I'm happy to unveil a short story I wrote this summer. While I was looking over a number of my stories, I noticed that I have a preference for writing zombie stories. I thought to myself, "Why not try a different genre?" And so this is my poke at the werewolf story. It's written in the style of Dostoevsky.
Hope you like it.
“Seizure”
Road Trip
Tess drove with sweating rage even in the rural town she lived in, and getting stuck behind Garrett Simpkins on 116, when his cell phone was cemented to his face, she pounded the steering wheel with her fist.
Soon, sensing malignant intent in Garrett, an unaccountable fury crowded her thoughts. She was convinced that, to prevent her from passing him, he was drifting over; positioning oneself so on this country road effectively transformed it into a one-lane. She turned her head in horror when, instead of joining her in her complaint, Maggie told her to calm down. But she tried to do it in a nice way, as related here:
“I mean this in a nice way—calm down. Now that everything is set up and my stuff is waiting for me and we’re on the road, we can relax and enjoy the trip—we’ve got all week to get out there. There’s no reason to freak out five minutes from home.”
Amanda, who was sitting in the backseat despite the fact it was her car, because had had her license suspended for too many speeding tickets, suddenly and peppily stuck her head into the front seat.
“I gotta side with Mags. If you keep this up, you’re going to have an aneurysm before we get out of the state. You’ve been acting like a lunatic all week. I mean, what is your deal? You were really bitchy with Dad when we left.”
She blew her bangs out of her face with a mighty puff, for she had little room to move her arms because of all the bags and suitcases pinning her in.
“Like I said before, that is a situation that has nothing to do with you two,” Tess said with what she hoped was inarguable finality.
“Nothing to do with us!” Amanda said incredulously, tapping Maggie on the shoulder and thumbing in Tess’s direction. “If this situation has nothing to do with us, Tess, then maybe you can explain to us”—she presented her palms—“why you’ve been glaring at Dad all week like he stole something from you. He can’t say anything without you barking at him! We couldn’t even have breakfast together this morning because you stormed out! What would it have cost, I ask you—to put all your issues aside for one morning? Someday you’ll learn that being on the rag doesn’t mean you get to act like a three year-old!” she mused, leaning her head back and rolling her eyes.
“On the rag, right,” Tess growled. “Every time I do something you don’t like, it must be Tess’s time of the month…”
For the next installment, click here.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
I, Racki (Part XVIII)
This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.
Then I took another look and realized everything was just fine. It was in the weary way Hannibal looked at me and in the nervous way Petra hugged herself. Hannibal and I have a bond that’s like we were in a war together, and to look at Petra is to look at a roadmap of all the flatbacking she’s done in her life and the way she looked at me right then was the same way she looked when she found out somebody had peed on the cake at her sixth birthday party… disgusted. But between me and Hannibal there’s an unspoken link, the kind of manly understanding that some skank could never disrupt. The kind of understanding that comes from winning together and losing together and being down.
Now to someone not paying close attention, none of these things would have been apparent in any way. I gave Petra a hardy hello, acted like it was perfectly natural for her to be over, even though we both knew better, and when I thumped fists with Hannibal, I couldn’t help but to think he was relieved. It may have sounded like a typical whassup grunt from Hannibal, but years of down-for-whatever friendship can convey a whole encyclopedia in a moment. Petra was red in the face, but I played it cool, acting like I didn’t even notice what she was scheming to do.
If Petra Plascak wanted to bring down God’s own thunder on herself by trying to steal Mayor Bruce “Lead Pipe” Wilson’s only daughter’s Prom date, then in my book she should go nuts. But leave my boy out of it. Then you bring down my thunder. Very solemnly, while I pointed a finger directly at Hannibal, I said, “You’re my boy, Hannibal.”
And right back at me he said, “You’re my boy, Racki.”
I nodded. Petra waited. At last she said, “Um, okay. Racki, pick me up at six-thirty, will you? I gotta go get ready.” Then I nodded again, watched her leave and said, “Yeah, I thought so.”
fin
This was the end (my only friend, the end), and I hope you enjoyed the story. Stone Creek is a disturbing, yet highly literate town, and I hope someday to return there for more stories. Come back to DWCC soon; I've have something new up, for sure.
