Flash Fiction Interlude: Revolutions Begin at Home

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written for Sunday Scribblings and features Vince Mott, a character from Diana's Diary, which is part of my Will and Diana series. You can read more stories about Vince and his gang by following the tag at the bottom of the post.
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"That's a stupid plan. We should just kill him."

Vince kept his voice calm. "We can't go killing everyone who annoys us, Speedball. You know that."

"We'd have a lot less enemies." Speedball reflexively reached a hand toward the blade at his hip. "Everyone would be afraid of us."

Did Vince want to rehash that tired old argument? They were just a small gang in a city overrun with them since the Resource Wars. Stealth, not force, was the way to stay alive. He was marshaling his arguments when a crisp knock caught his attention. The door opened, and without meaning to, Vince smiled. Three was a new addition to their group and as easy on the eyes as she was good with a gun.

"Gotta talk to you boss." She strode into the room and pulled up a rickety chair. "I ran into a couple Catorces out there. They said to tell you Quix is on his way to talk to you about some kind of plot."

Without waiting for Vince to respond, Speedball grinned. "We're in. Who are we going to kill?"

Three gave him a withering look. "What are you high on today, Speedy? You haven't even heard the details."

"If we're destroying something, I'm for it. And don't call me Speedy, bitch."

"Don't call me bitch, asshole."

"That's enough." Vince glared at Speedball, then turned his attention to Three. "What else did the Catorces say?"

She gave a little shrug that shifted her cleavage in a way Vince would've liked to have seen more of. "They didn't want to talk in public. You never know who's an informer, but they hinted it was some kind of gang alliance to bring El Duque down."

Speedball nodded in satisfaction. "We'll blow the bastard up next time he goes to that bakery he likes. Then we'll take over the city. It'll be a revolution!"

"If we kill El Duque, who will be in charge?" Three demanded.

"We don't need leaders. Every man for himself."

"Of course we need leaders, otherwise it'll be chaos."

"What's wrong with chaos? Are you too weak to handle it?"

"What's wrong with decent leadership? Are you too weak in the head to understand it?"

"Stop that, both of you," Vince said. "If you two have something to work out, do it elsewhere."

Three stood up. With a little sneer at Speedball, she announced that she wouldn't dream of fighting someone who was mentally impaired.

Vince watched her flounce out of the room and suppressed a sigh of disappointment.

"Quit staring at her ass, boss."

"What? Get out of here." Vince shooed Speedball away. "Next time I see you, be ready to talk sense, or you're out."

Alone, Vince reached in the drawer of his rusty office desk and took out a bottle of scotch that he had pilfered from a recent warehouse heist. Speedball needed to do something about his drug habit and in the meantime, Three was going to have to quit goading him. Those weren't the least of his worries either, and now one of his best allies was on his way over to entice him to join a revolution?

Vince took a sip of stolen single malt and sighed. Clearly a revolution was needed, but the place to begin was here.

Flash Fiction Interlude: Normal Annoyances

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written for Sunday Scribblings and features Vince Mott, a character from Diana's Diary, which is part of my Will and Diana series. You can read more about Vince by following the tag at the bottom of the post.
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Vince paid the bar tab and motioned to the pretty girl on the stool beside him. "Come on, I know where we can go."

As he led her outside, he tried to remember what she said her name was - Lori, Lauren, Lorelei? It hardly mattered. She was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen at Chico's Bar, although that wasn't saying much. Too bad she had such expensive taste in liquor and lived with her mother. Having paid her bill, Vince now couldn't afford to take her to a hotel. Her home, of course, was out of the question.

"Where are we going?" Laura asked.

"A place I know. Don't worry - it's safe and we won't be bothered."

Vince and his gang were currently squatting in an old warehouse, but as their leader, Vince had a private office which he also used as sleeping quarters. He nodded at the guard as they entered the run-down building. "Things been quiet tonight?"

The correct answer, of course, was "yes" but Xerox was a newcomer to Vince's shady operations and didn't pick up on the obvious clues. "Speedball is missing, boss."

"So what's new?" Vince tried to steer Lori toward his office.

"Ozone says there's something wrong with the radio, and Peru has been throwing up for the last half hour."

Vince shrugged. "Keep up the good work."

As they made their way to the office, Lorelei whispered, "Shouldn't you do something?"

"About what?" He opened the door to his office, ushered her inside and closed it behind them. "It's always something with them. They'll figure it out."

She appeared skeptical, but accepted Vince's kisses. He backed her against his desk and was fumbling with the buttons on her shirt when there was a knock at the door.

"Go away!"

"I need to talk to you."

"Tell me in the morning, Gitana."

Silence, then more knocking. "It's important!"

With a sigh of frustration, Vince went to the door. "What?"

Gitana brushed her dark curls out of her eyes and gave him a doe-eyed look. "Um..."

"Yes?"

"I thought you should know Peru is sick." She tried to glance around him at the girl sitting on the desk.

