FLASH FICTION FRIDAY 1: ENOUGH

This is my story for the first prompt of Flash Fiction Friday, and the prompt is a great one. We were supposed to use the following as the first sentence: 'Why aren't shoes ever abandoned in pairs?' The possibilities are endless. Make sure you check out the site and read every one of the stories. I most certainly plan to. I really enjoy seeing what different people do with the same phrase or prompt. No two are ever the same. So, without further ado, my little tale. Hope you enjoy.

ENOUGH

“Why aren’t shoes ever abandoned in pairs?”

When I said that out loud, I wasn’t so much asking with the hope of receiving an answer, as I was attempting to ease the tension on what was quickly promising to become yet another in a long line of depressing and disappointing investigations.

I’m a detective--homicide’s my specialty, and whatever the outcome of any of my cases, trust me, nobody wins. The thing is, there’s always a somebody who dies, always a mother or father who lose a child, always a grandma or grandpa brought to their knees in shame when they find out their grandbaby’s a killer. Oh yeah. It’s really rewarding work. Whichever way you look at it, it’s nothing but loss all the way around.

And tonight? I got sent out to the warehouse and dock district at 2 am because some good citizen, who chose to remain nameless and who had no legitimate reason for being down there in that hellhole anyway, stumbled upon a large pool of blood, and about 20 feet away, a woman’s red high heeled shoe. Just the one. In its heyday, it probably had some sparkle. I wondered if it’s owner had some too. Sparkle, that is.

Damn, I hate this one. I hate them all, but cases like this, I despise most of all. I’m going to walk around in a haze, wondering what kind of a woman wore that shoe and what was she doing down here and where is she now and why did she leave the one shoe behind for me to find. And she did leave it there for me to find. I’m sure of it. Well, I know why. To push me back to waking up staring at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, wondering where the fuck I was. It’s been four years, 8 months, 3 weeks, 6 days, and 13 hours, give or take. Just in case you were wondering.

“Boss? Hey, boss? You still with me?”

My partner. The next Dirty Harry Callahan? Not likely. The little hotshot believes he’s super cop. The way he pushes, he won’t live to see 30, but his mom will get his badge in a nice frame for her mantle. So there’s that.

So, there’s a whole lot of nothing to do now; just go home and wait for something. And dream of my mystery lady wearing her one red high heeled shoe. And wondering. Is she safe and warm tonight? Is she anything? Tonight?

*****

Her body washed up the next afternoon and got caught in the pilings by one of the piers. She still had the little tote bag fastened to her waste-band with a safety pin, and the red high heeled shoe’s mate was still tucked safely inside. I should have seen it. I should have known it belonged to Rosie. Old and worn, with a touch of light. Like her. Before.

I’d known Rosie for the past 10 or 15 from my very first beat. We all used to call her Nosey Rosie, because she was always where she shouldn’t have been, watching what she shouldn’t have been watching, taking what she shouldn’t have been taking… You get the picture. Once I made detective, and a few more bucks, I made sure I slipped her a twenty every Sunday night on the corner of Harris and Champlain to cover a roof for the week and some eats. Thing is, I was temporarily tapped yesterday, and figured I’d catch up with her Monday evening. Well, it’s Monday evening, and Rosie just got zipped up in a gray body bag. So much for the best laid plans…

The man surfaced about a hour after Rosie did--gutted like a fish. No doubt the owner of the entire blood pool. No ID, no fingerprints--no fingers, actually. Teeth still there though, so maybe we can get something from dental records; although, his didn’t appear to have enjoyed too many regular 6-month checkups. But, you never know. He was wearing a fairly decent looking suit when he was sliced and diced, so maybe someone might miss him and report it. Then, Adam 12 and I will find out who he was, which usually puts you on the road to resolution. But for some reason, I have my doubts about solving this one. It’s my gut again telling me not to get my hopes up. Years of slurping the hard stuff have messed it up something awful, but when it talks to me, it’s usually right.

