Yellow Mama E zine

The Pigeon on Wacker

 

by Matthew Mota

 

        Chicago has two Wackers. Upper Wacker gives a view of the awe-inspiring city. Lower Wacker is a bleak route that most people speed through. Tonight I found myself on Lower Wacker.

        Hidden in the shadows behind the columns, I waited for the next mark. It was late enough that pulling a gun on someone could go unnoticed. There was just some garbage and a pigeon to keep me company.

        “In position for the getaway?” I messaged my getaway driver, Winslow.

        “Yep, already on Wacker.”

         And like clockwork, a luxury sedan pulled to a stop at a red light.

         I walked up to the front of the car and introduced myself through the windshield. My bullets then introduced themselves to the front tires.

         The driver gave up all his valuables and ran off. The most intriguing item was a briefcase that held sensitive information about his clients.

         “Winslow, I’m on Lower Wacker, headed to Post Place. Start the engine.”

         “Lower? I thought you meant for me to post at Upper Wacker.”

          My anxiety rose as I heard police sirens echoing.

          “Well, hurry to me!”

           It started to rain, and my heart raced as I ran to Winslow’s car. Streetlights blurred as I picked up the pace.

           Finally, Winslow pulled up. He noticed the briefcase.

           “Toss it in the backseat and hop in,” he yelled.

           I threw the briefcase through the open window and desperately reached for the passenger side handle. Stuck, I pulled and yelled at Winslow to unlock the door. As if I were never there, Winslow sped away.

           As I tried to comprehend what just happened, raindrops continued to hit the ground, and a pigeon flew away. When the police cars arrived, I realized I was the only pigeon left.

 

 

         Matthew Mota (he/him) is a writer from Chicago, Illinois. He went to the University of Illinois for engineering but still makes time to write. Creating unique short stories and poetry is his way of navigating the universal hardships of life. His work has previously appeared in The Yard and Piker Press.

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        Joseph Richkus is an enthusiastic illustrator, photographer, writer, and reader. He has been an essential oil perfumer for more than 20 years, and has worked as a history teacher, chemist, security guard, and circus canvasman. He bemoans the limits of time and regrets that he is not 10 people, one of whom would happily devote every waking hour to reading the Sunday New York Times.