"I already know, thanks." He made to shut the door.

"But--"

"Enough. Go away." Vince slammed the door and turned around. "Sorry about that."

"Hey, if you have other commitments..."

Vince cupped Lauren's chin in his hand. "Nothing is more important than you."

Nothing, it seemed, except the urgent knock on the door two minutes later.

"What now?"

Ozone answered through the door. "Speedball's back. He's cut up pretty bad."

"Send for my sister. She'll bandage him up."

"There's no one to send. Gitana was pissed about something and left."

"You go, then. Do I have to think of everything?"

In the silence that followed, Vince turned back to Laurie. "If it wasn't for me, these guys wouldn't be able to figure out how to drink water."

She nodded and finished unbuttoning her blouse herself. "Seems like a big job."

"Not as big as what I've got for you, baby." He gestured toward the mattress on the floor. "Let's get a little more comfortable."

He had almost gotten Laurel undressed and was enjoying the fluttering of her fingers as she fumbled to undo his belt when there came another knock at the door.

"Goddamn it." He raised himself on one elbow. "Unless the building is on fire, go away!"

"Quix is here, boss." It was Fausto. "He says he knows it's kind of last minute, but one of his partners is a no-show and he needs a couple guys, fast, to help close a deal tonight."

Vince met Lorena's eyes.

"You have to take this one, don't you?" she asked.

He nodded in resignation, stood up and began straightening his clothes. "Send him back here."

A few minutes later Lorinda was neatly dressed and sitting in one of Vince's chairs. Vince was in his patched leather executive's chair, tapping impatiently on the desk. He got up and extended a hand when Quix walked in, but didn't offer his usual boisterous greetings.

Quix darted a glance at the girl, then sat down. "I hope I'm not ruining your evening, but I need a couple guys I can count on and I know how you're always ready to make a buck."

"Yeah." Vince covered for his annoyance by taking a bottle of whiskey out of a desk drawer and pouring them each a glass.

Quix accepted the whiskey and took a sip. "Anything the matter, man? You seem a little off."

Vince shot back his whiskey and poured another glass. He could refuse this deal, of course, but it wasn't wise to turn down an opportunity to do a favor for a fellow gang leader. Besides, the way this night was going it didn't look like he going to get very far with Loretta, if that was even her name. "Nothing's wrong other than the usual, friend. Just another normal night around this place."

Flash Fiction Interlude: Thieves and Politicians

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written for Sunday Scribblings and features Vince Mott, a character from Diana's Diary, which is part of my Will and Diana series. You can read more about Vince by following the tag at the bottom of the post.
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Vince sat at the battered metal desk in the office of the abandoned warehouse he and his gang called home. He frowned at the numbers on the piece of paper in front of him and tried to re-do his calculations. He was pretty sure Big Jim from the Sabados had shorted him on their recent handoff of stolen pharmaceuticals, but he couldn't prove it.

Something wasn't adding up, and he was beginning to get a headache. It wasn't the smoke from the guttering kerosene lamp that was making his head pound, and it wasn't his hangover or the numbers themselves. What was grating on his nerves and making him clench his teeth in frustration was the low hum of a squabble somewhere in the warehouse. It was common for arguments to break out among his group of misfits, but this had been going on for nearly an hour.

With a scrape of rusted castors on the concrete floor, Vince pushed back his chair and stood up. What did it take for a guy to get a little peace and quiet around this place? He went into the area his team used as living quarters, where he found his idealistic lieutenant Ozone under verbal attack.

"You're delusional," Peru was telling him.

"We're not buying into your twisted fantasy," Fausto added.

"What the hell is going on?" Vince said.

Ozone turned to him but it was soulful spitfire Gitana who spoke. "This idiot thinks we should vote in today's election."

Vince looked at Ozone in curiosity. "Is that what all the yelling has been about?"

"They won't listen," Ozone explained. "They think voting does no good."

"They're right," Vince said with a shrug. "El Duque has this town all locked up. The elections are just a cover."

"It's rigged," Fausto agreed, coming to stand by Gitana. "A waste of our time."

"It's not a waste of time." Ozone appealed to Vince. "Even if El Duque's men throw away all our ballots, we're at least sending a message."

Vince raised his eyebrows. "What kind of message? He already knows he's a thieving bastard. Voting for someone else won't do any good."

Ozone sputtered. "But— if we don't vote for someone else, El Duque will think we want him and his goons in power. Or that we don't care, you know? We have to let him know how we feel. That's what democracy is all about."

Gitana gave a derisive snort. "Democracy? You think this is the old days or something? You think we're still part of the United States?"

"The United States isn't a democracy either any more," Peru reminded her.

"Right." Gitana turned back to Ozone. "There's no such thing as a democracy, except in the history books, so quit pestering us about it."