Decided to begin the paper trail before Cap got his hooks in me. Our precinct captain was a by-the-book, dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘t’ kind of prick. Not that there’s anything really wrong with doing things right, you understand, but there are times when his attitude really gets in the way of good police work. Know what I mean? Anyhow, I get to the station and start grabbing some of the forms, when Himself summons me to his office.

It would appear there’s been some word from the top, whatever and whoever that is, that this case needs to be solved just as quickly as is humanly possible. Apparently, our gentleman, who had the misfortune of running into a descendant of Jack The Ripper, was of more importance than I had realized, fairly decent suit notwithstanding. I was informed that the large blood deposit had been 'removed' so as not to associate that area of town with his demise. Evidently, the techs were being 'advised' to confirm that he was 'violated' elsewhere, and dumped up river and just so happened to drift there.

Hmmm. The things people will do so as not to tarnish somebody’s reputation. I didn’t give a damn why he was there. All I gave a crap about was that he was murdered there and dumped like yesterday’s leftovers. There was somebody bigger than me though who did care if people knew he was there, so that’s the way it would be written up. For me, by the way--not by me. I was told I didn’t need to 'worry' myself about writing this one up. It was all being taken care of. I could just go home and look forward to the next callout at 2 am.

I asked my esteemed boss about Rosie and the shoe she lost. I mean, she was there where she obviously shouldn’t have been--again, and saw what she shouldn’t have seen, and paid for it with her life this time. I suggested maybe dusting the shoe for prints, DNA, something, and was told it had been sent to City with her body to be ‘disposed of’. There would definitely be no mention of Cozy Rosie…Nosey Rosie, I corrected him…whatever, he continued. No mention of her or that ridiculous shoe in the vicinity of this crime. That would just be adding way too much more drama to an already extremely stressful situation. ‘Extremely stressful situation’? What?

*****

Went to the corner diner and had a BLT and black coffee and waited until I saw my boss leave the building. I went back in and dropped my gun and badge on his desk. Made a stop on my way home and picked up a quart of one of my old friends. Just poured myself a shot.

Rosie had always said that I was one of the good guys, and she also said that I was smart enough to know when to tap out. Here’s to you, Rose. I sure as hell hope you were at least half right…

F-F-F #41 - SECOND CHANCE?

What an intriguing starter sentence! Of course, they are ALL classic, aren't they? I was determined I was going to complete this one on time, and I'm back on track--I hope. Please enjoy.


SECOND CHANCE?

He walked in and slid the photograph across my desk. Can you believe it? I picked it up and what did I see? An ugly black dot of a pooch squatting on somebody’s ten grand lawn. I thought, this old dude is a nut job. You want to hire me to do what--and you want me to split what--and where’s your straight jacket, pops? You leave it in the taxi on your way in here?

Let me back peddle some right about here. Name’s Lenny. Lenny Worchovsky, and you’re…? Well. Anyhow, I’m a dick. Now, get your mind up out of that sewer. I’m a detective. That kind of dick. Private, mind you. I don’t serve the public. Only those who pay cash up front.

Fast forward. This old guy that I figure to be around 175 years old, strolls into my base like he knows what day of the week it is, drops a few bills on the desk, and offers me a proposition. This dwarf of a mongrel in the photo, he says, belongs to a rich fella who will pay a pretty penny to get it back in the event the furry thing should turn up missing. He wants to share this score with me since my legs still work.

Now, I’ve been known to take some gigs that were, shall we say, peculiar, but snatch a dog and hold it for ransom? Even I wouldn’t dip that low. But, you see, since cash fanned out in front of me in hundred dollar denominations works wonders on any ethical dilemmas I might be experiencing, I said I was in.

He had done the recon and knew when ‘it’ would be alone in the yard for a time. I’m to stuff it into a valise, drop a note, and later on, trade the valise for the cash. Then, meet up with my new ‘partner’ and split the take. I wondered what Rio was like this time of year.

