This story first appeared at Near to the Knuckle.
Tony sat at a corner table, his fingers laced around a glass of water, and watched the man traverse the room. He wore a grey suit, blue tie and brown shoes; and except for the limp, the man looked like a basketball player. He sat in the chair to Tony's right, the one facing the door.
"How long you been sober?" the man asked.
"What makes you think I'm an alcoholic?"
"Who else would sit in a bar with a glass of water?"
Tony spun the glass in his hand. Stared at the water. "Three months, twenty-six days."
The man saw Molly crossing the room and waved her off.
Tony raised his glass and smiled. "I'll have another."
"You like her," the man said.
"She's my daughter." Tony spun the glass some more.
The two men sat in silence while Molly deposited a full glass on the table and took the empty. She smiled at Tony. She didn't smile at the man.
"I got stuff to do," the man said. "You want to hire me, or what?"
"My wife is cheating on me." Tony's tone was as flat as a club soda that'd sat out all day.
"And you want me to find the guy. I charge one fifty a day plus expenses."
Tony lowered his hands into his lap while the man watched Molly slide a quarter in the jukebox. After a few groans from the relic, Hank Williams' voice filled the dusty air.
"Not exactly," Tony said. "I know who it is. A friend saw them coming out of the Super 8 in Smythville."
"How long has she been cheating on you?"
"Four months and thirteen days that I know of."
"So why am I here?" the man asked.
"You ain't figured it out yet?" Tony shook his head. "Man, you're stupider than concrete."
"She's your wife." The man looked toward the door. "I didn't know."
"Now you do," Tony said.
Before the man could make a move, a gun burped under the table and a bullet enter the man's gut. He raised a bloodied hand as a second bullet joined the first. His hand dropped like it was weighed down. His shoulders slumped, and his torso bent to one side.
Tony walked to the front of the room and placed the gun and a Benjamin on the bar. The bartender put the bill in his shirt pocket and the gun under the counter.
"I'll see everything gets taken care of, kid."
"Thanks, Uncle Frank. See you around."
Tony nodded three times to Molly and left the bar to go home to his wife.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Together at Last
The Sunday Flash Factory 5 to 50/55 challenge prompt words in bold.
Scented candles lined the walls of the refrigerated room. The flickering lights echoed off the ivory inlaid on the sides of the open casket. Raymond had fantasized about them frolicking in a jacuzzi, but this would do. They were together, and once it'd become a reality, he lost his appetite. (50 words)
Scented candles lined the walls of the refrigerated room. The flickering lights echoed off the ivory inlaid on the sides of the open casket. Raymond had fantasized about them frolicking in a jacuzzi, but this would do. They were together, and once it'd become a reality, he lost his appetite. (50 words)
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Today's Special
The Sunday Flash Factory 5 to 50/55 challenge prompt words in bold.
Dawn learned her relationship with Mark wasn't an exclusive one when he yelled, "Oh, Penny," while they made hot love in the market's meat locker. She took it as a sign they wouldn't be together much longer and wondered if anyone noticed a different taste in today's ground beef special.
Dawn learned her relationship with Mark wasn't an exclusive one when he yelled, "Oh, Penny," while they made hot love in the market's meat locker. She took it as a sign they wouldn't be together much longer and wondered if anyone noticed a different taste in today's ground beef special.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
He Hoped She'd Come Around
First published at MudJob
I met Charlie at the first gator wrastlin' contest I promoted. Most of the female competitors looked like they ate airboats for lunch. Charlie was different. She had curves and all her teeth.
I watched her muscles strain against the tail-snappin' beast, saw the determination in her eyes, and fell in love. I chased her around Florida for a year before she agreed to be my wife. That was twenty years ago. We made quite a career together but age was catchin' up, and it was time for us to think about retirin' from the sport, especially Charlie. In the past two years, she lost a pinkie, suffered a dislocated hip, and ended up in the hospital for a week after comin' back too soon from a concussion.
I told her I was tired of the travelin', asked if she'd like to have a baby. Said I thought it would give us somethin' new to wrastle. Her eyes lit up like a volcano, and she stomped around the Winnebago and yelled so loud I thought she'd blow a wall down. I sneaked into the bathroom and waited for the floor to stop shakin'.
A few nights later, while we did the dinner dishes, I suggested we start a gator farm and sell admission. I told her she could still wrastle a gator now and then, as long as it was a small one. I was doin' okay until I got to the small part. She glared at me, picked up a fork with both hands, and bent it into a right angle. That's when I headed back to the bathroom.
Not knowin' what else to do, I spoke to Preacher Frank this mornin'. He's not a real preacher. He dresses like one, shouts preacher-like words, and then swallows fire and spits out the flames. That always gets lots of oohs and aahs and amens--and a few chuckles. He told me to be patient, that it took some people a long time to settle into the idea of retirin'. He also told me it might be a good idea if I didn't use the word baby again.
I can't say he helped much. Well, maybe the baby part. I love Charlie and want her to be happy. Hey, maybe I should take her to Disney World. She's never been there, and she might find a job that doesn't require wrastlin'.
I met Charlie at the first gator wrastlin' contest I promoted. Most of the female competitors looked like they ate airboats for lunch. Charlie was different. She had curves and all her teeth.
I watched her muscles strain against the tail-snappin' beast, saw the determination in her eyes, and fell in love. I chased her around Florida for a year before she agreed to be my wife. That was twenty years ago. We made quite a career together but age was catchin' up, and it was time for us to think about retirin' from the sport, especially Charlie. In the past two years, she lost a pinkie, suffered a dislocated hip, and ended up in the hospital for a week after comin' back too soon from a concussion.
I told her I was tired of the travelin', asked if she'd like to have a baby. Said I thought it would give us somethin' new to wrastle. Her eyes lit up like a volcano, and she stomped around the Winnebago and yelled so loud I thought she'd blow a wall down. I sneaked into the bathroom and waited for the floor to stop shakin'.
A few nights later, while we did the dinner dishes, I suggested we start a gator farm and sell admission. I told her she could still wrastle a gator now and then, as long as it was a small one. I was doin' okay until I got to the small part. She glared at me, picked up a fork with both hands, and bent it into a right angle. That's when I headed back to the bathroom.
Not knowin' what else to do, I spoke to Preacher Frank this mornin'. He's not a real preacher. He dresses like one, shouts preacher-like words, and then swallows fire and spits out the flames. That always gets lots of oohs and aahs and amens--and a few chuckles. He told me to be patient, that it took some people a long time to settle into the idea of retirin'. He also told me it might be a good idea if I didn't use the word baby again.
I can't say he helped much. Well, maybe the baby part. I love Charlie and want her to be happy. Hey, maybe I should take her to Disney World. She's never been there, and she might find a job that doesn't require wrastlin'.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
His Royal Highness
The Sunday Flash Factory 5 to 50/55 challenge prompt words in bold.
His aerodynamic ego puzzled many, but not Maeve. She possessed the magic to pierce his armored exterior. As if facing a rival, he stood before her, unmoved by her stare, until she pursed her purple lips and said, "No, you can't go out and play. It's raining you silly puppy."
His aerodynamic ego puzzled many, but not Maeve. She possessed the magic to pierce his armored exterior. As if facing a rival, he stood before her, unmoved by her stare, until she pursed her purple lips and said, "No, you can't go out and play. It's raining you silly puppy."
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