Before Ozone could say anything, Vince held up a hand for silence. "She's right," he said. "We're only a democracy on paper and you've got no business harassing anyone about it." At Ozone's crestfallen look he added, "But you're right about one thing - if you vote, you're at least taking a stand." He looked each member of the group in turn. "Vote or don't vote, makes no difference to me. But if you don't vote, don't complain about who gets elected, got it?"

After getting everyone's nodded agreement that this was reasonable, Vince told them to keep things quiet and went back to his office. A few minutes later, Ozone poked his head in.

"Thanks for sticking up for me, boss."

Vince looked up from where he was still trying to figure out how he had been shorted. "I don't know if I'd call it that."

"You got them to quit arguing with me."

"I did that because you guys were bugging the shit out of me."

"Well, thanks anyway." Ozone paused, then asked, "So are you going to go vote?"

"Hell, no. They're all dishonest bastards. Even if we got another guy in the mayor's seat, he'd be no better." He bent back over his columns of numbers and now he saw the problem. With a pleased little grin, he calculated how much Big Jim owed him. He shook his head as he listened to the clop of Ozone's boots walking away. Poor guy was a good fighter, but too optimistic. Vince knew there were enough thieves in this world, himself included, without voting for any more of them.

Flash Fiction Interlude: Limited Operations

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written for Sunday Scribblings. It's also part of the Will and Diana series, which you can find out more about in the sidebar or by following the tags. This particular story takes place around the time Will and Diana first started with Unitas, when they were in their early teens.
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The journey had taken longer than they expected. Although the map was good and they were familiar with the terrain from last spring's campaigns, Will and Diana found the roads washed out and a bridge collapsed from recent storms. Their horses were hardy and patient, but that patience didn't extend to the teenage messengers. When they came within sight of town, Diana urged her mare to a trot with Will close behind.

Since it was evening, they bypassed the clinic and went straight to the doctor's house where Will banged an urgent staccato on the door.

A white-haired gentleman opened the door and frowned. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Dr. Eldridge?" At his nod, Will handed him an envelope. "Message from Commander Harley Mayes with Unitas."

"You have to come with us right away," Diana blurted.

The doctor looked at her over the tops of his glasses before turning his attention to the letter. "I'm afraid what you're asking is impossible."

Will and Diana glanced at each other. They were new to running messages for a military unit and had no idea if this sort of response was unusual or should even be allowed.

The old man appeared to read their minds. "For one thing, I'm not part of your military operation, although I support you. Second, I'm the only doctor this town's got." He waved a hand for emphasis. "I have a typhoid case on the other side of Main, and a young woman up the street is due to have her first child any day now."

"But this is appendicitis," Diana said. "Francisco has to have a doctor."

"He has to have a surgeon," Dr. Eldridge corrected her. He folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. "I haven't done an appendectomy in years and even if I did that kind of operation every day, I wouldn't want to do it under field conditions."

Will reached a stealthy hand toward his gun, but the doctor had sharp eyes.

"That won't do you any good, son." He sighed and handed back the letter. "Even if I went with you, it's not likely your man would make it. The danger of complication and infection is too great."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Diana asked in exasperation. "Is there another doctor we can ask?"

"No one close, I'm afraid." Dr. Eldridge gazed at her and his features softened. "How about you bring your patient here and I'll see what I can do."

"He's in pain, he has a fever, and he's throwing up," Will said. "He can't get here. That's why we came to get you."

"And I can't go with you. I'm sorry."

Before they could question the man further, he shut the door, leaving Will and Diana staring at each other on the front porch.

"We can't go back without any help at all," Diana said.

"I have a good mind to kidnap him."

"Think that would help?"

"No telling." Will shoved the letter in a pocket. "Let's think about this."

Diana followed him to where their horses were tethered to a wind-blown apple tree. "We'll have to think fast," she said. "Francisco was pretty bad off when we left. No telling how he's doing now."

"Might even be dead," Will pointed out.

"That's no reason not to try."

While they pondered, the wind picked up and their horses shook their heads with impatience.

"We'll go to the next town," Will finally said.

"Think it'll do any good?"

He shrugged and swung himself into the saddle. "I don't want anyone saying we didn't do everything we could."

Diana agreed and mounted her horse. As they rode into the growing darkness, the wind blew dust across the road and low clouds scudded across the deepening blue of the sky. It wasn't likely they would reach the next town and convince a doctor to come with them in time to save their comrade, but at least they were making every effort. One could do no more than that.

Flash Fiction: Making the Most of Things

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This flash fiction precedes Tin Soldier and contains no spoilers. It is posted here for Sunday Scribblings.
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Carina walked the paddock fence, deep in thought. She had visited her parents' high desert rancho for years, but now she was here for good, or at least until her husband came back from the war.

One of the donkeys trotted to the fence and Carina rubbed her velvety nose. "There will be no getting out of your checkups now. Soon you'll be wishing I'd go back to the city and take care of dogs and cats."