Then I took another look and realized everything was just fine. It was in the weary way Hannibal looked at me and in the nervous way Petra hugged herself. Hannibal and I have a bond that’s like we were in a war together, and to look at Petra is to look at a roadmap of all the flatbacking she’s done in her life and the way she looked at me right then was the same way she looked when she found out somebody had peed on the cake at her sixth birthday party… disgusted. But between me and Hannibal there’s an unspoken link, the kind of manly understanding that some skank could never disrupt. The kind of understanding that comes from winning together and losing together and being down.
Now to someone not paying close attention, none of these things would have been apparent in any way. I gave Petra a hardy hello, acted like it was perfectly natural for her to be over, even though we both knew better, and when I thumped fists with Hannibal, I couldn’t help but to think he was relieved. It may have sounded like a typical whassup grunt from Hannibal, but years of down-for-whatever friendship can convey a whole encyclopedia in a moment. Petra was red in the face, but I played it cool, acting like I didn’t even notice what she was scheming to do.
If Petra Plascak wanted to bring down God’s own thunder on herself by trying to steal Mayor Bruce “Lead Pipe” Wilson’s only daughter’s Prom date, then in my book she should go nuts. But leave my boy out of it. Then you bring down my thunder. Very solemnly, while I pointed a finger directly at Hannibal, I said, “You’re my boy, Hannibal.”
And right back at me he said, “You’re my boy, Racki.”
I nodded. Petra waited. At last she said, “Um, okay. Racki, pick me up at six-thirty, will you? I gotta go get ready.” Then I nodded again, watched her leave and said, “Yeah, I thought so.”
fin
This was the end (my only friend, the end), and I hope you enjoyed the story. Stone Creek is a disturbing, yet highly literate town, and I hope someday to return there for more stories. Come back to DWCC soon; I've have something new up, for sure.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
I, Racki (Part XVII)
This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.
The day had been a complete and total success as far as I was concerned and had carried me to every corner of Stone Creek and beyond to do what I could do for my best friend Hannibal and the Wilson family. I needed to tell Salome that she had nothing to worry about when it came to this evening, so I grabbed a cell phone off the first kid I saw back at the Fish Fry. There weren’t going to be any screw-ups. It was a simple, easy plan with an objective so manifestly doable that it was all I could do to not pat myself on the back. Details had been changed, things Salome didn’t need to know about, but the day Racki Turkz doesn’t go the extra mile for his homies will be the day they put this young buck in the ground. Inexorable forces of fortune gathered and after a few rings I heard a voice and that voice was the crisp alto of Stone Creek’s favorite daughter Salome Wilson.
She got right to it. “Pay them?”
“Yep,” I told her.
“Not all of it, I hope.”
“Twenty percent.”
“They know their assignments?”
“To the letter,” I said.
“Are you ready?”
“I was born ready.”
“So you say.” I could hear the second thoughts circling in her voice.
“I got it all under control,” I said.
My kind words gave her pause. “Hmm,” she said, “that makes me feel better.” I could tell that she had gotten tired of this conversation when she said, “I’m done with you, Racki.”
After that I said good-bye and hung up, tossing the cell phone into the nearest trashcan I could find. I said, “That’ll be the day.”
Lena Binks announced the winner of the Stone Creek Go-Kart Grand Prix. It was Bal Thackeray in a stunning upset.
It was that time of day when a lot of the townies went back to their houses to eat so there weren’t as many people for me to shove out of the way. I went to push my beret back off my forehead and remembered I had given it up, like an amputee who still thinks he can feel his foot. My feet were on autopilot walking down the sidewalk and since I really didn’t have a whole lot to do before the Prom shortly thereafter I was cutting across a yard on Woolsey Street and going around the back of that familiar ranch house to see Petra Plascak and Hannibal looking back at me, her with that stupid blameless look she always wore, him washing his car shirtless, the two of them talking blandly, the ultra-cool bored talk, when you don’t dare say what you really want.
For the final installment, click here.
