“Tink we can trust ’im, Boss?” the shifty-eyed punk asked his stocky superior. “A guy fingers his own bruddah, ain’t no tellin’ who he’s gonna bust next!”
Backed into a corner of the dank parking garage below the Strip, I noticed rats scurrying about...none bigger than me.
I’d arrived three years ago and the city immediately sunk its claws into me. Strung out on glitz, gambling, and girls, I’d done despicable things to people I loved.
As the thugs patted their Smith & Wesson bulges, I heard, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”
I was...staying...in Vegas.
— • — • —
My entry in the 100 Words Challenge, with the prompt, "fingers."
(The word count may appear to be a few words short, because of how ellipses affect the way the words are counted, but there are exactly 100 words here...trust me. And I know I overuse the ellipsis...almost to a fault.)