Carina sighed and leaned against the fence. In spite of the privations of the Resource Wars, she had enjoyed city life - not just the stores and entertainments, but the little niceties that made life easier. What wouldn't she give to be able to light a room at night with the flick of a wall switch? Would she ever be able to enjoy a shower again without having to hurry so as not to empty the rooftop tank?

She patted the donkey's nose again and continued her rounds. When her husband came home, it would be different. He was a doctor and between his medical skills and her veterinary prowess, they would do well in this valley. When the wars ended, no one would have to hide their solar panels in the basement and ration their battery-powered lights behind blackout curtains. The anti-hoarding laws would be lifted and she would be free to prosper.

In the meantime...she looked around the dusty property with its ribbon of creek coaxing living things out of desert dust. She was the only qualified veterinarian in this valley, and word was that the veterinarian on the nearby reservation was old. Carina would make out okay here and lay the groundwork for her husband's return.

The sun was low in the sky now, dipping below the mesas. In a mellow frame of mind, Carina started toward the house but stopped at the edge of an alfalfa field where her older sister stood brooding over the freshly-irrigated crop. "You could make a nice painting out of it, don't you think? All this green surrounded by desert."

Amalia looked at her through narrowed eyes. "I'll turn into a regular Georgia O'Keefe out here."

Carina suppressed a sigh. Although Amalia was in many ways the more practical sister, her interests had always been toward literature and the arts. Farm life was going to be hard for her. "People have always made art in the desert, even when it was just native people painting pots. We'll find things to do here. Maybe we can even make it fun."

"You'll find things to do. I'll just cope."

"It's better than the city, with the riots and rationing."

"Perhaps." Amalia jerked her head. "Dinner was almost ready when I came out here. Let's go before Mom and Dad worry."

"What's to worry about, out here in the country?" Carina tipped her head and looked at the deepening blue of the sky, where a few faint early stars twinkled.

Amalia worked a shrug into her movements as they walked the path toward the low adobe house. "As far as they're concerned, we might as well be kids again."

"I know. Still, it was best to come out here. Things are getting worse in the cities. At least out here we may have a chance."

"Of course."

She said it without conviction, but Carina knew better than to belabor the topic. They were nearly at the house and she thought the glow of candles and kerosene lanterns in the windows gave it a certain charm.

"What are you smiling about? I saw what Mom was cooking and it wasn't much."

Carina didn't care if dinner was a bowl of beans or an epicurean feast. This place may be her fallback and not her dream, but she was here now and she was going to make the best of it.

Excerpt: Illusions

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This excerpt from Tin Soldier has been edited for clarity and to help it work as a piece of standalone flash fiction. It is posted here for Sunday Scribblings.
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“I'm grateful for all his help,” Carina confessed as she collapsed into a chair in the sitting room of the hotel suite. “But Alvi tires me sometimes.”

Donovan watched her cautiously. Alvi the peddler had been a friend of Carina's family for many years. Now that she was a widow, he hoped to be something more. Donovan wondered if she had noticed.

“Thank you coming to town with me and putting up with all this. I’ve been a lot of trouble.”

“You’ve been no trouble at all.” Donovan wandered over to the stack of packages from the day's shopping and pulled out a bottle of scotch.

Carina sat up. “Can I have some? Just a little to help me sleep.”

Donovan poured a generous amount for her and then some for himself. Now that the military funeral was over and supplies purchased for the valley farm Carina shared with her sister, Donovan felt weary to the bone. Maybe it wouldn’t take long to get their packages staged by the door. He could hire someone to pack the wagon in the morning and help with the coffin that was the main purpose of their errand.

“You shouldn’t lie to me,” Carina said, startling him out of his reverie.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

“It’s not your fault. You're still grieving.”

She frowned over her drink. “That's no reason for you to lie. Alvi lies. I’m not sure why, but he does. It depresses me to only get more lies from you.”

“What does Alvi lie to you about?”

“You tell me.”

Their eyes met. “He has to lie," Donovan finally said. "He’s a government informer. The peddling is just a cover.”

Carina nodded, as if he were confirming what she had already suspected. “I should’ve realized long ago.”

“I don’t think there’s any malice in it. He gives a lot of disinformation. He’s even helped people escape to the Underground.”

“So he plays both ends against the middle.”

“Whatever his faults, his feelings for you are sincere. He'd do anything for you.”

“Except take no for an answer.”

Donovan frowned. Carina had only learned the news of her husband's death a few weeks ago. Had Alvi proposed so quickly? What did it mean for Donovan's own prospects with her if he had?

Carina tossed back the rest of her scotch and stood up. “I’m going to pack my things and get ready for bed. Thanks for the drink.”

After she left, Donovan staged his purchases near the door, then poured himself another drink and went into the bedroom. He found Carina in her nightgown, standing in front of her empty luggage. Clothes and other items were spread across the bed in disarray and there was an expression of confusion on her face. “Do you need any help?” he asked.