The day had been a complete and total success as far as I was concerned and had carried me to every corner of Stone Creek and beyond to do what I could do for my best friend Hannibal and the Wilson family. I needed to tell Salome that she had nothing to worry about when it came to this evening, so I grabbed a cell phone off the first kid I saw back at the Fish Fry. There weren’t going to be any screw-ups. It was a simple, easy plan with an objective so manifestly doable that it was all I could do to not pat myself on the back. Details had been changed, things Salome didn’t need to know about, but the day Racki Turkz doesn’t go the extra mile for his homies will be the day they put this young buck in the ground. Inexorable forces of fortune gathered and after a few rings I heard a voice and that voice was the crisp alto of Stone Creek’s favorite daughter Salome Wilson.
She got right to it. “Pay them?”
“Yep,” I told her.
“Not all of it, I hope.”
“Twenty percent.”
“They know their assignments?”
“To the letter,” I said.
“Are you ready?”
“I was born ready.”
“So you say.” I could hear the second thoughts circling in her voice.
“I got it all under control,” I said.
My kind words gave her pause. “Hmm,” she said, “that makes me feel better.” I could tell that she had gotten tired of this conversation when she said, “I’m done with you, Racki.”
After that I said good-bye and hung up, tossing the cell phone into the nearest trashcan I could find. I said, “That’ll be the day.”
Lena Binks announced the winner of the Stone Creek Go-Kart Grand Prix. It was Bal Thackeray in a stunning upset.
It was that time of day when a lot of the townies went back to their houses to eat so there weren’t as many people for me to shove out of the way. I went to push my beret back off my forehead and remembered I had given it up, like an amputee who still thinks he can feel his foot. My feet were on autopilot walking down the sidewalk and since I really didn’t have a whole lot to do before the Prom shortly thereafter I was cutting across a yard on Woolsey Street and going around the back of that familiar ranch house to see Petra Plascak and Hannibal looking back at me, her with that stupid blameless look she always wore, him washing his car shirtless, the two of them talking blandly, the ultra-cool bored talk, when you don’t dare say what you really want.
For the final installment, click here.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
I, Racki (Part XVI)
This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.
I rang the doorbell. I was giving Jailey thirty seconds to answer it. When she came to the door she had a towel wrapped around her head, a sweatshirt that said “Scuba Divers Do It Deeper” and no makeup.
She opened the door and in about as surprised a voice as I’ve ever heard, exclaimed, “Racki!”
When I saw how much she was smiling I thought maybe she had had herself a stroke. I said, “Hey, Jailey, get fired much?”
Sunlight was beginning to fill up the sitting room from the west, and she took off her towel and bobbed her head to and fro, teasing and pulling at her long black hair.
She looked at me for a second, scrunched up her face at me, then said coyly, “Did you come over here to fool around for a little bit, Racki?”
“Been there, done that, honey. Plans have changed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Me going with someone else tonight instead of you.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I don’t joke,” I told her.
“I quit my job, I bought a dress.”
“Those were two among the other mistakes you made,” I said.
She was shivering with teary, hot rage. “On the day of the Prom, Racki. Who is it?”
I had a sit on one of their comfortable leather chairs. “I’m taking Petra Plascak.”
Stunned, she breathed, “No.”
Jailey could tell I meant business and so she didn’t jump into a bunch of cheap hysterics. Mr. Sius, the chemistry teacher, had hooked me up with Jailey as a lab partner last semester and before long I was banging her. You could say she was a Goth chick, the way she dressed. I just thought it would be nice to have a girlfriend for a while and under all that makeup Jailey looked alright. Mr. Sius got drunk a lot, and one night he fell down a well. That was it for him. But Jailey to me became one of those girls that you really don’t take so much to the hot parties and school functions that are the parade ground of teenagers in lust, as much as one of those break-the-glass girls you see when you need something done to you in the utility closet during fifth period and other than that not getting into your way a whole lot because you have important things you’ve got to do.
“Can I ask a favor, Jailey?”
“You want me to give back the boutonniere you bought me so you can give it to Petra.”
“How’d you know?”