I get back to the office with the mutt, and the first thing the geezer does is pull off its collar, remove the tracker on it, and drop it, still blinking, on my desk. Of course, the dog is wearing a tracking device, Lenny--you stupid chump. Then, the old man sucker punches me twice. Once, with the news that the animal is worthless--it’s the millions worth of diamond chips sewn inside his collar that he’s after. Apparently, the fleabag is a world traveler and new collars containing different treasures await him at his various destinations. The second punch came hard, and was over the head with the vase that once held roses I bought for my ex. I never refilled it once she bailed on me. Silly me.

So here I am now, in a phone booth, on the corner of Going-Nowhere Street and I’m-So-Fucked Boulevard. On the run, since somebody went through my office last night like a cyclone. Not one of my better decisions, taking on the old cuss, but you know? We all err, my friend, do we not? I sincerely appreciate your letting me spill here too, Mr….uh….dog guy, and if I may, I’d like to just conclude with a couple of points.

First, let me find the old man and return your diamonds to you. If you want to know the absolute truth, there’s a few issues my fists would like to discuss with both sides of his head. Last, and really not least, give a sap a break and don’t have me snuffed. Keep all the bling and stick me with the dog. Going into this whole mess blind like I did, I figure I deserve that.

Of course, I’ve found that carrying this minute dust ball around in my breast pocket is a real babe magnet. You know? Maybe we can both still come out of all this as winners. What do you think, Mr., didn’t catch the name, um, dog guy? Sir? Hello? Hello? You still there?

BACK IN THE SADDLE?

Well, it has been forever it seems. The move to Tennessee actually went very smoothly. Chattanooga is incredible, and the view of the mountains from anywhere is breathtaking. The people are terrific and there's so much to see and do. Unfortunately, I've had to limit my daily walks to the mailbox and back. We no longer live behind a bike/jogging trail. The parking lots and roadways literally go straight up here, so it's an interesting challenge taking a stroll to retrieve the mail. But, it's still great fun, and we are all enjoying it here.

Getting back to writing, well, it's about time I did, don't you think? So many problems with the computer--new Internet provider--all kinds of glitches, but that all seems to be resolving itself over time. I've been working on my novel (the first in the series), and a story that started out as a flash piece, but I do believe it's going to run quite a bit longer. I have currently finished Friday Flash Fiction #41 and will be posting it here this evening. Feels good to actually complete something again. It's been one thing after another since we got here, but I think possibly life may be through messing with us for the time being, so I'm going to take advantage and get as much written as I can. Like I said, it feels good to be creating again. You don't really realize how much you miss it when you can't.

After I post this week's flash challenge, I'm going to get back to working on my next blog too. That one is going to be about the coolest of the cool members of the undead: the vampires, and how writers vary in their portrayals. Stay tuned because this one's going to be such fun to write and share. Later...

F-F-F #35 - So Close

So long away--getting ready for the big move to Tennessee! Very excited about it, but much packing and planning to be done. Stepped away from the mountain of boxes long enough to write an entry for this week's Friday Flash Fiction. The starter sentence made me do it. I do hope you enjoy!

SO CLOSE

‘I don’t disagree with you, but you have to admit, this puts me in a delicate position.’

Damn. I hate when this happens. The best laid plans, and all that. You work things out right down to the smallest of details and along comes somebody who fucks it all to Hell. May I explain?

My name is Jake Ard…, um, Wardm…, oh, I forget. It was something like that this week anyway. I don’t really use the same name for too long because I wouldn’t want to begin to create any kind of a trail--paper or otherwise. The thing is, you see, I kill people. Not for fun or anything like that; although, over the years, I have run across a couple of fellas that did it just for the kick of it. That’s not for me though. I’m in it strictly for the monetary gain.

You know, I am really good at what I do and I make a good living, so what’s all the fuss. I don’t get any real pleasure out of it, but then, who literally loves their job anyway. But, I digress…

Let’s be very direct and to the point here. My current assignment (if you will) is to kill this guy who is a sort of entrepreneurial type, you know? He puts money into different businesses, makes a quick profit, pulls out his share and then some, and then moves on. Apparently, of late, he has been spreading a lot of money around and pulling in big returns using bucks that belonged to someone other than himself. Now, in and of itself, that’s not really a bad thing. However, in this case, he’s been doing it without the someone else’s knowledge or permission. Not a terribly healthy practice, if you want my unbiased opinion.

