Word gets out

A stream of consciousness exercise -

Photo by Johannes Krupinski on Unsplash

I pass the goons on the way to wherever the Shovel has sent me. Some run down joint, like they always are. It’s not like the films, never is. Why did I get into this game?

They tell me The Shovel likes his hitters to speak to The Lady. It’s like therapy. Like a warm handshake from the other side, the side you’re going to send them. Goons laugh. They all have a laugh.

The door is opened for me, big gap-toothed goon. Is there some place they go for these shithead meatfists? Goon school? None of them any good in a knife fight. I mentally piss on him as I pass, laughing at the flames as his fat ignites. I like that way.

Smell of vignettes from the gypsy circus hits me and there she is. What a crone that Lady must be, like a goth pastiche from the 80s. Face in veil. She must be a looker alright, to cover that mush up. Is that even a rose, a plastic rose threaded in there? And those fishnet gloves? What the fuck is this joke?

She beckons me sit, velvet stretches out over the circle, the place seems to crowd in around me, deep in this nest of red and gold. Walls like a caravan, painted on roses. Jingle of silver at her wrist as lace glove hands smooth the cloth. Jesus Christ, if the Shovel wasn’t such a name, I’d be out of here, giving the hairy side to this waste of space.

We sit and stare. I’m not going to start this bullshit freakshow with a hello, but she does eventually.

“Everyone gets sent to me,” she gurgles. Wasn’t expecting that voice.

“Is that right.”

“Sure as sugar. But they don’t all leave thinking about Lady the way they were when they came in.”

“Can’t wait for the revelation, Lady.” Civility sticks in the craw.

“Something tells me you’re not the chit-chatter type?”

“You don’t need a crystal ball for that.”

She laughs, it tinkles. Her sounds are young, but everything else reeks of the ages. She clicks fingers and from behind her, a crack, a door, a swish and some rake thin thing comes through. My nerves twitch at the suddenness. Always look for the doors, but didn’t see this one, did you Blue? I start the reach but the goons took it. Boot blade would do for them both. I know it’s there.

Rake has a platter, on it some smoking junk. He preps something for her, a long holder, gold bands on black and some hand rolling shit. I hate that stuff. Here we go. Always the mystics. Where’s the fucking crystals? She hears my sigh. Seems to take longer on purpose but eventually the shit is lit and she draws…and draws…and holds. Here it comes, I hate this stuff. I inhale and hold so I don’t have to take any of it in…but she never seems to blow it out. Set of lungs! Would she be a screamer?

I wait. There’s something – just a hint – something I didn’t smell before. She tokes again – same thing. Where is she sending that smoke? Then I see it – it’s like it’s rising from beneath her like she’s blowing it out of her ass. I nearly laugh but hold it in. She’s sitting like some half smoke octopus, arms weaving round her.

“I can see you seem to be in some…discomfort. Mr. Nardini”

“It’s Blue. Call me Blue.”

“As you like it.” She draws again. Smoke rises. Again a ten second delay. There’s a scent of something Dutch hippy shit. Gotta keep my wits. She’s playing me playing some sort of game for sure. Who cracks first?

“Are we going to get to the point… Lady? Ma’am? Do I call you Lady or what?”

“Lady is my preference,” She tinkles again. I want to see her face, that smoke stick poking from the veil is making my fingers curl. I send them under the table. Closer to home.

“They say… you had difficulty with the last one, Blue. Is that right?”

I suck in, brow furrowed and the last one’s face flashes up, wet in the black bags, tape snapped, legs kicking, eyes wide and hopeless.

“Who says that?” Is all I can manage. The job was done, in the end. I got new grit from it. There was nobody there, So who is “they”? Saying what to who and what does Lady know about it?

“Word gets out.” It comes out long and smooth.