“I’m psychic. I’ll be a laughingstock thanks to you.”
“Like you weren’t before?”
“Right. You can have the boutonniere. Petra Plascak.”
I waited for her to go get it. “Anything else?” she spat.
“Yeah. Can you still do my book report? I need it Monday and I didn’t read the book.”
“I’ll do it.” Sniffling she said, “Tell Petra I said ‘Hi.’”
“Well, I doubt I’ll do that.”
I could tell she was still ready to pop a rivet. But I know defeat when I see it. “That’s it then,” she told me. “I’ll see you around.”
For the next installment, click here.
I rang the doorbell. I was giving Jailey thirty seconds to answer it. When she came to the door she had a towel wrapped around her head, a sweatshirt that said “Scuba Divers Do It Deeper” and no makeup.
She opened the door and in about as surprised a voice as I’ve ever heard, exclaimed, “Racki!”
When I saw how much she was smiling I thought maybe she had had herself a stroke. I said, “Hey, Jailey, get fired much?”
Sunlight was beginning to fill up the sitting room from the west, and she took off her towel and bobbed her head to and fro, teasing and pulling at her long black hair.
She looked at me for a second, scrunched up her face at me, then said coyly, “Did you come over here to fool around for a little bit, Racki?”
“Been there, done that, honey. Plans have changed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Me going with someone else tonight instead of you.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I don’t joke,” I told her.
“I quit my job, I bought a dress.”
“Those were two among the other mistakes you made,” I said.
She was shivering with teary, hot rage. “On the day of the Prom, Racki. Who is it?”
I had a sit on one of their comfortable leather chairs. “I’m taking Petra Plascak.”
Stunned, she breathed, “No.”
Jailey could tell I meant business and so she didn’t jump into a bunch of cheap hysterics. Mr. Sius, the chemistry teacher, had hooked me up with Jailey as a lab partner last semester and before long I was banging her. You could say she was a Goth chick, the way she dressed. I just thought it would be nice to have a girlfriend for a while and under all that makeup Jailey looked alright. Mr. Sius got drunk a lot, and one night he fell down a well. That was it for him. But Jailey to me became one of those girls that you really don’t take so much to the hot parties and school functions that are the parade ground of teenagers in lust, as much as one of those break-the-glass girls you see when you need something done to you in the utility closet during fifth period and other than that not getting into your way a whole lot because you have important things you’ve got to do.
“Can I ask a favor, Jailey?”
“You want me to give back the boutonniere you bought me so you can give it to Petra.”
“How’d you know?”
“I’m psychic. I’ll be a laughingstock thanks to you.”
“Like you weren’t before?”
“Right. You can have the boutonniere. Petra Plascak.”
I waited for her to go get it. “Anything else?” she spat.
“Yeah. Can you still do my book report? I need it Monday and I didn’t read the book.”
“I’ll do it.” Sniffling she said, “Tell Petra I said ‘Hi.’”
“Well, I doubt I’ll do that.”
I could tell she was still ready to pop a rivet. But I know defeat when I see it. “That’s it then,” she told me. “I’ll see you around.”
For the next installment, click here.
Monday, August 10, 2009
I, Racki (Part XV)
This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.
These Killianfield rocket scientists were giving me a dumb, waiting look. “Look… one thing matters here.”
“What?”
“Petra Plascak doesn’t make it off the boat.” My six year-old nephew picked up things quicker than this. “Alive,” I added.
“How’s that?”
“How’s you not playing stupid with me? I realize that you guys are from Killianfield and so that makes you very stupid people, but you’re getting $10,000 and a free pass out of town.”
These guys made my head hurt. Especially the short one. “Didn’t you say we were kidnapping this girl?”
“Stevie, let’s just say she got an upgrade.”
Stevie was wetting himself, but Kynedyr and Harold were handling it a lot better.
“Can we see that photo again?” Harold asked.
“No. I’ve shown it to you a million times already, so get it straight in your head, and stop bugging me about stupid crap. She’ll be easy to recognize because she’ll be the one wearing the expensive silver necklace after the king and queen are announced and if you have any other questions kindly shove them up your butt.”