“No, it’s just. . .” She shook her head and smiled at her own folly. “How hard can this be, right?” She began picking things up and stuffing them in a bag. “It's been so hard to get started on anything since I found out...you know. Anything I try to do, I’m afraid I’ll do it wrong, and I won’t have another chance. Every decision feels irrevocable.”

“I don’t think how you pack is going to make much of a difference,” Donovan said. “But if you don’t leave out something to wear tomorrow, you’re going to find yourself irrevocably having to unpack again.”

Carina sat on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Lost your illusions, more like.”

“I guess I had a lot of them to lose.” She searched his face earnestly. “Isn’t anything as it seems?”

“I’ve never thought so.”

“I liked my illusions.”

Donovan fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a blue velvet box and handed it to her.

The necklace seemed to glow with an inner light in its nest of white satin. Carina’s breath caught and she looked up at Donovan in confusion. “This must’ve cost a fortune.”

“Not really.”

“You didn’t steal it, did you?”

“No.”

“But you probably stole to pay for it.” She hesitated, as if she would give it back. “I can’t wear blue any more - it was my husband's color.”

Donovan took the necklace and held it up so she could see the full effect of the light shining through the gems, then he clasped it around her neck. “Of course you can wear it. It’s the color of your illusions.”

She reached a hand to her collarbone and touched the cool stones. Without meaning to, she smiled. When she looked at Donovan again, a little of the old warmth and humor lit her eyes. “I guess there’s no harm in wearing a reminder of how deluded I can be.”
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Want more? Tin Soldier is free and online.

Flash Fiction Interlude: Leap of Faith

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written for Sunday Scribblings. Coyote and Macy are characters in the Will and Diana series, which you can find out more about in the sidebar or by following the tags.
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Coyote ran a hand along the curve of Macy's hip and she stiffened. "Come on. Why do you never let me hold you afterward?"

"Just pay me so I can leave."

The money was in the pocket of his pants, flung somewhere in the tent, but Coyote wasn't ready to search. "Why don't you believe me when I say I like you for you and not just for this?"

Macy rolled over and looked at him. "Maybe because I've heard it before?"

"I'm not like the others."

"No, but everyone knows you're the biggest prankster in the entire Unitas movement. You're unreliable. If you weren't so good at derailing enemy trains, you'd have been kicked out a long time ago."

Coyote watched her roll over again so her back was facing him. "What does that have to do with this? Just because I like a good joke now and then doesn't mean I'd play one on you. Have I ever made you look like a fool?"

Macy didn't answer.

"You know, sometimes you have trust a little."

Macy sat up and pulled the blanket to cover her nakedness, as if Coyote, and most of the boys in camp hadn't been to bed with her. "I did that once, and look what it got me. Or didn't anyone tell you?"

"I heard what Boeing did." Coyote sat up, too. "It was a crappy thing for him to do, leading you on like that. And the whole business with the knitting needle..." he shuddered. "I don't think it was right, but I understand why you did it. You were scared."

Macy nodded.

"I would never abandon you, or say it wasn't my kid."

"I can't have kids any more, anyway."

"That's okay, too. More fun for us, right?"

Macy looked away. "Fun. That's all you guys think about. Just pay me, okay?"

With a sigh, Coyote got out from under the blanket and rummaged among the clutter for his pants. He found the silver coins and placed them on the bedroll where she could see them. "Go on, then."

She took the coins and began putting her clothes on.

"I thought we were friends, you know. You were one of the first ones to really believe me about the voices, and you're the only one in this entire unit who doesn't think I'm crazy."

Macy worked a shrug into her movements as she pulled on a sweater.

"You took up for me when the others were being jerks. That means something to me."

She continued dressing in silence.

Coyote went to her side of the tent and put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you listening to me?"

Macy turned her face away. "Just let me get dressed. I'm supposed to help Paloma cook dinner."

"Fine." He watched her, but made no move to put his own clothes on. Just as she was about to go, he stopped her. "You may not have faith in me, but I have faith in you."

Coyote moved away so she could leave, but instead she sank back onto his bedroll, buried her face in the pillow and cried.

New Flash Fiction

Another Steal Tomorrow flash, this one about The Twins: Stealing Dinner. The story contains no spoilers about the novel and it has a few links to additional information, where appropriate. There are other stories about them in the sidebar of the Steal Tomorrow site.

Be sure to check out the other offerings this week at Sunday Scribblings!

New Maelstrom Fiction

New Maelstrom fiction: Feathered Friend

This is a Sunday Scribblings offering, so be sure to check out Sunday Scribblings for more fun. If you haven't been participating in a writing prompt site, why not? Join us!

Steal Tomorrow Flash Fiction - New!

Another Steal Tomorrow flash, this one about Julilla:On Target

Julilla is one of my favorite characters. She tough, smart, and knows the meaning of girl power. If you want more, check out: Post-Pandemic Hoop Dreams.

Be sure to check out the other offerings this week at Sunday Scribblings!

New Steal Tomorrow Flash Fiction and Sunday Scribblings

Another Steal Tomorrow flash, this one about May:Alchemy

Here's another May story, in case you want more: Ars Gratia Artis.

