Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #23 (6.2)

 Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Char is surprised to see Tyrone unexpectedly turn up (you'd think he'd be getting used to it) and when he learns how he knows these idiots, well... see for yourself what's happening in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #23 (6.2)

Baffled didn’t even begin to describe my state of mind at the unexpected turn these proceedings had just taken. Momentarily tongue-tied, I could only stare between Tyrone and the rednecks, curious to know how they would react to this strange intrusion. I didn’t have long to wait. They all began to yell at him, their voices a raucous cacophony that only added to my confusion, until Frank screamed, “Shut the fuck up!” and blessed silence reigned… for all of ten seconds.

 “What the hell do you mean this guy’s your friend?” He fisted his hands on his hips like a petulant teenager. “Rover, get over here.” The dog was smarter than I’d realized as he had the sense to pay no attention to his master’s commands, too caught up in other attentions. Tyrone squatted beside him, gun still trained on the miscreants with one hand while with the other he petted the ecstatic canine.

“And what the hell do you mean by pulling a gun on us?” Frank whined. “What does kin even mean to you, Tyrone?”

Tyrone stood, at the same time lowering his weapon slightly.

“You may be my cousins but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to tell you when you’re being stupid. And it also doesn’t mean you get to use offensive language in reference to my friend.” (Yes, I edited out the continuing list of racial slurs as being not worthy of mention.)

Ah, that explained much, including the dog’s inexplicable instant liking to me. He probably smelled Tyrone on me—not surprising after that hug he blindsided me with—and assumed I was a friend. So he was related to these inbred hillbillies? Tyrone, that is, not Rover. I would never have guessed that. From what little I’d seen of him, Tyrone seemed a decent human being with a great deal more intelligence than any of these fellows, even if he had certain unusual proclivities. And an unfortunate habit of talking too much. Of course, genetics wasn’t everything. Maybe he’d gotten lucky in this backwoods gene pool.

And then something Tyrone had said came rushing back to me.

It’s my family. It’s what we do. Did that mean these cousins of his were cannibals too? That was mind-boggling at best. Was this a wide-spread practice that I was unaware of? I had a feeling that wasn’t the case, but the revelation was disturbing nonetheless.

“Why are you standing up for him?” one of the others angrily spoke up. “Maybe you should find out what happened first before you assume you know what’s going on.” His words were echoed by the other cousins, probably under the illusion that there was safety in numbers. Hadn’t helped them the first time.

“Maybe I should, Caleb,” Tyrone replied in a tone somewhere between condescension and amusement. I found myself liking him just a little more for his no-tolerance-for-stupidity attitude. These might be his relatives, but he obviously wasn’t going to cut them any slack on that account. I could understand that—I felt the same way when it came to my brothers.

You might wonder why I hadn’t spoken at all during these proceedings? We’ve already established that I’m no wallflower. Neither am I one who’s afraid to stand up for himself. It’s self-control I lack, not courage. The honest answer is that I was compelled by reasons I didn’t clearly understand to watch this unfolding family drama, infinitely grateful that it wasn’t my family drama, for once.

Besides, I was wrestling internally with another question of my own. How had Tyrone managed to find me yet again? I couldn’t decide if I was being paranoid or merely suspicious.

“We weren’t doing anything,” Caleb continued. “Just shootin’ at some targets. You know, having some fun. This here (insert racial slur) attacked us for no good reason.” He glanced around at the others, as if seeking confirmation, which they were quick to provide. “Yeah, that’s right” and “That’s what happened all right.” I noticed these same men failed to meet my glance as they uttered their calumnies.

I couldn’t help but snort at the absurdity of it all. Tyrone caught my eye and gave me a quick wink before turning his attention back to his cousins.

“Attacked you? Seriously? He attacked all four of you at one time? Really? Sorry I missed that.”

“Well…” Caleb drawled ineffectually, but apparently Frank had had enough.

“Tyrone, fuck that shit. It’s us against him and you need to pick which side you’re on right now. Are you gonna take the part of this black stranger against us, your own blood relatives? You’ve known us your whole damn life. Do you think we would lie to you?”

“In a heartbeat.” Tyrone’s easy demeanor changed before my startled gaze as he quickly strode up to Frank after first sending Rover scurrying back to me and planted one finger in the middle of Frank’s broad chest.

“If family is so important to y’all, then why are you hiding out in the woods, shooting at empties when you’re supposed to be working? Don’t deny it. I was just at the store, talking to Aunt Joan, and she’s hopping mad.”

“Why were you at the store? You don’t work there anymore,” Frank said belligerently. I could almost feel his bravado amping up at this assertion. At the same time, I felt a certain hesitation in Tyrone’s manner, as if his cousin had just touched an exposed nerve.

Then Frank made a potentially fatal error—he balled up his fist and started to raise it. The next second I’d stepped between them, and Frank lay face down in the dirt beneath my shoe.

