
“She may be right. We ain’t safe here. Floor it.”
A couple miles back, the clouds touched the ground, sucking up everything in its path. Rain shielded the danger from being seen.
“What?” Al asked for the second time.
Al obeyed Johnny’s commands. Tires squealed, splashing water onto the officer. Small pieces of hail bounced off the windshield, followed by larger pieces. Winds picked up and pushed back against the truck. The mixture of rain, hail hitting the truck at full speed, and the harsh winds created a booming sound that didn’t permit any further communication between the brothers.
In a flash of a second, the truck flew off of the road and into the air.
“What the-” Al said as he was thrown up against the back of his seat.
They spun around in the air as if they got onto a carnival ride. Around and around, higher and higher they went.
“This ain’t good, Al,” Johnny said. His knuckles turned white as he held onto the dash.
Just as fast as they were sucked in, they spat back out. The truck tumbled down the street, creating a crater with each flip it made. Glass shuddered, allowing the baseball sized hail, cement, and more glass shards to scar the men’s face.
The truck settled on its roof a mile from where it's original spot. Johnny’s seatbelt snapped, dropping him head first onto the metal top. Al’s face turned purple as he choked on his breath. Blood dripped from Al’s forehead and onto Johnny’s.
“Say, do we become famous for being the art thieves who died?” Johnny asked in between coughs. Sharp pains traveled up his sides.
Right above him, his brother's eyes flickered open and close. “N-no.”
“We going to be rich in the afterlife?”
Al laughed. “Maybe.”
Johnny gagged on his brother’s blood, but his body refused to move from its location. “Next time you say, ‘hey let’s go steal a urinal that is on tour,’ I am going to kill you personally.”
Al hummed. “Johnny?”
“Next time, we are going to steal Campbell’s Soup Can.” With that said, Al let out his final sigh. His eyes closed and his muscles went limp.
The sun broke through the black clouds. Sirens echoed throughout the city as the rain slowed. Dogs resumed their daily barking.
Johnny burst out laughing, closing his eyes as well. “As soon as I can move, Al, I’ll get our urinal back home. Then, I am going straight to New York to get that soup can for you.”