Be sure to check out the other offerings this week at Sunday Scribblings!

New Flash Fiction

From the Steal Tomorrow series: A Civilized Place

Be sure to check out other Sunday Scribblings offerings!

New Flash Fiction

New Maelstrom story: When Pigs Fly

Flash Fiction Extra: Toward a Philosophy of Ethics

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This Sunday Scribblings story features Vince Mott. You can read more about Vince by following the tag at the bottom of the post. You can read my other Sunday Scribblings flash, Demon Ethics, at my Maelstrom site.
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“You lying piece of shit.” Vince slammed the young man against the warehouse wall and shoved a knife against his throat. “Where is it? Tell me fast, and I won’t have to hurt you too much.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marco stammered. “You got paid.”

“Shorted.” Vince dug the point of his knife into Marco’s skin, just enough to make him cringe. “We had a deal.”

“But I got shorted, too,” he squeaked.

Vince was tempted to shove the blade right through the little bastard’s throat. Dumb kid, new to the scene. Vince had hesitated to take the job, but everyone had to start somewhere. “Your incompetence at closing your own deal doesn’t mean you get to screw the people you brought into it. You can pay up with cash, goods, or blood. Your choice.”

Marco was sweating now and his breath came in trembling gasps. “I don’t have it. But I’ll get it and I’ll pay you before the end of the week, I swear.”

Ballsy kid. Vince gave him that much. He dug in with his blade and opened up a gash that bled into the boy's collar. “Try again. Or do you want to feel how deep this knife can go?”

By now Marco was shaking so hard he threatened to impale himself on the knife and finish Vince’s job for him. “Desk drawer. Bottom right. Under the book.”

“Get it for me.” Vince grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the desk. He watched as Marco fumbled in the drawer, removing papers, rags, and a tattered copy of The Elements of Moral Philosophy, uncovering a small cache of whiskey bottles and coins.

“You can have it all. Just let me go.”

“No,” Vince said. “Give me what you owe me, and that’s enough.”

Marco's hands shook as he counted out the gold and silver coins. When Vince instructed him to switch out a bottle of whiskey for some of the silver, he nearly dropped the bottle, but finally Vince was satisfied. He put his knife away and drew his Glock, just to make sure the boy didn’t try anything stupid. “Nice doing business with you,” he said as he watched Marco put the items into a bag. “But we won’t be partnering again.”

Marco nodded.

“And by the way….”

“What?”

Vince gestured with his gun toward the book. “Since you aren’t bright enough to figure it out for yourself, read that before you try to make a deal with anyone else.”

“I don't understand.”

Suppressing a sigh, Vince took the bag and made to leave. Poor kid. There would probably be a funeral for him soon. “I thought not.”

New Maelstrom Flash Fiction

New flash fiction at the Maelstrom site. Demon Ethics

Flash Fiction Extra: No One's Yes-Man

“Forget it, man. No.”

Calixto set down his glass and stared. “You’re kidding.”

Vince shook his head of thick black hair and a gold earring flashed in the dim light of the pub. He took a gulp of his whiskey and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “You heard me.”

“But…” Calixto leaned across the table. “…the payoff will be huge. Everyone knows you’re a money-whore. Quit playing around.”

“There are some things I just won’t do, no matter how good the money. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Do you want all the details of your notorious career, or should I just hit the highlights?”

Vince tossed off the rest of his drink and looked around for the waitress, but she was nowhere to be seen. “Running drugs and guns is one thing, but what you’re asking is totally different. I have standards.”

“Now I know you’re lying.” Calixto sucked down the rest of his whiskey, then shoved the glass aside with a black-gloved hand. “If it’s the percentage that’s bothering you, just say so. You’ll be putting your guys at more risk than usual, so how about an extra five percent? Ten?”

“I’m telling you. It’s the deal itself that’s the problem, not the money.”

Calixto sat back and pondered. “There’s got to be some way to get you on board. Your folks are the only ones I would trust for this kind of thing, and it’ll be worth your while.”

Vince stood up and rested both hands on the table, leaning over Calixto with an ugly light in his eyes. “I gave you my answer and it’s final. Do you have any idea how many of the world’s problems are caused by people who say yes when they should say no?”

Without waiting for an answer, he strode across the barroom and out onto the street. The streetlights weren’t working again, but that was no matter. Nothing had been right since El Duque came to power. Not that things had ever been right in Vince's lifetime.

He rested a hand on the handle of his Glock and felt secure, then tipped his head back and gazed at panorama of stars. There were times when “no” was the only right answer. Because there was hell to pay when the answer was always yes.

Short Story: Maelstrom Thanksgiving

AUTHOR'S NOTE:This story is based on my current work in progress, a novel about an ordinary human who finds himself managing a group of demons determined to achieve rock and roll fame without resorting to magic. The action of this story takes place during the novel but is not part of it, and was inspired by this week's Sunday Scribblings prompt and the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday.