To cut to the chase, normally, I do not engage in random chit-chat with my…, uh…, ‘jobs’, but circumstances totally beyond my control, kind of like a Force Majeur, really fucked up the required stealth aspect of this particular task. All is well again, of course, but this guy started yapping about this, that and the other thing, and now, he’s trying to upset my proverbial applecart, if you get my drift.

This wouldn’t otherwise be an issue of any concern to myself, but this fella’s ‘this, that and the other thing’ are relative to my latest client. According to, let’s call him Dave (I like the name, Dave. My little brother’s name is Dave), I’ve been hired by a simpleton (you don’t often hear that term, do you) who claims to have a killer in his pocket. Evidently, the gentleman enjoys sharing his exploits and the like with anyone who possesses a functioning ear, and it had allegedly become known that a hit was on and that I was the individual contracted to perform same. Thus, Dave, it would appear, was kind of expecting me, which is why there was only minimal fuss when I took him.

He’s claiming to have made provisions of a sort so that in the event he should disappear or perhaps, be found already well on his way to the Pearly Gates, the law would immediately be drawn first to the employer we share, then ultimately to me, personally. Interesting? Yes. Fascinating. Really. But, it is also a tremendous annoyance to someone in my line. The question is, is he speaking the truth or could he possibly just be feigning the sincerity to stall for time, trying to play games with my inner sense of security and stability?

I guess we’ll never really know for sure. An assignment is an assignment, after all. I am intensely grateful, however, for Dave’s concern for my welfare and, after having given it some serious consideration, I decided to proceed. There actually have been those in the past who mistook my temp work as some type of long-term commitment to them and their cause. Naturally, it became necessary for me to resolve that discrepancy in their perception of my role, as it were--to quietly and discreetly ‘terminate‘ our relationship. Perhaps this new client of mine might require the same clarification down the road as well. Only time will tell.

In the interim, I sincerely thanked Dave for his input, and pointed out there weren’t many who would try to offer such insight--all things considered. When I delivered the headshot, I made sure it was right on the money--so to speak. After all, this was a real classy kind of guy, and classy kind of guys deserve only the best.

Penance - Published on Dark Valentine Ezine

It's one of their Through a Lens Darkly flash challenges. Your story should be based, or focused on, a photo prompt. This one of a stone castle-type corridor was just too good for me to pass up. Hope you enjoy.  Story follows.

PENANCE

Take it slowly, dear heart, just one more step.  Now then.  Can you guess where I have brought you?  Oh my.  No sense in your getting all upset.  I will remove the blindfold soon enough.  I would simply like to find out just how keen your senses are.  Try to guess.  Please?  No?  Well, alright.  Let me remove the cover from your eyes.  Pardon?  Oh, I'm afraid not, my sweet.  The restraints will need to remain on your hands and ankles, but not to worry.  You can be certain that I will explain.

See it, my angel?  Yes.  It is indeed your favorite place in the entire world.  When our village at the bottom of the hill was alive and thriving, this old, deserted castle's corridors are where you used to love to play the games of childhood.  As you grew into your teen years, these desolate towers were your sanctuary for solace and long-forgotten tears.  And now, as a mature woman, my wife, my devoted counsel and confidante, I suppose it had seemed only natural that you would choose this place above all others to betray me.

No, no, no.  Do not humiliate and degrade yourself further with denials.  That is akin to your plunging a dagger deep into my heart.  Countless lovers have lain here with you on comforters of silk and satin spread on these cold stone floors at the balcony's edge.  Always at this time of day too, wasn't it, my pet?  Look at how the sun pours through the corridor and caresses the walls.  Did it caress you and your lovers too?  Did it make you feel warm and comforted and safe as I never have?  As I never could?

