Come Monday morning Steve Kowalski doubted he’d have a job to go back to. Before his meeting with Lola and Dom today he went down town and wandered about for a little while. He went in the coffee shop, the one near the flea market where the repulsively ugly head-barista had bug eyes and a receding chin that disappeared into his neck, devolving into rolls of fleshy, pink fat. The ugly swine was enough to put you off your coffee. Disappointingly, the pretty waitress wasn’t on duty as an antidote. Kowalski found a table over in the corner and Continue reading Something Wonderful by U.V. Ray
Renaldo Sandoval sat alone in his room and went over everything again.
Do not look straight ahead. Look at the numbers on the doors as you walk by each of them.
The smell of the solvent he used to clean his pistol had almost dissipated. He unloaded, counted, and reloaded thirteen 9mm, Federal Hydra-shok hollow-point cartridges into the magazine, inspecting each one for possible flaws that could lead to a misfire.
Do not ignore the men in the hall – but do not stare at them either. Look at them once, briefly make eye contact, and then go back to looking at the numbers on the doors.
The suppressor on the muzzle of his pistol fit perfectly. He considered cleaning and lubricating the gun one more time, but decided against it.
Ghost hunting would save their relationship. It would bring back that old spark, that old tickle of anticipation Jeff and Mary had when they first met. They found an old house in the woods off Highway 2, widely assumed to be involved somehow in a string of disappearances. Jeff didn’t speak as he drove, his hands followed the road.
Cat piss corridors. Dank half lit porches. Wallpaper not changed since 1985. Window frames rotting and letting in the rain. You know the place. Bedsit dementia: wanking in front of the one-bar electric fire to thoughts of the fat slut who lives on the next floor. You don’t even fancy her but something in your perverse nature makes you want to have her. You finish your Continue reading Night Music by A J Savage
The tyre chewed up the curb. Sedan. Alabaster silver. Driver control central locking. Do enough jobs and you’re looking for an exit strategy. If he’s some pervert who likes cutting up a Continue reading The Powder Trail by Craig Wallwork
Senator Swine shuts the door to the hotel room and latches it and then turns around to look at me.
He is still holding a glass of scotch and is wiping his forehead with a soggy green napkin that still has the words Iowa NRA. He stirs his drink and smiles at me. He coughs.
I got home from work and put down my briefcase. Immediately I sensed something was different.
“Somebody’s been here,” I said to Amy. “In this house – you’ve had someone here.”
She sat flicking through a magazine, the TV on low.
“MSNBC has learned that the loss of power on Flight 279 may have been an act of sabotage,” intoned a reporter on the tarmac at LAX, the lights of fire engines strobing red behind her. “Although Homeland Security has not ruled out terrorism, they suspect Los Angeles District Attorney Jan Ryan might have been the target of an elaborate murder attempt. Police and federal investigators are…”
Dogs everywhere, freaking him out. He hadn’t felt this way since bumping into the Monkey Man on Kings Heath High Street, Birmingham. Then, it was a deranged cabaret act at work: exhibitionism, British style, designed to rouse the masses from their torpor without succeeding, once again. Now, the surreal vision snarled at him with realistic intent.
“Why do girls get cunt and pussy when boys get dick and cock? It just isn’t fair!” The small feminine voice banged around the small kitchen for a second, to land in the ears of the girl sitting on laminate counter. Her high pitched voice made her friend wince as she let each word be punctuated by the knife slamming through carrots to chip at the counter bellow.