“I could end you right now, little man,” I snarled. “Do something stupid…anything… and I’ll prove it.”

 to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #22 (6.1)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Char is visiting with Isabella, the genealogist Casey guided him to, when he is alarmed to discover the rednecks he had the run-in with are nearby. Abruptly leaving his gracious hostess, he goes to see what the idiots are up to and why they are seeking him. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale. Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #22 (6.1)

By all the gods, how had they managed to find me? I had to assume more than sheer coincidence was causing our paths to cross once more. I wasn’t so naïve to believe that if I’d remained where I was—in the shelter of Isabella’s garden—they would have simply gone along their merry way and made no attempt to invade Isabella’s peaceful paradise in a foolhardy pursuit of someone whose very nature they were clueless about. No, there was some agenda at play here. Whatever it was, I intended to take care of these fools, once and for all. But I would do it outside of Isabella’s knowledge and immediate vicinity. I would apologize profusely for my rude and hasty exit later, but her safety was what was paramount right now. That and finding out what they were up to.

I intersected the mangy group about a half mile away from Isabella’s home. They were apparently following the same path which I had taken to get there. The reason for that became crystal clear to me in an instant. They were huddled together in the middle of the deserted road. Thickets of trees and dense foliage flanked either side beyond which lay farmers’ plowed fields, but not another human in sight. Frank knelt beside his dog, grasping something blue that he held up for the dog’s inspection. “C’mon boy, you can do it. Find that ignorant son of a bitch.”

Except he didn’t say ignorant. But I wouldn’t allow myself to even think the racial epithet he did use. His language didn’t surprise me. I’d expect no less from a man of his low intellect and limited vocabulary, and I’m sure he knew a lot worse slurs he could hurl, given the chance. And then I recognized what was in his hand. That was a piece of my now discarded jacket he held, and that explained everything. They were deliberately tracking me, using that bit of torn cloth and the dog’s olfactory capabilities.  Probably still angry after our last encounter. Time to end this little game here and now.

At first they were oblivious to my presence, too focused on the dog to pay attention to their environment. At least not until I strode confidently into their midst. The dog was the first one to take notice. He gave a joyful yip and leapt up against my leg, as if requesting that I hold him.

He was the only one who was happy to see me.

“Rover!” Frank remonstrated, shooting his dog a baleful glance. “What are you doing, you stupid mutt?”

“Looks like Rover found him, just like you told him to.” Joey sounded disconcertingly smug.

“Looks like he found us,” Caleb corrected him. Or maybe it was Donny. They all looked alike to me. Plus I didn’t really care to remember which one was which. Frank’s identity was made easier to recall only because of his dog.

“Shut up, all of you!” I snapped. Leaning down, I scooped up the overly excited canine. He immediately licked my face, which I tolerated, mostly to irritate Frank. My secondary motivation was to remove him from harm’s way before anything went down.

And something was surely going to go down. How could it not?

I drew in deep breaths, attempting to calm myself before I made another move. As I’ve mentioned before, I am generally not a man of violence unless forced to it. I adhere to the age-old adjuration of do no harm. But I was willing to make an exception in the case of these idiots, and that knowledge did not sit well with me. They were mostly harmless, after all. Was stupidity a valid reason to kill someone? If so, the world would surely be littered with more corpses, not to mention being a nicer place to live in.

“Tell me why you are stalking me?” I addressed the group at large, but they all glanced toward Frank, as if they didn’t have a brain cell between them that could act independently of his leadership. So I followed suit and glared at Frank as well.

He made no immediately reply but reached out toward me as if he intended to snatch his dog. He’d barely begun to move when I took a quick step back and thus easily outmaneuvered him, my reflexes being far superior, of course.

“I’m sorry, was the question too complicated for you?” I snarked. Rover yipped, as if in support of my comment.

Frank’s face suffused with anger mixed with embarrassment, no doubt, and his so-called friends snickered. So much for group loyalty. He narrowed his eyes at me and found his tongue.

“You’re too uppity for your own good. You need to learn your place among your betters.”

I was torn between anger and the desire to laugh at his so-cliché words. I had hurt their poor little feelings when I didn’t just let them hurt me, and had in fact fought back. They couldn’t seem to stomach the idea that a black man had bested them.

I could hear the sound of a car engine and braced myself to see a vehicle come over the hill toward us, but the sound ceased. Nothing to do with us, I reasoned, and returned my attention to the rednecks standing in the middle of the road.

“Betters? You?” I scoffed. “Excuse me, but who did I leave lying on the ground just a short while ago? Or have you forgotten?”

“You cheated!” Frank shouted angrily. “It wasn’t a fair fight.”

Oh right, four against one and he had the nerve to talk about fairness?

Just then I heard a gun cock. At the same moment, Rover leapt from my arms toward the newcomer.

Why was Tyrone standing there, large revolver in hand, aimed toward the rednecks?