What happened is that you never understood.  You never even made an attempt.  You belong to me.  There is nothing beyond that, my love.  To be able to believe you would always be there when I needed you was all I had ever asked of you.  The mundane practice of constant demonstrations of emotion have never suited me, and it was your obligation to be content.  Instead, you invited and allowed the touch of strangers.  For I have seen it.  Here.  The playful luring.  The hungry kisses.  The erratic passion.  The caustic laughter.  Mocking.  Me.

Oh my goodness, you silly pie.  Where do you think you are going?  You can't run.  Not from here.  Not from me.  Where would you go if you could?  And what would be the point?  More importantly, who is it that you think you would run to?  One of your young mongrels?  But, you see, several of them are already here.  Well, were here.  At my urging, they took a leap of faith from your beloved balcony.  Unfortunately, they were all heretics, and God did not allow them to soar on Archangel wings to his Heaven.  Their blood now envelops the distant rocks below.  As soon will ours.

Come, sweet treat, and walk with me.  Walk with me to the edge.  See how I have lovingly placed a bed of feathers on which to lay your head with its mantle of spun gold one last time.  We will smile and explore and let the sun's rays enfold and embrace us.  And, when it is finished, shall come penance for your sins.  You and I, together, will take that leap of faith, and if you are filled with remorse, God will take us up as one to Paradise.  But, if you still refuse to be accountable for the error of your ways, you will share the fate of those who lay below.

I want us to be together for all eternity, my darling one.  It would make me very sad if you forced me to ascend to our Lord's side alone.  But, the choice to repent is yours.  It has always been.  Yours.  But look.  The sun is beginning to set on the hillside.  We must not waste a moment of this glorious time.  Come take the walk to the edge with me now.  Let us begin.

Needle Flash Fiction Challenge

Here's my entry in the contest.

TILL DEATH...

I’m home, my sweet. Are you awake? I’m sorry to be so late, but I had some extra forms to take care of at work. I can make it up to you though. I brought a surprise for you. I’m getting it ready and I’ll bring it down with me. Can you guess what it is? No? Alright, I’ll tell you. It’s a vanilla shake with a touch of cinnamon. You love those. I’m putting it in a fresh IV bag for you. Now, once I hook this one up, it should provide quite a pleasant sensation, you think?

Oh my. The bulb’s flickering on the basement stairs again. I really have to remember to change that. I know how being in the dark frightens you. I do need to start turning off all the lights at night though so you can get some good rest. Besides, keeping the basement lights on all the time might attract some unwanted attention. You do remember, I’m sure, how nosy some of our neighbors can be.

Darling one, you sewed the button on my work shirt just as I had asked you. You are such a dear. I know it can be difficult, what with the pole, the IV needle and the restraints. But you do know they’re all necessary, don’t you, my love? I can’t have you wandering off again. It was such a terrible ordeal finding you this last time. You remember. You had run off with that handyman I hired, telling him such awful things about me. You even told some of the neighbors terrible stories about how I treated you.

One good thing did come out of all that though. Once those busybodies in our cove found out you took off with that nasty man, they felt ever so sorry for me. Why, the ladies brought me delicious casseroles and their husbands helped me to tend our yard. You know, our garden’s doing really well now too since I buried your boyfriend in it. At least he turned out to be good for something, huh? No one saw us arrive when I brought you back, so you’re completely safe down here. You won’t ever be bothered.

Say, how does that shake taste? Can you actually taste it, or do you just kind of feel it?

Oh, my pet, don’t you cry. I know you can’t answer me, but it’s alright. The sutures sealing your lips together are almost totally healed now. Now, don’t you start fussing again. You have to admit that I was within my rights when I stitched them in, what with you speaking so poorly of me to everyone you knew and met. That was really quite disrespectful, and you know how strongly I feel about not being respected.

Wow. It’s getting so late. Time certainly does fly when I’m with the love of my life. I’ll let the shake keep dripping for awhile. It’s almost totally melted now and should be flowing really smoothly. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to leave the lights on down here for, say, another half hour so you can see well enough to mend the cuff on my blue shirt. I was planning to wear that to work in the morning, but see how the cuff is beginning to fray? It is in desperate need of your magic touch. I’ll change that bulb on the stairs as well to give you a bit more light while you sew. I wouldn’t want you to have an accident with the needle. That would be very painful.

