The Steve Weddle Memorial Airport Flash Fiction Challenge

You can find the challenge here


My step up to the plate can be found below:


My Airport


“What’d I tell you?” Mickey asked.

Jaime switched off the faucet and looked in the mirror. “It’s a big airport.”

“I know how big the airport is. That’s not what I asked.”

Jaime smirked, picked at a pimple on his jaw line just below his left ear, and said, “You told me to stay away from the airport.”

Mickey exhaled slowly and slid both his hands into his dark jeans. “And here the fuck you are.”

Jaime stood back and fussed with the frosted tips of his razored bangs. “Here the fuck I am.”

Mickey’s fist came out of his pocket, fingers all brass knuckle gleam. Jaime’s mouth O’ed. Mickey shoved him with his left and cracked him on the back of the head. Something exploded by Jaime’s eyes and he went down, clutching for anything to stay standing.

Mickey crushed the fingers clutching the sink rim. Jaime started to scream, but Mickey smothered it under his smooth palm, driving the blond head to the floor and unleashing another punch on the muscled abs beneath the tight, baby blue t-shirt.

“Now,” Mickey said, “my next punch…” He didn’t finish; just removed his hand and brushed Jaime’s big lips.

“No, please…”

“Just one more punch? Come on. It’ll improve your abilities.”

“Please…”

“What are you going to do?”

Jaime sniffled. “Get up—get up and walk out.”

“Why?”

“Because—“

Mickey raised his fist again, the brash knuckles smeared with scarlet.

“Because it’s your airport.”

Mickey helped Jaime up, handed him a paper towel and patted his ass on the way out.

****

Mickey followed the older man wearing the pressed suit into the bathroom. He sat his briefcase down on the white tile and stepped up to the urinal. Mickey paused for a moment before taking his place beside him.

He felt the man look over as he unzipped. Suit’s eyes quickly found a spot on the wall. Slowly, Mickey moved his foot over to the polished wingtips. The aged eyes found the gleam in Mickey’s blues.

Mickey pointed his chin to the closest stall.

To his stall.

It was his airport after all.

Friday Flash Fiction #12

Bold is the starter sentence provided at Friday Flash Fiction. The rest is all me.

She was always threatening to punch someone in the face, but this time she meant it.

I didn’t pick up on it right off, being across the room at the jukebox; a real jukebox, the kind filled with little records and the mechanical arm pulling ‘em from the stack and dropping ‘em for a needle spin. I knew there’d be good stuff on there.

I was too busy looking for Copperhead Road to know exactly how it started. Pretty damn crowded in there and the jukebox was right next to the pool table and this short dude who musta been pregnant with a boy, cause he was carrying low, was smacking the balls around like it was a lonely Saturday night.

It was Saturday, by the way.

But first thing I heard was Tara’s voice screech, “Bitch, I will punch you in the goddamn face.”

It got quiet. I started jabbing faster. They didn’t have Copperhead Road, but they did have Guitar Town and my favorite Johnny Paycheck song. Was hoping to hear at least one before they started screaming and the goddamn night was ruined and I’d have to set at a table in the corner and pat her hand and buy her those damned drinks that cost eight bucks cause they’re all fru-fru and served in some weird glass.

Then the other chick made the mistake of her life. She called Tara the C-word. No one calls Tara the C-word.

I left the jukebox, but Tara was already power-heeling her way over to Claw-bangs. Arms held up like she was wading through water, Tara’s fake tits (ex-husband number two was still paying those off) lead the way.

“I’m gonna punch you in the face,” she said again.

Claw-bangs smirked and said, “C—“ I cornered the pool table, “U—“ side-stepped around the big-assed waitress like I was back playing High School ball, “N—“ tripped my way through a line of chairs, “T.”

And Tara punched her hard in the mouth.

This wasn’t no girl punch. It was a man punch. It hit Claw-bangs square on the mush. Knocked her clean out and she hit the floor hard.

I snatched Tara round the waist and hauled ass. Once I hit the parking lot, I let her down, pushed her into the truck and fired that 350 up.

We was about halfway home before we even talked about it. Talking about it, we both got a little…well…hot, you know. I mean it was a rush. A pretty damn big rush.

I pulled the truck over and next thing I know we were going at. Truthfully, it kept our marriage going and it opened up something inside me, I don’t think I ever want to put away.

I likes me some strong women.

That’s how it all begun, really. Going out. Finding new bars. Started trouble. And her punching people. Short chicks. Tall chicks. Thin chicks. Fat chicks. Young chicks. Old chicks.

Man, it was awesome.

Watching her workout on the heavy bag I bought her. Wailing away on it. Getting hot and sweaty. Shower sex and then cruising to town.

Sure helped with her mouth at home. It was like her firing a hard right cross square into sparkly lip-gloss, took all the bitch out of her at home.