Was there anything more depressing than a holiday on the road? Ricky switched through the TV channels. He should be at home having Thanksgiving with his mother, not at the Ambassador Suites hotel, or wherever the hell he was. After so many weeks of touring, it was all running together.

On the television, an aggressively cheerful woman was basting a turkey. She reminded him of his sister-in-law, Joanne. At least he wasn’t having to deal with her today. Small blessings. He turned off the TV and stretched. It was early for the band to be awake, but he had no friends in this town and any companionship was better than none.

The door to the band’s suite opened before he could knock, and Calvin the werewolf blocked his way. “They’re busy, human.”

Ricky tried to peer around him. “What are they doing?” From this vantage he could see Kalila and Nevin on the sofa, huddled over a book.

“It’s a surprise.”

This wasn’t good. Ricky had been managing the band since summer and they had yet to come up with a surprise that wasn’t illegal, immoral, or both. He tried to shove his way into the room, but Calvin tossed him into the hall with ease. Kalila noticed and came to the door with a curt order for the werewolf to “heel.”

She leaned against the doorframe and watched Ricky get to his feet. “Why aren’t you attending to human things? It’s a holiday for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s a family holiday. There’s no “human things” for me to attend to out here on the road.”

“Oh. Well, don’t blame us for your troubles.” She looked over her shoulder at Nevin. “Should we let him in?”

“Of course. We’re the only family he has today.”

“That’s pathetic.” Kalila waved Ricky into their suite. “No sentimentality, okay? We’re not a substitute for whatever you would’ve done at home—caroling, hunting for colored eggs, or whatever.”

“I think you’ve got the holidays mixed up.” Ricky went to move Kalila’s book so he could sit on the sofa, but it vanished in his hand before he could get a look at the title.

“None of your business,” she said.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Nevin told her. Then he gave Ricky a childlike smile. “So is there anything in particular you’d like to do today?”

“No, I just wanted some company.”

The fairy nodded wisely. “It seems to be a common sentiment among your kind.” He indicated the closed door to the back of the suite. “Arlinda from the front desk felt the same way. Bo is helping her out.”

Ricky had already noticed the sound of creaking bedsprings. “I thought I told him to leave the hotel staff alone.”

Kalila sank into an upholstered chair and dangled her long legs over the armrest. “He was after a cute girl at the pool until he found out she was underage. He thought you’d be more upset about that than the desk clerk. And you know what Bo is like if he goes too long without feeding.”

With a small shudder Ricky remembered the times the bass player had tried to back him into a corner for a quickie. Bo’s preference was human females, but when an incubus got hungry enough, anything from a human male to a gazelle would do.

“So tell me about this holiday of yours,” Kalila went on, in a tone so artlessly casual that Ricky was immediately on his guard. “It has something to do with football and Pilgrims, right?”

“Not exactly.” Ricky tried his best to explain the concept of Thanksgiving. “It’s about being grateful for the good things that have happened in the year. It’s about sharing as a way of showing thanks for your blessings.”

While Kalila pondered this, Ricky looked around. “So where are Vic and Lazaro? Sleeping?”

“They had an errand to take care of.”

Ricky sat up in alarm. “What kind of errand?”

“Don’t worry. They wore their hats and ski masks.”

That the vampire and zombie were out in daytime was the least of Ricky’s worries. “The sun isn’t what scares me. I want to know where they went. The blood bank? The morgue? How am I supposed to keep you guys out of trouble when you go doing crazy demon shit all the time?”

“You worry too much.” Kalila stood up. “And you’re starting to bore me.” She exchanged a look with Nevin, who took Ricky by the elbow and tried to pull him toward the door.

“Wouldn’t you like to go back to your room?” Nevin said. “You’ll feel much better after a nap.”

“I’m not sleepy. I need to find out what Vic and Lazaro are doing so I can make them stop. I need for Bo to quit banging the hotel staff and start acting like a civilized creature. I need—”

“Oh, Ricky. You’re overwrought by all this silly holiday business.” Before Ricky could answer, Nevin tossed a handful of pink glitter in his face, making sure to catch him when he fell.

* * *

Ricky awoke in his own bed, comfortable and his mind at ease. The sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains at a low angle that made him wonder if it was morning or evening. He spent a few minutes trying to piece together how he had gotten here. Oh, yes. Fairy magic. He relaxed, knowing he would be pissed about it later, but there was no point trying to drum up negative emotions until the effects wore off. What the hell was he in band management for when he could make a fortune selling Nevin’s fairy potions?

A sound of whispered argument from the front room caught his attention. Was it a robbery? Some kind of mischief from the band of washed-up deities that had kidnapped the tour manager, leaving Ricky to handle the tour himself? Oddly, he felt no sense of alarm. Damn Nevin and his stupid spells.