Shovel got eyes on me or what? Must have. But what the fuck. The job got done. Not neat but neat wasn’t the brief. His eyes! His eyes, bulging through the bloody beating and the tape sucking in and out of his mouth I want to listen to what he has to say for some reason when I know I don’t need to don’t really want to shouldn’t but what if I do and is it showing on my face because his face is changing, the panting is slowing, he’s trying to speak he can see something in my face I’m giving myself away he’s gargling and it sounds like “Pleeeaaaase” like “Liiiiisteennnnn” like “We can make a deeeaalll” like “You need to know something” like “They’re going to kill you too.” like “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

But maybe that’s my own voice my own fears pumping air back and forth through the tape over the poor fuck’s face?

I get the grit and he’s weeping as I make myself crouch closer to him with the gun barrel slow between the eyes and he can’t help but focus on the tip of it, like when you were kids with your finger making yourself go cross eyed in the playground but nobody’s laughing now. Then all his sounds stop, everything but the tape sucking in and out of his mouth like a beat boxer making a broken heart-beat loop. He knows what’s coming the eyes close the gun touches him right between and I wait and I wait and the tape slows down in and out as he comes to terms and he waits for it all to stop ‘cos he knows it’s coming like sundown. He’s one of us and he knows this story.

But I can’t do it.

I stand up turn round away from him, turn back draw a bead with the anonymous M2, suppressor ready, and still I can’t do it still his eyes are closed and I bring the focus back to the tip of the…

“You couldn’t take the shot, my little boy Blue,” the witch butts in right then and there and finishes my story for me. Chapter one at least.

“Was it something he said, get inside your head hmmm? Tell Lady.”

Shovel got eyes on me. Must have.

My mind’s trying to race but something’s got hold of its feet.

I gotta think but not for too long here. Theres an angle grinding gears somewhere but what and who? I did the job. Didn’t I? Did I get it wrong? Can’t have. Right time, right place, Klong was there, just like the Goons said. I burnt the paperwork.

“He’s dead and buried, Lady.”

She leans back into cushion wicker arms that creak, lays down the cigarette holder on the tray, one stray tendril rising. I can’t smell it any longer.

“Give it to me…blow by blow … would you?”

Someone was fucking there, marking my homework. How does she know? She doesn’t know. She knows! They know! How the fuck? In the dark?

“Is this some sort of game we’re playing here?”

The words come out slow and stretchy like the batteries are dying. It’s the smoke. Must be. It didn’t smell like it, but sure as shit there’s something getting into me. I need to leave and I gather myself to stand.

“You’ll stay a little longer, baby Blue. I need to hear it. From your lips, you see?”

She’s reading my mind. I can feel the walls closing in I got a sense for a trap a survivor sense but I didn’t sense this was it, this rag doll. I stare at her, her edges blur like the lace is alive like she’s inflating. Something in the smoke. It’s in me it’s fucking in me! Sweat bead rests on an eyebrow and I wait for things to get worse I’m hanging on to my truth.

“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do, baby boy Blue. You’re going to tell me your past … and I’m going to tell you the future.”

My eyes close to slits, the sweat bead rolls and it feels like slow motion.

“Give me your hand, darling.” She’s getting bigger than the room, her voice has an echo of its own. I put my hand on the velvet.

“Palm up, right?” I’m whispering to myself to give in now.

“That’s the spirt,” she says, and I feel her gloved hand sheath my trigger finger and trace the length of it nails dragging light to the tip and then back to grip it. “Oooooh, baby boy Blue,” she hums, “This is the one that does all the work, hmmm?”

My hand shakes and can’t stop it, can’t stop the urge to make a claw, a fist but she holds it harder. There’s a belly knot forming down deep and tight and the whisper to give in is a sing-song now but I won’t.

“What shit did you give me?” It sounds like a minute between each word, my tongue’s a basking lizard.

“It won’t kill you, baby Blue. Look at me… alive as light.” The laugh tinkles like glass wind chimes. “Seems you’re not a smoker. Seems I took you far and wider than I needed, but is all for the good Sugar. Now tell me the past I want to hear, tell Lady. I need to hear it from your mouth, see it in your eyes…so I can get the measure of the man. Hmmm?”

I start the story.