You know, we was even talking about getting her some boxing lessons.

Until tonight.

I ain’t never seen a chick hit like that. You box? No? You should. Maybe take up MMA like that hot chick, Gina Carano?

What size are those arms, baby? Why don’t you let me buy you a drink? Tara’s gonna be at least a week in the hospital.

Tinseltown Benedictions

I have a new story up at The Darkest Before The Dawn.

But first:

Big thanks to Aldo for maintaining so many first rate sites, being an A-1 stand-up guy, and putting up with a couple of whiny e-mails from me about when he would be able to resume posting the accepted pieces.

Now, you can read Maiden’s Prayer for something a little quieter than my usual work.

If you like it, you may be in luck and get to see the main character again, relatively soon.

Flash Fiction Challenge

Below you'll find my piece for Patti Abbott's Flash Fiction Challenge. The challenge was to produce a story no more than 800 words and set in a Wal-Mart.

Angsted about this for too long, something I have a tendency to do anyway, before just setting down and writing whatever came to my head during a half-hour spurt. Not incredibly blown away by it, but I think in the long run, forcing myself to do more stuff like this will be beneficial. So:

The Black Friday of Daniel Maddox

His knuckles throbbed, the heater in his truck broke last week, and he had a bit of a headache from too many cups of instant coffee, but, at 4:45 in the morning, Daniel Maddox walked to the rear of the Wal-Mart and tried not to think it.

There was a line in electronics. Maddox took his place five back and rubbed his temples. Didn’t you fuckers sleep, he thought to himself, then realized his right hand wasn’t holding the four crisp hundred dollars bills folded up neatly in his pocket.

He stuck both hands in his pockets and waited. His right hand sweated around the bills.

Maddox flinches as stomach rumbled. He rolled his neck and didn't think about not being able to afford the 300 plus tax, even if it was for a Sony television the size of a theatre screen. It was big gift; a big gift the whole family could use and he'd show it off and not feel bad about the dwindling checking account and fumbling his way through online applications because no one, fucking no one, took paper applications. And when he hauled that big fucker out, maybe, just maybe, for one moment he could feel like a man again.

Maddox realized he had to pee. He looked at his watch: 4:56 am. The line had grown behind him. He stood clenched his legs together. Just a few more minutes.

The man behind him coughed. Air swept over his neck.

You’re got to be kidding me, he thought and took a deep breath. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried to remember if there was wrapping paper at home.

The line moved.

Maddox’s bladder ached. He adjusted his belt. The man behind him sneezed again. Wetness splattered against his neck. Maddox looked back at him and glared.

The line moved.

At the very front was a young girl in one of those blue vests. Dyed hair. Nose ring. She looked sleepy, but wide-eyed. “In one minute,” she said, “it will be five o’clock. Please follow the yellow lines to your purchase. No running. No pushing. No shoving.”

Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up. Maddox's head pounded.

“Okay, it’s five.”

The line moved.

Fuck.

Cables and wires and cords...no tv.

Why didn’t I find it ahead of time?

An old woman pushed one of the massive televisions past him. Daniel turned quickly and found only video games.

Fuck.

He hit the end of the aisle and looked left. There it was. He started to run…stopped...started again at a quick power walk. He couldn’t help it but he was grinning. Finally, he thought, fucking finally something…

The sneezing man grabbed the last box and smiled.

Daniel stalled.

The sneezing man smiled.

My tv?!?! He took my goddamn tv!

Daniel’s bladder released and his anger flowed. He corned the aisle, saw the sneezing man and broke into a run.

“Sir, no running—“ The girl started.

He dove. The sneezing man turned and yelped. They both went crashed into an end-cap of $2 dvds.

The girl screamed.

The sneezing man cried for help and coughed. When the spittle hit his face, Daniel exploded. He rocketed a clumsy fist into that snotty nose. He cuffed him on the side of the head. He punched him in the mouth and reached for the wire display case.

He wanted to smash this fucker’s skull in. He couldn’t have something else taken from him.

The two security guards grabbed Daniel and yanked him backwards. Daniel howled and fired a sloppy fist at the nearest crouch. The fattest security guard went down as Daniel tried to scramble to his feet.

The moustached one tackled him. Maddox's front tooth chipped on the dirty electronics floor. The two guards yanked him back down the aisle.

Fatty kicked him in the thigh and reached for the mace on his belt. Daniel tried to turn his head away from the burning blast. When he did, he saw the display...three more televisions, his television, right next to the electronics checkout.

The spray hit his eyes and then even his sight was gone.

Something else they had taken away.

Ring time!

New story up at A Twist of Noir. You can check out Mask versus Mask here.

Should have another tale up soon at Darkest Before The Dawn. Sometime this week, assuming the holidays don't eat up all my non-day-job time, I'll post the next chapter of Dogfight!.

