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TITLE (EDIT)
Here Today, Gone Fishing Pt.1 |
DESCRIPTION
A little after-drug-deal excitement.
[1,105 words] |
AUTHOR
Sullivan Of The Sea |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I am a 17 year old thinker. I am too cool for school and too scared to drop out.
[March 2005] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3)
Coined Truth (Essays) Jesus would approve. [203 words]
Naminalism (Essays) Is this for you? Because it should be if you care about yourself. And our future. [228 words] [Self-Help]
The Business Of Hope (Short Stories) Gentlemen, welcome to the Hot Candy Hut. It's the best eye candy money can buy. [903 words] [Literary Fiction]
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Here Today, Gone Fishing Pt.1
Sullivan Of The Sea
There I was, heading north on Interstate 15, on my way to meet my connection. The window on my 1988 Toyota truck was down and my arm hung out of it like a dry flapping tongue from a dying dog’s mouth. My face wore a dry frown as I wiped off my rose-colored lipstick and nodded my head to “Nightcrawler.” I flipped the shade-mirror down and my view of the road was replaced by my image. “Fuck,” I muttered after seeing a hung-over and twisted drag queen with half-opened eyes and a mouthful of dirty words.
I had ten minutes before I had to meet Skalco at the golf course. He would be really embarrassed if he was seen with a clown like me, and I couldn’t just wear my ski mask on the passenger seat to cover up my painted skin. I didn’t think 70 year-old veterans took kindly to seeing an advertised thief on their range; and also it was the middle of spring. I stopped to get a gallon of water at the Texaco before I met him. Before I got into my black beauty, I drowned myself in the water and wiped my dripping face with my mask. “Five minutes.” I thought to myself as I drove away, clean as a Catholic and ready to get dirty again.
“You’re late again,“ my Italian friend said as I pulled up next to his car. “If I wasn’t fucking in love with you I would have left your sorry ass in the dust- I mean, grass.”
“Skalco, just give me the money.”
“First tell me how your date went.”
“I got your weed, three pounds, as promised.”
“That’s my Alvin, let me smell it.”
He got out of his new Camero and into my lifted truck. I asked him what he thought. He took a wiff and grinned. “I fucking dressed in drag to get this shit for you, it better be good.” I explained. This wasn’t the first time I drove to the Mexican border for a friend, but it was the last. “Hey man, I have to get going, Bruce is setting up my new place.”
“Fag.”
“Whatever man, you’re only jealous because your cousin doesn’t love you enough to be your bodyguard.”
“My cousin is nearly a godfather, he could simply buy me one.”
“All right give me my cut, I have to go.”
He handed me a leather bowling bag and got out, smiling to me as he left. I didn’t even look inside the bag; I was feeling sick, most likely because I had spent two hours in women’s clothing and full makeup. Nobody really asks how I get their drugs. This is perfectly fine because I feel like throwing up every time I am reminded. Driving a clutch in stilettos is hard enough without being hung-over, and the trip from the Valley is anything but exciting. All I wanted was to be at my new investment. A nap at my new place was in order.
“You look like shit Alf.” Bruce said with a television set in his arms. Bruce was like a horse. He was strong and handsome, and looked wise beyond his years. But in fact he was the stupidest creature on earth. Following orders was his specialty, when I give them, of course. Bruce and I hate guns, all we use are knives. His father was in the circus and was the best fighter with a good steak knife. My uncle taught us everything we know about knife-brawling. “Put it over there Bruce.” I instructed. I slipped my heels off and laid down on a plastic-wrapped couch, dropping the satchel on the ground. It was a long drive and the only way to get through it was to entertain myself is to drink. My two flasks were empty but my bladder wasn’t, so I headed to my newly installed toilet.
On my way to the bathroom I decided I needed to shit, so I grabbed the paper. On the second page the headline read, “Drug Trafficking at an All Time High.” I chuckled to myself after seeing the headline and let out a healthy break in the wind beneath my spread legs. Suddenly my skin jumped as I heard the crack of a 12 gauge in the kitchen followed by the sprinkling of broken glass on the floor tile. I also heard a loud reverberating scream of pain that would have made Jesus blush. I pinched it off and knew I had to get to my weapon safe in my room; which was across my house near the kitchen. “Shit,” I whispered, “I love this chair.” I picked up the stationary maple work of art and moved it under a mirror. Fucking aesthetic. I snuck across the carpet towards where I heard the shot and as I was passing the kitchen I heard Bruce swearing under his breath, obviously injured but not dead. I heard sets of footsteps. Two or three guys, one of them pretty large judging from his walking pattern; his weight on his heels. Tile is unforgiving, you can determine anything by a person from listening to the reflections off of tile flooring. I put these thoughts out of my mind and rushed to my room. I got to my closet and opened my safe, thinking out loud, “A hunting knife and a katana. I’ll take both. There is more than one asshole in my house and Bruce may be able to fight.” These thoughts are better suited for a drug middleman than the previous ones. I was about to kill some fat-asses.
I rushed into the kitchen and let out a Japanese war howl, in vain. A quick look around the room told me the assholes were gone. Bruce was crying with a drink in his hand, the back door was open, and my leather satchel was gone.
“You pussy, are you okay?”
“Uh huh, I think I should go to the doctor. There’s a lot of blood coming out of my leg Alf.”
“Fine.”
“The bastards shot me and took the bag. They looked like model horses Alfie.”
“What?”
“On TV, there’s that ‘Fonzie’ guy that they call the Hungarian Horsie or Sumthin”
“You mean Italian Stallion?”
“Yeah, they were Italian.”
“Fucking Skalco.”
“No, it wasn’t Skalco’s guys, these guys had suits on.”
I knew that black-haired bastard had something to do with it whether he knew it or not. It was up to me to find out. But first I told Bruce to clean up the glass. I also finished taking my dump and reading my paper. Then I took a nap. It’s nice having my own place, so calm and private.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2005 Sullivan Of The Sea |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
March 2005 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1971
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