“The mark was Klong. He’s a name. Sorta. That’s all I know about him. I got the paperwork from The Shovel, same as ever. I picked up the car at the usual place. It was tooled up for me, it’s a clockwork routine…”

I trail off, echoes chasing the words to silence… I don’t know why Klong didn’t see it coming. Did he think I was the mark maybe? shit is that it? It was me supposed to die, out in the desert, sand in the cracks? He was vocal, behind the tape, shouting for someone. He was easy…too easy. He was waiting for someone else. That’s it, that’s got to be it. Something went wrong upstream. They think I know, think I’m in on it, Shovel’s having trust issues. That has to be it. And this is going to be it.

Somehow it doesn’t matter. I laugh

“This is good shit, Lady. Never thought I’d say that.” I’m getting the shakes, feeling the blood drain but I’m happy.

“Finish up, now.” She says, words like a school bus kiss.

“I take him out with the gun butt, tape him up and drop him in the trunk. It’s about a 2 hour drive. Don’t think I was followed but I always shake for the spot, and never the same place twice, you know?”

Colours are shifting, edges and echoes, then there’s a line of light and Rake appears again, he’s got a tray but I don’t stop talking.

“I drag him out, he starts screaming behind the tape, so I beat him round the head some, tell him to shut the fuck up, and he does, or maybe he’s out. I don’t check. Then I dig him a spot and drag him over to it and he’s come round and he starts screaming something behind the tape…” I trail off again.

“But you didn’t do it, did you,” she squeezes my trigger finger twice, quickly.

If you know…why do you need me to say it?

“I have to hear it from your mouth, see it in your eyes. Come now, Sugar. Not far to go.”

I’m shaking hard and my mouth feels tight like the truth got knotted up down inside the gullet. An uncomfortable mouthful. I stare at her where her face is behind the lace. She’s giving nothing away. How old is she? Why do I have to say it when she already knows?

I hold the gun, the grip tightens, moonlight shining off it, highlighting the blood on his face, hands are shaking. Why can’t I do it? He opens his eyes he’s looking at me and trying to speak again. This time it’s slow and steady I can almost hear the words. There’s a corner of tape flapping where the gun butt smacked his jaw and lifted it as teeth ground out beneath. I lean in and pull back the tape and I let him speak and I listen and learn.

“…and I can’t respect him no more, he’s not worth a bullet, So, yeah. I takes the spade and beat him about the head instead, bam bam bam, ‘til the skull cracks open, then I wrap him and roll him and cover him with sand like the shit he is.”

She sniffs, let’s go of my hand and claps once.

“My oh my, you don’t look at all well. Your face is quite an unholy colour.”

I don’t stop shaking.

“What we need us, is a nice cup of sweet tea, hmmm?”

I see that the Rake has brought it in. She swirls the pot and pours out into two fancy bone white porcelain cups. Two sugars. Plink plink.

“Drink up. You’ll feel much better. Sure as sugar and quick as quick.” She laughs at her little joke, but she’s right. For a while. Then a different feeling kicks in. Ah this is it…this is what that feels like.

“I told you the truth,” I say, thick through foam forming on my lips. Spittle drool dripping.

“Oh, you tried. You’ tried so hard, and you nearly did, baby Blue.”

“I did him. Just like I said.”

“But you didn’t tell me every little thing, now, did you? I didn’t hear it from your lips, but I saw it in your eyes. You didn’t tell me what that bad man Klong told you. And that’s the thing. The trust is gone now Sugar.”

“I always do them. I did all of them.”

“Oh I know you do, sweetest boy. They all told me exactly what you did.”

With thanks to

Edith Bow

for running the show, and

C.J. Stockton

for the prompt words Divination Arsenic Hypoglycemia

With Special Guest appearance to

Keith Long

This short story arose out a stream of consciousness workshop hosted by the illustrious Edith and with the benefit of the delicious prompt words from CJ Stockton. They drew this tale out from the beyond like a gift. I know absolutely nothing about guns and crime families except what I saw on American cinema and TV. So you can blame that for all ridiculous innacuracies.