An unmistakable aroma began filling the room. At first Ricky thought his senses were deceiving him, but then his stomach rumbled and he decided that whatever the danger on the other side of the door, it was one that included food and should be investigated. He got out of bed and quietly opened the door.

White tablecloth. Candles. Nevin arranging flowers in a vase. In the kitchenette, Kalila was spooning things onto a plate while Vic leaned against the counter watching in disgust. Bo was on the sofa playing with the TV remote and Lazaro sat in an upholstered chair, tapping a soft rhythm on his knee with a pair of sticks. Overseeing from the doorway was Calvin, gnawing a turkey bone.

Ricky stepped into the room and everyone stopped what they were doing. Kalila turned to Nevin with a frown. “He’s not supposed to be up yet, is he?”

Nevin shrugged. “Close enough.”

“I suppose.” She set a plate of food on the table. “Happy Thanksgiving, human.” When Ricky didn’t answer right away, she glanced at the plate in concern. “We got it right, didn’t we? “Turkey, stuffing, potatoes …”

“And I found us a football game to watch,” Bo said.

“I thought you only watched porn,” Ricky said.

The incubus set the remote aside. “I can make sacrifices. Enjoy your dinner.”

“With your new family,” Nevin added. He pointed to his plate of green beans. “I can join you, right?”

“You can all join me.”

“Food’s not bloody enough,” Vic said. “But thanks.”

“No. Thank you. You guys—”

“Stop that,” Kalila said. “No weird human emotions.”

Ricky sat down. “But it doesn’t work like that. This is a day for being grateful for food, friends, family, and all the other good things in our lives.”

“Or our deaths,” Lazaro reminded him.

“Right. For whatever we have that we like.”

Nevin set down his plate and gave Ricky a hug. “And we like you.”

“That’s pushing it a bit, glitter boy,” Vic said

Kalila crossed her arms and looked at Ricky in annoyance. “So are you going to eat, or what? I did a lot of research on that meal to get it to your silly human standards.”

“And I’m grateful for it,” Ricky told her, picking up a fork. “Even if you are a bitchy genie.”

“I’m a what?”

“And I’m grateful for you, too.”

Kalila’s face changed slightly. “Are you really?”

“Yeah.” He scooted over and patted the place beside him on the sofa. “Want to join me?”

Their eyes met and Ricky held his breath. The only thing Kalila hated more than being disrespected was being liked. Had he gone too far?

She ran a nervous hand through her hair. “I guess there would be no harm in it.” She sat down beside him, as cautiously as if Ricky might be dangerous.

Bo grinned. “What’s the matter, djinn? He’s the only one in this room who doesn’t bite.”

Kalila ignored him and pretended great interest in Ricky’s food. “So I got it right? The cranberries and everything?”

“It’s perfect Kalila. Thank you.”

She nodded in cool satisfaction. “You’ve done a lot for us. It was the least we could do.” She hesitated, then gave him a quick, embarrassed hug. “Happy Thanksgiving…friend.”

Strangers to All, Strangers to None

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a true story, and one I hadn't thought of for years until it popped into my mind for no particular reason last week. I recount it here for Sunday Scribblings.

When my grandmother was still alive, Dan and I would make an annual summer pilgrimage to Connecticut to visit her. Since everything in New England is so close, we always combined the trip with other fun adventures, including the annual Covered Bridges Half Marathon in Vermont. We had a favorite rural B&B we stayed at, and after a few years of visits, we felt quite at home there.

One of our favorite things to do in the evening was make tea and sit in chairs on the front lawn, looking at the night sky. There were no street lights or city lights to dim the vast expanse of stars, and it was so quiet that we could hear the wind in the pines and the rushing water of the brook up the road. It was a peaceful way to end our busy days before turning in for the night.

One evening we saw a pair of headlights make their way slowly up the country road. We watched in that lazy way one watches everything in the country. To our surprise, the van pulled to the side of the road right in front of us and a man rolled down the window. In broken English with an unmistakable Spanish accent, he asked directions.

Now, usually tourists like us are the worst people you can ask directions from because they spend most of their time lost, too. But this was our third summer in the area and Dan did, in fact, know the place the occupants of the van were trying to go. Since we were from Texas and bilingual, we understood without having to ask that we would only get them lost again if we gave the men directions in English. As it turned out, they were natives of Ecuador, on their way to the annual Pow-Wow in one of the nearby towns. We were impressed that they had come so far. We explained in Spanish how to get to their campground, wished them well, and watched them drive away into the night.

As we went back to our tea, Dan and I pondered the strange ways the universe works. What were the odds that a group of Spanish-dominant South American natives should become lost on a rural road in Vermont at night and happen across a pair of bilingual Texan tourists who just happened to know how to get them where they needed to go and could explain it in their own language? Strangers to each other and all of us far from home, we found each other, anyway. Sometimes the universe gives us exactly what we need, that lucky little break, just when we least expect it.

We sipped our tea and returned to admiring the velvet sky and its infinite span of stars. We were no longer strangers here. We were home.