Stevie said, “Kynedyr, this is murder we’re talking about!”
“Look, man,” I told him bluntly, “do you really think if you don’t follow through on this things are going to be one bit easier? Seriously, your life won’t be worth whatever the currency is in the third world country you’ll be hiding in. Trust me, the Wilsons don’t like a quitter. So just focus on all the things you can buy with the money you’re going to make. Video games, I suppose, and looks like maybe some acne cream.”
“Last time you said, ‘Kidnap her.’”
“He’ll be fine,” Harold told me.
Stevie just sat there with his head in his hands. I clapped him hard on the shoulder when I got up to leave and said, “Kiddo, you’re just a dream come true.”
For the next installment, click here.
These Killianfield rocket scientists were giving me a dumb, waiting look. “Look… one thing matters here.”
“What?”
“Petra Plascak doesn’t make it off the boat.” My six year-old nephew picked up things quicker than this. “Alive,” I added.
“How’s that?”
“How’s you not playing stupid with me? I realize that you guys are from Killianfield and so that makes you very stupid people, but you’re getting $10,000 and a free pass out of town.”
These guys made my head hurt. Especially the short one. “Didn’t you say we were kidnapping this girl?”
“Stevie, let’s just say she got an upgrade.”
Stevie was wetting himself, but Kynedyr and Harold were handling it a lot better.
“Can we see that photo again?” Harold asked.
“No. I’ve shown it to you a million times already, so get it straight in your head, and stop bugging me about stupid crap. She’ll be easy to recognize because she’ll be the one wearing the expensive silver necklace after the king and queen are announced and if you have any other questions kindly shove them up your butt.”
Stevie said, “Kynedyr, this is murder we’re talking about!”
“Look, man,” I told him bluntly, “do you really think if you don’t follow through on this things are going to be one bit easier? Seriously, your life won’t be worth whatever the currency is in the third world country you’ll be hiding in. Trust me, the Wilsons don’t like a quitter. So just focus on all the things you can buy with the money you’re going to make. Video games, I suppose, and looks like maybe some acne cream.”
“Last time you said, ‘Kidnap her.’”
“He’ll be fine,” Harold told me.
Stevie just sat there with his head in his hands. I clapped him hard on the shoulder when I got up to leave and said, “Kiddo, you’re just a dream come true.”
For the next installment, click here.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
I, Racki (Part XIV)
This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.
The rest of the afternoon I spent nailing down details for that evening. Knowing only the vague outline of Salome’s plan wasn’t something I was terrifically thrilled about, and despite the fact that I was going along with it, it bugged me a little bit, tainting my enthusiasm about doing Hannibal this big favor.
The isolated fragments I had almost made sense… one guy was going to go down to the boiler room and plant a bomb. The other two, also from Killianfield, had fairly simple jobs. Anybody with half a brain could tell this wasn’t going to be a simple prank. Things like that happen in Stone Creek from time to time, but who cares? Once you cross the Mayor or his family you’re finished in this town. A line in the sand you definitely don’t want to cross.
I met my team inside the Tripoli Pizza Monarch, where the heavy smell of cheap sausage and tomato sauce covers you like a blanket, and they were already mowing a large pie down. This wasn’t a group of National Merit scholars here. These guys were chumps but they were leadable and they were unknowns. There was a waitress who saw me join them and she might have bothered us if I hadn’t told her I’d beat her with a pepper grinder if she came by again.
Kynedyr Woods savaged his mouth with a napkin and then crumpled it into a ball. “You want some pizza?”
“I don’t see any ham on it. Forget it.”
“Ham’s a breakfast food.”
“My fists are an all-you-can-eat buffet,” I told him.
Harold Banamun yawned and leaned back as if he were going to take a nap, all sleepy and doe-eyed. Turns out he always looked like that. “You have our money?” I just looked at him. “I hope you have our twenty percent.”
“Are you going to deliver?”
“Bite me. You got it?”
“Here.”
