Hit Job

“Get in. He wants a word.”

Sweat trickled down Amos’s back, but not from the heat. The carriage creaked as he and Seth climbed in, carefully averting their eyes from the figure seated on the other bench. A dark straw hat obscured the man’s eyes, but there was no doubting the anger in his posture. Seth’s hands shook like an old man and he clasped his bag, the one that held his camera. They both jumped as the reins snapped. The rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves offered no comfort today.

“Your partner is already gone. Seth will leave tomorrow night,” said the Amish patenonkel. “The three of you should never have returned after your rumspringa if you weren’t going to abide by the rules. Neglecting to pay my tithe from your illicit photo studio is bad enough, but photographing my niece?”

Chills ran down Amos’s spine. For three years they had run the studio without paying the mafia one cent. Now they were toten because he fell for a beautiful brunette with hazel eyes. She had looked so seductive in that black dress, her bonnet clasped between her teeth as she undid her bun. Just the thought set his heart pounding with desire. The pictures had been beyond gorgeous.

“Punishment is necessary, Amos, but Emma shouldn’t pay for your transgressions. From now on you shoot for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Don’t be late tomorrow morning.”


“For your wedding to Emma. You owe me healthy enkelkinder.”

About A. L. Kaplan

I am a writer, artist, and parent.
This entry was posted in Short Story and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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