The TV Show I Love

The television and I have always been close. As a child, we lived out in the middle of nowhere and the few houses remotely close were childless. Both my parents worked a great deal, so during the school year I poured my own bowls of cereal, got myself dressed and down the long driveway to the mailbox where I waited to board the bus for my hour long ride. During the summer, I kept myself occupied during the hazy stretch of days.

Naturally, I read a lot of books.

But I also watched a lot of television and have fond memories of a number of shows. A few, like Punky Brewster, are part and parcel with my childhood. I don’t think I’ll ever forget all the cartoons from back when Saturday morning was nothing but cartoons. The shows like The Cosby Show and Quantum Leap offered those rare times when the entire family sat down together and they remain among the better memories of my youth.

Though, it’s not all pleasant. A number of old shows I used to watch have been released on DVD and after a repeat viewing are revealed to be utter pieces of shit. (*cough* 21 Jump Street *cough*) After the worst ones, I consider calling my parents to apologize for forced viewing.

I suppose there’s a lesson there about how our tastes change; maybe even something about putting away childish things? Or, more likely, simply, the realization that some things should never be drug out of nostalgia’s blissful mists and memory is really, despite all its assurances to the contrary, one lying motherfucker.

However, there are some shows that hit me on a deep level; either entertaining and exciting me or speaking to me in a way that shaped whole facets of my personality and my opinions. These haven’t lost luster after a viewing with grown-up eyes.

I still love anything by Jim Henson—The Muppet Show, Fraggle Rock, The Storyteller. If it can ever be said that I’m a decent person, not hateful or selfish or mean, Henson takes some of that responsibility. I’ll Fly Away, the sadly neglected masterpiece set during the Civil Rights era, informed my sense of drama. Alice will always remind me of my mother. I still want Tom Baker’s scarf in Doctor Who. The two brief seasons of Michael Mann’s epic Crime Story led me to pulp and hardboiled fiction and cemented my love of pompadours and sideburns. Not to mention the strangeness of Stacy Keach in Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer with his period outfit and 50s era misogyny in a world that was obviously still 1985. The late night horrors of Friday the Thirteenth: The Series scared the shit out of me and gave me my first television crush on a woman, the lovely redhead who played Micki Foster (Alyssa Milano in the awful Who’s The Boss was the first crush on a girl). Monica, Rachel, Phoebe, Ross, Chandler and Joey still seem like old friends to me. And I chased the truth with Agents Mulder and Scully all the way into adulthood.

But if I had to pick a show, one show and only one, to write about it would be Beauty & The Beast. Man, I loved that show. I never would have admitted it at the time. But I can now.

In the show, a case of mistaken identity leaves Catherine Chandler with her face slashed and her body dumped in Central Park. She’s rescued by a mysterious stranger and taken to a secret city far below the mundane world. In this sanctuary, this subterranean utopia, the castoffs, the forgotten, and the lost make their home safely away from the horrors of the metropolis above...

The stranger nurses her back to health.

When the bandages come off, Catherine's eager to meet the man who saved her life, who care for her and read her Dickens by candle light. But the stranger is no ordinary man; Vincent is a beast. He doesn’t know where he came from or why his visage is so terrifying. He too was abandoned and left for dead. Found by the man the citizens of the world below call Father, he was taken down into the depths where everything has a right to live.

Catherine returns to her world. She leaves her high-priced law firm and joins the D.A.’s office. But Vincent can’t let her go. The two of them share a bond. And when her life is in danger he will risk his own by coming to the surface and saving her once again.

The first season of Beauty & the Beast was one part romance and one part crime show. The second season eased up on the criminal elementals, featuring more imaginative and character driven pieces. Regrettably, near the end of the second season the action took center stage in an attempt to increase ratings among younger, male viewers. The third and final season opened Catherine-less, featuring a new female lead following the startling and violent season finale.

The show was this wonderful mixture of different genres that managed not to come off as a half-assed mishmash. It was able to deal with all those "real" issues "literary fiction" tries to claim as its own, yet still be entertaining. It was imaginative and exciting. Well-acted by Linda Hamilton, Ron Perlman, and the under-appreciated Roy Dotrice. The superb effects were crafted by the extraordinary Rick Baker. Best-selling author George RR Martin served as story editor and penned some of the most outstanding episodes.

In college, I took a class on Shakespeare. The professor could never move me with the Bard's words the way Vincent did when I first heard him recite, "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes..."

Now, I'm not embarassed to admit that I love this show. Most dismiss it as just silly romance. It's not and, even if it were, what's wrong with romance?

Romance isn't male or female.

Love is human.

Even if it has a lion's face.

Scene of the Crimes

This is where it goes down... where the magic is created.... or at the very least, the typing. Though, recently, there hasn't even been enough of that. Soon, I hope to remedy that. Have some stuff I'll be sending out soon. And shortly, there should be a new piece up at Darkest Before The Dawn.