Running out of time

Jonny watched his face fade in and out of the passenger window with the steady beat of passing street lamps.

“What you doing Jonny?” Rico already knew the answer, though expected none; he'd already observed this behaviour many-a-time over the past few months.

“What you call that effect when the light flashes on and off – like when you're blinking fast or the sun's peaking through the slats in a tall fence as you're running by and the images in your eye are all chopped up in slow motion?”

“Strobing?”

“Strobing, yeah strobing: you always were book smart Rico.”

“Were? Past tense? While I appreciate the compliment, you want to get your head back in the game.”

Jonny's head had never actually left the game; indeed, it was several plays ahead. He had already pictured - flashing - Rico's body draining life-blood through near-shot holes to the chest and abdomen and the frozen look of surprise before the facial muscles could contort themselves to the semblance of betrayal and then, finally, regret.