A wad of bills in a manila envelope may have been more dramatic, but a money order is what they got. It was the lavender paper of the Community Bank of Stone Creek and the three of them stared at it like it was Monopoly money, but after a few seconds Tidy Boy and Sleepy Boy seemed to figure it out so I gave a long hard stare at Stevie DeVries.
“It’s money,” I said. “Your gal pals can explain it to you. Don’t blow a fuse trying to think it out all by yourself. Are we done?”
“Not quite. The busboy outfit I got doesn’t fit me.”
“Look at my face and you tell me if you think I care.”
“How are we going to get off the boat?” Kynedyr asked me.
Harold roused himself somewhat out of his little siesta he was taking and said, “You have to address this. I don’t want to be there when the boiler blows.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way off,” I said.
For the next installment, click here.
The rest of the afternoon I spent nailing down details for that evening. Knowing only the vague outline of Salome’s plan wasn’t something I was terrifically thrilled about, and despite the fact that I was going along with it, it bugged me a little bit, tainting my enthusiasm about doing Hannibal this big favor.
The isolated fragments I had almost made sense… one guy was going to go down to the boiler room and plant a bomb. The other two, also from Killianfield, had fairly simple jobs. Anybody with half a brain could tell this wasn’t going to be a simple prank. Things like that happen in Stone Creek from time to time, but who cares? Once you cross the Mayor or his family you’re finished in this town. A line in the sand you definitely don’t want to cross.
I met my team inside the Tripoli Pizza Monarch, where the heavy smell of cheap sausage and tomato sauce covers you like a blanket, and they were already mowing a large pie down. This wasn’t a group of National Merit scholars here. These guys were chumps but they were leadable and they were unknowns. There was a waitress who saw me join them and she might have bothered us if I hadn’t told her I’d beat her with a pepper grinder if she came by again.
Kynedyr Woods savaged his mouth with a napkin and then crumpled it into a ball. “You want some pizza?”
“I don’t see any ham on it. Forget it.”
“Ham’s a breakfast food.”
“My fists are an all-you-can-eat buffet,” I told him.
Harold Banamun yawned and leaned back as if he were going to take a nap, all sleepy and doe-eyed. Turns out he always looked like that. “You have our money?” I just looked at him. “I hope you have our twenty percent.”
“Are you going to deliver?”
“Bite me. You got it?”
“Here.”
A wad of bills in a manila envelope may have been more dramatic, but a money order is what they got. It was the lavender paper of the Community Bank of Stone Creek and the three of them stared at it like it was Monopoly money, but after a few seconds Tidy Boy and Sleepy Boy seemed to figure it out so I gave a long hard stare at Stevie DeVries.
“It’s money,” I said. “Your gal pals can explain it to you. Don’t blow a fuse trying to think it out all by yourself. Are we done?”
“Not quite. The busboy outfit I got doesn’t fit me.”
“Look at my face and you tell me if you think I care.”
“How are we going to get off the boat?” Kynedyr asked me.
Harold roused himself somewhat out of his little siesta he was taking and said, “You have to address this. I don’t want to be there when the boiler blows.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way off,” I said.
For the next installment, click here.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
I, Racki (Part XIII)
This is a continuation. To start from the beginning, click here.
Jim disappeared inside.
She snapped her pert little chin to the left, and her auburn hair bobbed onto and off her face. “You listen carefully to every word I’m about to say to you. The plan we discussed is still on. The silver necklace will be the key like I said. Make sure your guys know. If you or your playmates deviate from the plan one iota, it will fail. You know who my father is, so trifle with me at your own peril. I want this. Get it done.”
“Your odds at Miss Congeniality are looking pretty slim. You are one terrifying little bitch.”
“You need to watch your mouth,” she replied with no anger at all in her voice. “Your chief worry tonight is being a good Prom date for Petra, Racki. Fooling her isn’t going to be easy for you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I thought you were gay.”
“What?”
She reached into her purse and pulled out her compact, her lips puckered for inspection. “You need a sense of humor. Your good friend and my Prom date, Hannibal J. Baptist, can’t know anything about the plan. Everything will go a lot smoother with him in the dark.”
“Probably it would help if I knew more myself,” I said. “My understanding of the whole thing is pretty cloudy.”