“Hey guys, what’s going on here? And why are you trying to abuse my friend? Didn’t your mama teach you better manners than that?”

 to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #17 (5.1)

 Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Having left Tyrone at the library, Charlemagne is headed somewhere in the middle of nowhere to talk to a genealogist when a shot brings him up short. What is going on? See what's happening in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #17 (5.1)

Immediately I assumed a defensive posture, taking refuge behind the nearest tree so I could assess the situation. Annoyed at my own carelessness, I cursed under my breath and listened for any sign that I’d been seen. Only laughter and the sound of breaking glass met my ears as another shot sang out. That was something to be grateful for, at least.

I peered out cautiously, ready to make a hasty exit, if necessary. Just how close had I come to getting into trouble, and how quickly could I get past these people and back to business? Damn. My foolish ruminations had caused me to almost—and I wish to emphasize the word almost—run straight into the midst of a group of armed men.  Not really surprising in the middle of Missouri, but most definitely unwelcome.

Just a few dozen yards ahead of me, in the middle of a small clearing, four men were shooting at beer bottles they took turns placing on top of a tree stump at the far end. Clearly the glassware were the aggressors, judging by the vigor with which they worked to eliminate them, and the primitive joy these idiots took in their demise. I estimated their ages to be anywhere from late teens to late twenties. The men, that is, not the bottles. Again, don’t hold me to that. Dressed in similar attire—T-shirts with inane slogans, faded jeans, leather boots, gap-toothed stupid grins—these good ol’ boys were in no danger of gracing the cover of GQ any time soon.

“C’mon, Donny, you’re too slow,” one of the younger men whined. He gestured with a half empty bottle at another man who was obviously in charge of refilling the stump. A third man lounged in a webbed lawn chair close to the complainer. He loosely held some sort of chain, the purpose of which was not evident to me, while the fourth fellow, situated just behind him, fiddled with his rifle. The man addressed as Donny made no immediate reply, but the reason for that became obvious at a glance. His head was thrown back and he was busily swilling his own beer to a chorus of “Chug, chug, you slug” from the others.

Finishing the contents of the bottle, he swiped one hairy fist across his mouth before wiping it on his shirt, let out a satisfied but disgusting belch, and set the bottle onto the stump. Then he backed away, but only slightly.

“Donny, you trying to get shot?” The man with the chain guffawed. “You know Caleb don’t shoot so good when he’s got lady problems on his mind.” He slapped his thigh, as if he’d made the wittiest bon mot ever.

This remark obviously annoyed his friend Caleb, who was in the process of taking aim at the offending bottle with his rifle. He pivoted, his weapon now pointed at his chortling companion instead. “What’d I tell you ‘bout talkin’ ‘bout that, Frank?”

Frank immediately threw up his hands in self-defense and yowled, “Jeezus Christ, don’t shoot me, Caleb! I can’t help it if she…. ”

 By this time, I was more than tired of this display of stupidity and tuned out the rest of whatever nonsense he was uttering. I decided I would just quietly skirt these fools and be on my way. They were obviously no menace to me, and would be none the wiser for my absence. In that moment, however, I belatedly realized the reason for the chain Frank had been holding when a reddish ball of fur came flying in my direction, dragging the self-same chain behind it.

“Rover, what the hell!” Frank yelled. “Get back here!” But the canine—which I had now ascertained the creature to be—never stopped, never slowed down…and headed straight toward me.

Let me make it perfectly clear from the outset that I am not a dog person. Not that I’m particularly a cat person either, but I have to give felines a somewhat grudging admiration for attaining their own ends with the least possible effort. Plus, for the most part, they have a tendency to leave their owners alone, unlike dogs, who constantly clamor for attention, love-starved little beasts that they are.

That being said, I wished no particular harm to the species, and in general found it expedient not to interact with them. I’ve found in my experience that most dogs give me a rather wide berth anyway, while cats are spectacularly indifferent to my presence.

This Rover, though, was a different matter entirely. He was a fluffy little thing, with a somewhat squashed face. His tail, which curved up and over his back, wagged furiously as he circled me, yapping. His bark was surprisingly deep for such a small animal. Then he drew closer, as if he were scenting me, and suddenly he tried to leap up on me, greeting me as if I were a long lost relative.

What brought that about? What did he smell on me that sent his brain the message that I was someone to be not only trusted, but welcomed with open arms? I’d never received such a reception before from any dog, and was at an utter loss to explain his reaction to me.

But I didn’t have long to ponder the matter, as the man who I assumed to be his owner raced up, gun in hand. “What are you doing? I didn’t tell you to look for any—”  He stopped speaking abruptly at the sight of me and stood there for a moment, staring at me as if he couldn’t decide whether to be more alarmed or amused at my being there. Dumbfounded even.

In his defense, he probably didn’t often see men wearing suits outside of the courtroom.

“What the hell do you want here?” he asked just before he trained his weapon on me.

 to be continued

Now see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell