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Over three hundred of Stephen's stories and poems have been selected to appear in more than a hundred publications. His website, www.stephendrogers.com, includes a list of new and upcoming titles as well as other timely information.

Meeting Some Guys by Stephen D. Rogers

I'm sitting here watching the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life. This kid––maybe two, maybe three––he's pointing the toy he got with his meal at his grandmother and going, "Bang, bang, bang." She apparently also ordered the kid meal because she's playing along, trying to shoot him back with her own movie-inspired kaleidoscope.

If I wasn't meeting some guys and thus free to leave, I'd draw my gun and try to smack some sense into her. Instead I'm stuck here, nonplussed.

What exactly is she thinking? That young kids should be trained to emulate violent acts? That shooting people is acceptable? That imagination is a dynamic component of creative play? Maybe she isn't thinking at all.

People have never ceased to amaze me.

If Granny is still kicking when it happens, she's going to be horrified when the kid brings a gun to school and blows away some of his classmates. Or waits a few more years until he has a job somewhere and takes out his coworkers.

But what do I know? The world's a lot different than it was back when Granny and I first walked the planet. For all I know she's right, training the kid to defend himself. This way he'll be prepared when some kid brings a gun to school and begins blowing away some of his classmates.

Still. Scariest thing I ever saw.

I tore my gaze away from the unsettling scene to watch two guys come through the door. They stopped just inside––the guy in the rear with his hand on door––scanning.

Sighting me, they sauntered over. The eyes of the guy in the front never left me. The guy in the back, he continued scanning for trouble.

I wondered what they made of the kid with the kaleidoscope.

The first guy joined me at the table. His partner sat at the one next to us, his back to the nearest wall.

"Funny place to meet."

I shrugged. "It's both public and private, this time of day. Thought you might appreciate those qualities."

"What do you want?"

"Retribution. I'll settle for restitution."

He chuckled. "You come up with a dollar figure?"

"Three point four million and one cent. That's the price of me walking away."

At that, he laughed. "You still got balls, and I'd like to let you keep them." He paused. Put on his serious face. "Let's be reasonable. No way I'm giving you that kind of money. Out of the question."

"I won't talk, if that's your concern. Nobody will know about this but you and me."

He sat back, extending his arms from his sides. "You, me, and three point four million. People are going to notice three point four mil. They're going to notice it at my end. They're going to notice it at your end."

"And one cent."

"What?"

"Three point four million and one cent."

He stared at me. "I feel like I've been more than tolerant with you. Sure, we had a misunderstanding, but that's history. Let it alone."

"Here's the plan." I shifted in my seat, massaging my right knee. "You'll donate the money to the Friends of the Library. They're an official 501 c-3 non-profit corporation, which means your donation will be tax deductible."

"John D. Rockefeller had nothing on me." He sniffed. "Maybe I'd get a nice plaque I can hang on your forehead. Bang a nail right there in the center."

"When I first approached the Board of Trustees, I was told they wouldn't accept your donation. Given the town's budget situation, however, they reconsidered their position in order to keep the library functioning. They'll be receiving the interest on an annual basis."

"And you? What's your play?"

"I'll be hired to administer the account. Otherwise, I'll be there in a purely advisory position."

"So what's your love affair with the library?"

"I can't even begin to guess how many thousands of hours I've spent working my way through their collection."

He grunted. "I had no idea. Should have called you the Professor, instead of the Axe."

"You should have thought twice before you sent those guys to deliver my severance package. But, hey, it was all a misunderstanding, right? No hard feelings."

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he asked if I wanted my old job.

"I've already agreed to accept the position administering that account. Besides, they're providing me with health insurance. The only benefit you ever offered was legal counsel."

He leaned over the table. "I took care of you."

"You tried to, but the guys failed. No big deal." I moved my hands to indicate as much. "None of my assignments ever came back to haunt you. The past is a wash. Right now we're talking about the present."

"Three point four mil is a fucking big present."

"And one cent."

He deadpanned, "And one cent."

I shrugged. "The feds would pay a lot more for the documentation I have squirreled away. I figure I'm doing you a favor. Not only do you become a hero to the community, you get to live." I smiled. "As you know, that's not an option I offered everybody."

"We could end this right now."

"I hope you're not thinking something dramatic."

"There's a gun pointing at you from the parking lot." He paused. "All I have to do is make the signal."

I shook my head. "Firing through those windows? With the deflection, he's just as likely to hit you. Besides, killing me would only cause my documentation to be delivered to the wrong people. We don't want that to happen."

"No, we don't." He stood. "I'll be in touch."

Letting him have the last word, I turned back to the kid and his grandmother, neither of them apparently in any rush to venture back out into the world.

"You got me. Now I'm a new guy." The kid shifted to the right and resuming firing at her. "Bang, bang, bang."

THE END