Friday, March 18, 2011

#FlashFriday - Don Makes A Deal

Don shook the bottle next to his ear, listened to the sharp crackling within. He frowned then and looked across the table.

“Ain’t much in here, hombre. Maybe just one pill.”

In the other chair, the Mexican smiled. His teeth were long and yellow, and he chewed on a thin cigar. Guessing by the sheen of the man’s hair, Don suspected it had been days since the last bathing. Still, underneath the tattered denim jacket, the man wore a gold necklace and a white shirt, the collars starched and knifing down.

“For what you need, señor…” The man looked left, then right around the plaza. Like it really mattered. Here in the border town, where a man could locate "dancing girls" who'd spend a couple hours with him for fifty dollars, nobody cared, not even the so-called federales. “I think one will be enough.”

Don looked at the tangerine colored bottle. The label looked professional enough. There was even the obligatory governmental caution prohibiting the transfer of this drug to any person other than the patient for whom prescribed. Which was funny because looking at the name again Don had never thought of himself as an Ignacio Inés. Not in a million years. And even though the pill was indeed a drug, it was neither the drug labeled nor a drug that a doctor would prescribe. Not any doctor he knew, at least.

He placed the bottle down on the table. Only one pill. Really, though, exactly how much did he need? It wasn’t like he was a doctor. He thought about Gladys back in the States, the constant badgering, the bird-dogging. Good Lord, not even his own kids could look at him with respect anymore. Last week, after she'd walked into the office to chew him out, he finally told himself it was enough. A man can only take so much.

He glanced back across the table and hoped the Mexican was right.

“How much?”

Thursday, March 10, 2011

#FridayFlash - A Nice Night for Orion

Jonas smelled the fear. Usually, he either saw it or heard it—how the eyes danced around to avoid direct contact, or how the throat clenched up; sometimes, it was both. Tonight, though, an onion stench of sweat trailed behind the mark as he passed by, completely oblivious that Jonas could have reached out and touched him. No doubt about it, the way he was acting, walking fast like the world was about to end, the man was scared out of his mind.

Earlier tonight, the information received had been short, but concise. Thomas Cantrell: accountant and managing partner of Cantrell and Associates. Residence: 2154 Lakeside Court. Tonight’s e-mail also contained a JPEG file of Cantrell’s photo, taken outdoors, catching the accountant as he walked to a black Cadillac XLR, the same car now sitting in the driveway, its high-gloss paint and chrome trim shimmering under the glare of a security spotlight. While not impressed with what he now saw--a balding man around five-foot-eight, weighing in the neighborhood of one-seventy, maybe one-eighty--Jonas at least appreciated the man’s taste in vehicles.

The last and most important part of the e-mail was the commitment for fifty thousand dollars to be wired to a Banco Del Rio account on Grand Cayman, payable upon proof of services rendered. Looking at the ring on Cantrell’s right hand, Jonas remembered the knife in his pocket and knew right away what proof he would give.

He stepped out of the shadows and followed closely behind. “Evening, Thomas.”

Cantrell spun around. His eyes locked in on Jonas. “Who are you?”

In addition to knowing there was a payoff at the end, Jonas took a small comfort in seeing that it was also justified. Somewhere along the way, Cantrell had blurred the lines, lost sight of the bigger universe; and the beads of sweat, the recognition of real danger in those eyes, served only to condemn him.

Jonas took a deep breath. The brisk air calmed his insides. “I represent Mr. Dawson.”

“Dawson never said anything about someone coming out.”

“They never do.”

Cantrell blinked. “They?”

“My clients.” Jonas waited for the faint light of recognition to play across Cantrell’s face. He smiled. Sure enough, there it was.

“Look,” Cantrell said, “there must be some mistake. I wasn’t stealing Dawson’s money. I only have it so it can be deposited tomorrow. I mean there’re multiple accounts, and they all need to be managed.”

Jonas shook his head. “I’m not paid to know the details.”

Cantrell’s voice cracked. “Oh God, please, surely it doesn’t have to come to this. We can work something out, can’t we?”

Jonas glanced up at the night sky and spotted a thin wisp of cloud that split the orange moon in the east.

“I love this time of year, don’t you?” He looked at Cantrell. “It's so beautifu at night, and you can always see Orion.”

A look of confusion crossed Cantrell’s face. “Pardon?”

“The stars.” Jonas reached underneath the lapel of his jacket and felt the grip of the Ruger tucked away inside its holster. “It’s a nice night for Orion.”

******

"Cannon baaaaaall!”

Mack turned his head, bracing for the inevitable as Jimmy took a running leap off the pier, both hands tucked between his legs. Mack cringed at the last mental image he saw before the splash: the crack of Jimmy’s rear end. The impact sent a tidal wave of water in all directions.

