50wordstories.ca

The lady got back up, wiped the blood off her cheek, giving me a dirty look throughout.

I feigned interest in the brick, examining it while trying to avoid laughing.

I was surprised when I found an actual message on the projectile, in crayon:

“If you help her, you’re dead!”

The window behind me shatters, and I duck, narrowly avoiding a pavement stone.

Third time this month.  I’m not surprised.  With my phone disconnected, it’s the second best way to send me a message.

The dame didn’t react quickly enough, though.  Now she’s got a blackeye.

“Duck,” I say, smiling.