When I go up, I’m going to watch the news before bed. I won’t be back down tonight, so have loads of sweet dreams, love. Just always remember, my angel, what I told you on the day we first met. I said, from this moment forward, you will be mine. Only. Mine. For always.
Remember also, heart of my heart, when I said it,
I meant it.
Too.

F-F-F #31 - Killer Scent

This is my contribution to F-F-F #31, and an interesting challenge it was. No starter sentences this time around. Instead there were five words to be used in the story. They are: batch, catch, latch, patch, and coriander. Well, here goes. Hope you enjoy!


KILLER SCENT

“Patch,” tell me the truth. You own stock in all the evil-smelling cologne companies on the planet, don’t ya?”

“I can’t help it if you can smell mosquito sweat from a mile away, Rich. Marie likes to buy me cologne, and even if it smells funky, I still have to wear it, you know?”

Yeah. I know. My old man had the same problem. My ma, God love her, was color-blind as all hell, but Pop wore every butt-ugly tie she ever bought. I’m so glad I’m a prick that ladies date only once.

I’m also a cop--a homicide detective if you want to get technical about it. Name’s Richard Demar--Rich, to those close. My partner’s Patch--well, Julius, really. Julius Swathby. Yeah. I know. I call him Patch cause he always wears jackets with patches sewn around the elbows. Believes it makes him look like a sophisticate.

It doesn’t.

One last bit about me. I was blessed/cursed with the sense of smell from Hell. Not bad enough to cripple me and like, force me to live in a bubble, but there are certain places I will not go. Some smells would just send me fucking screaming into the night. Why don’t I just leave what those are to your imagination.

Anywho, we’ve just caught a case; young woman butchered in her apartment. Butchered? That’s candy-coating it. Place settings for a cozy dinner for two (eaten), a batch of freshly baked cookies on a silver platter (untouched), and wall-to-wall blood spatter.

Leftovers and dessert were still warm when we arrived. Neighbor heard a man shouting, a woman screaming, and dialed 911. Guy did a runner out her patio. Broke the latch off her glass door and went where? Had to be drenched in her blood. So. To the highway in front or to the field in back? Either way, he was a ghost. But, I’m gonna catch this spook cause I know who he is.

Nobody but Patch would understand, so he’s the only one I tell. My proof is bizarre at best, so we take the roundabout. We fill every street snitch with our killer’s name, plans to collar him, and that we just need a little more to nail him. Big man’s in too deep financially with his business ventures to risk even the hint of arrest. Wouldn’t hesitate to take out a couple of dicks either, so we set ourselves up as targets and wait for the hit. Patch isn’t sure this is the way to go, but I tell him to trust me. He does.

Late last night, Patch and me are clanging around in the alley behind one of the man’s strip joints. Noisy, so he’d know just where to find us. Nothing going down, so we decided to lay low for awhile. We passed a stack of crates, and I immediately pulled my pistol, turned and fired into the stack. What should tumble out but our killer, gun in hand, ready to deliver a couple of headshots to me and the Patchmaster. I thought my partner was going to pee himself then and there.

“I know how you knew he killed our vic, but how did you know he was back there?”

“The smell, my friend,” I explained, “the coriander.”

It’s a well-known fact that this piece of garbage topped off everything he ate with coriander leaves. Just to make sure they were always handy, he carried a baggie full of them in his pocket. I had seen some of those leaves in one of the bowls at the murder scene and that’s when I knew. I registered the smell, and in the alley, I picked it up right after I passed the stack of boxes. It was way too close for comfort, so I turned and fired. Righteous kill, by the way. Total self-defense.

Notes were found later in one of his offices documenting that our vic wanted to be more than a good time and was going to make trouble if he refused. Not smart to try to blackmail the Devil himself. But still. She deserved better than what she got. Maybe now, the kid can rest in peace.

And me? Patch’s wife just bought him a new bottle of cologne. Maybe I should just start taking the bus to work. Well, maybe not the bus…