A moment later, Jimmy surfaced and shook the water from his hair. “Man, this water’s cold!”

Mack didn’t say a thing.

“Hey, how’d you like that one?”

“I didn’t.”

Jimmy wiped at his eyes. “Hey, what’s got your panties in a wad?”

“We don’t need the noise, Jimmy. There’s no telling if or when the cops’ll come around, and I don’t know about you, but I personally don’t want to be hauled out of the lake with nothing to cover my Johnson but my own two hands.”

Jimmy laughed. “Like that’ll ever happen. They’ll be too busy laughing to notice your shriveled-up peanut.”

“I see, you’re a funny guy now too, that it?”

“C’mon, bro, lighten up. Besides, it was your idea to come down here.”

“I’m just saying--”

The sound of an approaching motor carried through the woods. A moment later, headlights spotted through the trees as a car approached. Almost to the pond, the driver turned his wheels and then braked, the car facing away. White reverse lights cast an ethereal glow across the water then as the driver backed up to the pier and cut the engine. He stepped out, walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Mack heard a grunt, and his heart stopped as the man lifted a body out of the car and walked backwards, dragging the body out to the edge of the pier. The man dropped it over and stood for a while, staring at the water. He took a deep breath and almost turned, but stopped. He looked further out and Mack’s stomach turned sour as their eyes met, the man sighing at first and then shaking his head, smiling.

“Well, this is a little awkward. I wasn’t expecting anyone out here in the middle of nowhere this time of night. Don’t you boys have school in the morning?"

Mack shook his head. “Spring Break.”

“And what, you decide to come out here to swim instead of heading south to the beach, some place warmer?”

“Can’t afford to,” Jimmy said. “Besides, our parents would let us anyway.”

The man nodded. “Well, don’t be too glum about it, boys. After all, it’s not as bad you might think.” He reached a hand into his coat and glanced up at the sky. “At least we’ve got Orion to look at, huh?”

Friday, March 4, 2011

#FridayFlash - The Problem with You

“The prolem with you,” the professor said, “is that--is that you lack the nessary vision to sthee beyond the brooder scheme of things.”

He held a goblet filled with ice and vodka, waving it around as he talked. A spider-web of blood vessels painted his cheeks, and the side of his mouth drooped slightly. Condescending eyes, half-shrouded by withered eyelids, looked me over.

“You need to thing about the future,” he said. “You need a plan--a long-range proshection of where you want your pathetic life to go--what’re going to get, and how’re you going to get it.” A crooked finger pointed generally at me. “Because while baggy jeans and a Mötley Crüe t-shirt might build you a nice career stocking shelves at Wal-mart, they won’t buy you a house on Park Avenue.”

His head bobbed forward then, a tussle of white hair flowing down across his brow. Wiry eyebrows lifted as if asking whether or not I understood what he was talking about. I wanted to say that Park Avenue was a continent away and I was quite happy living within the sight of Mt. Rainier, thank you very much; instead, I nodded. Sure it was placating and definitely less than a little insincere--and the old man probably knew it as much as I did--but so what? Part of the game or not, the conversion had already lasted fifteen minutes beyond the five I originally gave it.

“Now take her last boyfriend--Matt”

“Daddy...”

Glancing at Amanda, the professor’s daughter, seeing an I’m-so-sorry look in her eyes, I knew she was ready for this to end as well. I couldn’t blame her. In her shoes, I would have felt the same way.

He squinted. “No, not Matt. Mark.”

“Daddy...”

“Yes, it was Mark.” He nodded. “Now, Mark couldn’t grasp the complexuries of life. To him, life was… a Happy Meal. Something with a cheap toy to play with.”

Amanda sighed.

“I don’t consider Amanda to be a Happy Meal, sir.”

He smiled. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

Amanda slipped her arm around mine. “Daddy, we really have to go. We have reservations.”

The professor glanced at her and took a deep breath. “If you must.” Looking at me, he said, “We can finish our talk later tonight.”

“Daddy, I--”

He turned away.

Walking out, her arm still wrapped tightly around mine, Amanda said she was sorry. “I don’t know why he always does that to me. Don’t let it push you away.”

I opened the door of my Corvette, a vintage 1965 model. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I see the same thing every day from some of my employees, the ones who think they’re smart enough to run the company.” I gave her a reassuring smile as she climbed into the car, and the panic left her face.

I started to shut the door, but stopped. “By the way, when do I get to meet your grandparents?”

She shrugged. “Someday, I guess.”

“How old are they again?”

“Eighty-five and Eight-three.” She frowned. “Why?”

I shook my head and shut the door, thinking that tonight might be just a couple of beers, maybe a burger--nothing special. As I made my way around the car, I stopped and took one last glance at the house. In the window, I saw the professor standing there watching me.

I smiled and gave him a wave.