Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Beating the Block

AAAAAAaaaaaaaagh! Writing a scream or a yell is always a conundrum. Is it just a string of a's? Do you add that "gh" on the end? Maybe throw a couple other letters in there? Some u's, perhaps? Who knows. 

The reason for the yelling? I have no idea what to write. Maybe missing yesterday's post is affecting my brain-box. It halted my creative train. It felt good, just rolling along, the posts coming quite easily. The fateful block has impeded my progress. Just gotta write. Write write write, write through the block. 

Just keep writing, just keep writing. Here, quick! Flash-fiction!

Here's my idea, doubling the old Raymond Chandler advice: If you don't know what to do, have a guy with a gun walk into the room. Why not have two?


The corpse lay on the floor, blood drenching the white faux-fur rug underneath. Lightning crashed outside, illuminating the room in violent flashes. Furniture cast quick dark shadows, a chair and a couch. Two silhouettes faced each other. 

One reached a hand and flicked on a stand lamp. Light filled the room, glinting off the guns. 

"Well," one of the figures, a man wearing a black suit and holding a gun with a silencer on the end. "This is awkward."

"He was mine, goddamnit," the other said, pulling off a black ski-mask. He wore a black get-up that looked light and easy to move in, something a thief might wear. He too, held a gun with a silencer. 

The two guns pointed at each other. 

"I didn't see your name on him," the suited man said with a smile. 

The man with mask frowned. "I hacked the security system, snuck in through the back, knocked out the maid in the back without making a sound. I planned this."

The other shrugged. "I made good with the butler and talked my way in. Then I bludgeoned him from behind. I'm not much for hiding and sneaking like a petty thief."

"And I ain't much for pretty-talk and shmoozing." 

There was a moment of silence. 

"I believe we are at an impasse."

"I shot him, fair and square."

"So did I."

"You should just turn around and leave. I'm a quicker shot than you."

"Now, now, let's be professionals." The finely dressed man glanced at the corpse. 

"We can't split him."

"No, I'm sure our employers wouldn't allow that."

"Who hired you, by the way?"

"It would be highly unprofessional to give away my client."

"Yeah well shit, if it's the same guy who hired me, it was mighty unprofessional of him to hire two hitmen."

"You have a fair point."

They sat down on the couch, guns pointed at the floor. 

"Handy," the man with the mask said, dropping the ski-mask and offering a hand. 

"It suits you," the other man said, taking the hand and shaking it. "I am known as The Pro."

Handy nodded his head. "I've heard of you. That Pell job sounded like hell."

The Pro shrugged. "Things happen. The client acted...unprofessionally."

Handy laughed. "You sure dealt with him, from what I heard."

"I handled the situation."

"And now, our situation?"

"I'm thinking. In all my years, this has never occurred."

A door opened into the room. "Sir, sir are you there?" The butler called, rubbing his head. He gasped, seeing the room. 

Handy moved first, standing and firing two bullets in a blink. 

The butler staggered back, falling. 

The Pro looked at his companion with raised eyebrows. "You weren't bluffing. You are quicker than I."

Handy shrugged, as if uncomfortable with the compliment. "I got quick hands," he said. He walked over and checked the butler's pulse. 

The Pro got up, putting a finger to his lips. He walked over to another door, the one Handy had come from. 

It opened, revealing the maid with a phone to her ear. She was saying something when she saw The Pro standing in front of her. He was a large man and she couldn't see the room beyond him. 

"Miss, miss," The Pro said, his voice loud and commanding. 

She stopped, her mouth open. 

"Close the phone, your master needs assistance, immediately!" 

She took him in, the exquisite suit, the chiseled face, clean-shaven, hair black with flecks of gray. His soothing voice, in control, sounding as if he belonged. She closed the phone. "Who are you?" She asked. 

"A friend, dear miss, a friend. Someone attacked your master and ran, please, come quickly." He turned and gestured into the room. 

She took a couple steps in, eyes widening. She opened her mouth to scream when The Pro's hand clamped around her mouth. 

He wrapped an arm around her throat and choked her into unconsciousness. He let her down gently.

"Nicely done," Handy said, walking over. "We don't know if she said anything before she hung up, though." 

The Pro nodded. "Indeed, we should make our way out quickly."

"Look, I understand if you don't want to give up your client, you got your code or whatever, but if we got screwed over, I ain't letting it go. I'll go first."

The Pro hesitated, before nodding. "Very well."

"It was the girl. She didn't say her name but you know who I'm talking about."

The Pro nodded. "The daughter, she hired me as well."

Handy shook his head in disgust. "Who does that?"

"A young woman who doesn't understand the world we live in."

"She will soon enough," Handy snarled. 

The Pro sighed. "Let us not be too harsh." He gestured to the corpse. "Perhaps we can visit her together and explain the situation."

"Then she's paying me double," Handy spat. "And you too."

The Pro nodded. "She will surely have enough money, now." 

No comments:

Post a Comment