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Thursday, February 10, 2011

Smoke House

Nothing ever seemed to go as planned. Sitting in a chair with his hands tied behind his back, Carl reflected on the night. It started out well enough. With the job behind him and a wad of cash in his pocket, he entered the first bar he could find. Drank just enough to chase away the memories of another death on his conscience and then he hit the dance floor. That’s where the night took a turn for the worse. Her name was Gwen and she had a head full of beads and legs as black as midnight dreams. Those legs turned out to be the stuff of nightmares. Only, he didn’t find that out until she closed the hotel door and turned the lights out on him. He was now at the mercy of one very angry woman.
"You stink like bird shit!"
"I bet you have feathers in your pants!"
"So tell me, who did you sleep with to get those birds?"
"Markita! Enough. We don't want him to pass out before we get the answers we need." From the sound of it, they both had Russian accents. This new voice was rough and deep. He must be the boss, but Carl had no idea what answers he could provide.
"Please, Frank. He hasn't even pissed himself yet."
As Markita went to lean against the wall with her arms folded over her breasts in a pout, Frank's meaty face blocked out the only light in the room.
"Now tell me, little mouse. Who are these wealthy industrialists you provide your stinkin' birds to?"
Carl had no answer to that. He only dealt with the delivery man who contacted him and paid him. If he could not provide the answers Frank wanted, would he just kill him? He didn’t want to find out. Coming up with some bullshit to stall for time, Carl never even got the words out.
"Enough of this, Frank! Let's just cut off his balls!" Markita had moved away from the wall and was making a cupping gesture with her right hand. This lady meant business.
Turning around to face Markita, Frank took her in his arms for an impassioned kiss. Perfect. It was just the distraction Carl needed. He had been working at the binding on his hands ever since he awoke. Slipping them off his wrists, he quickly stood and grabbed the back of his chair on the way up. The satisfying crack of broken wood reverberated through the room as Frank collapsed in a heap taking Markita with him. Moving with purpose, Carl punched her in the face before she could unleash what he was sure would be a blood curdling scream. Glancing around he found a table with all the supplies he would need.
Even some he didn’t. The corner of his mouth lifted as his eyes landed on some smokes. Just what I need.
Lighting a cigarette, he headed out the door to bright sunshine and quiet. They had kept him in a lone shack in a deserted part of town. Perfect. No one would see a damn thing. Turning inside the open door, Carl tossed his still lit match onto the makeshift kindling he created. Within moments the entire building was in flames and Carl was walking away.

He’d have to watch who he chose to dance with next time.

1 comment:

Beautiful but Grumpy said...

Really good blog. Shame there is no regular posts.