“Racki, this plan…”
“Yes?”
“Right. You said you would trust me on this.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You know what’s going on.”
Then, out of nowhere, Jim Riley had returned. He had a fuzzy, confused look and was holding the teddy bear I brought. I felt a new wave of hostility wash over me and I wanted to punch him, right in the goatee, and I guess Salome sensed it, because she said something about how the teddy bear didn’t go in the refrigerator and sent Jim back in the house.
I shook my head and Salome went on talking. “Look at me, Racki. Ignorance is the best policy for what’s going to go down tonight.”
I nodded my head and I stood there, wondering why my mouth had started to water.
I wanted a pork fritter.
Cardinals and crows chirped in the trees all around us and bore witness to the plot we were hatching, and as they were shouting their approval at us Salome asked, “You still with me?”
Game on. Absolutely. Saving my friend from Petra Plascak’s hooks was worth any trouble.
A question that had been bugging me for some time bubbled up to the surface and I was going to ask whether it ticked her off or not. “What’s in it for you, Salome?”
“There is something, but don’t worry about it. Can you do that?”
“Like a champ,” I told her.
“Excellent.”
I cracked my knuckles as Jim Riley came out the door a second time. It was a busy day, and I still had a buttload left to do. “Salome, I think you and I are a lot alike.”
“And that’s your fantastic conclusion?”
“Yep.”
“Nothing about the moral ramifications of what we’re about to do?”
“Huh?”
“Facilis descensus Averno, Racki. See you tonight.”
For the next installment, click here.
Jim disappeared inside.
She snapped her pert little chin to the left, and her auburn hair bobbed onto and off her face. “You listen carefully to every word I’m about to say to you. The plan we discussed is still on. The silver necklace will be the key like I said. Make sure your guys know. If you or your playmates deviate from the plan one iota, it will fail. You know who my father is, so trifle with me at your own peril. I want this. Get it done.”
“Your odds at Miss Congeniality are looking pretty slim. You are one terrifying little bitch.”
“You need to watch your mouth,” she replied with no anger at all in her voice. “Your chief worry tonight is being a good Prom date for Petra, Racki. Fooling her isn’t going to be easy for you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I thought you were gay.”
“What?”
She reached into her purse and pulled out her compact, her lips puckered for inspection. “You need a sense of humor. Your good friend and my Prom date, Hannibal J. Baptist, can’t know anything about the plan. Everything will go a lot smoother with him in the dark.”
“Probably it would help if I knew more myself,” I said. “My understanding of the whole thing is pretty cloudy.”
“Racki, this plan…”
“Yes?”
“Right. You said you would trust me on this.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You know what’s going on.”
Then, out of nowhere, Jim Riley had returned. He had a fuzzy, confused look and was holding the teddy bear I brought. I felt a new wave of hostility wash over me and I wanted to punch him, right in the goatee, and I guess Salome sensed it, because she said something about how the teddy bear didn’t go in the refrigerator and sent Jim back in the house.
I shook my head and Salome went on talking. “Look at me, Racki. Ignorance is the best policy for what’s going to go down tonight.”
I nodded my head and I stood there, wondering why my mouth had started to water.
I wanted a pork fritter.
Cardinals and crows chirped in the trees all around us and bore witness to the plot we were hatching, and as they were shouting their approval at us Salome asked, “You still with me?”
Game on. Absolutely. Saving my friend from Petra Plascak’s hooks was worth any trouble.
A question that had been bugging me for some time bubbled up to the surface and I was going to ask whether it ticked her off or not. “What’s in it for you, Salome?”
“There is something, but don’t worry about it. Can you do that?”
“Like a champ,” I told her.
“Excellent.”
I cracked my knuckles as Jim Riley came out the door a second time. It was a busy day, and I still had a buttload left to do. “Salome, I think you and I are a lot alike.”
“And that’s your fantastic conclusion?”
“Yep.”
“Nothing about the moral ramifications of what we’re about to do?”
“Huh?”
“Facilis descensus Averno, Racki. See you tonight.”
For the next installment, click here.
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