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.
Charlemagne refrains from killing Tyrone's cousin, but he is sorely tempted. Tyrone defuses the situation and suggests they get a drink in town. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Also, I think that I will stop posting the story after next week, so that I can write it faster and not in short spurts. I'll start a new story, but I wanted to let anyone who might be reading so it isn't too much of a shock. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!
Frank didn’t move so much as a muscle. Hardly
surprising considering I had my weight pressing down on his neck, and I had
just threatened him with instant death. His cohorts certainly didn’t waste
their opportunity to flee the scene—they scattered to the winds without a
backward glance for their companion. So much for familial solidarity. Frank was
far from silent, however, screaming something that was undoubtedly aimed at me.
But his words were rendered unintelligible due to his unfortunate position. Not
as though he had anything half-way intelligent to convey anyway, even at the
best of times. Despite his previous bravado, his current fear was more than
evident—he reeked of it. He’d also apparently lost control of his bowels.
My anger at this waste of space continued to grow. I
visualized myself reaching down, grabbing his limp soiled body and drawing it
up, up, up until I could better reach his neck. I saw myself tearing into his
throat, imbibing his warm blood with great gusto. My fury was overriding my normal
prudence, my canines enlarging at the prospect of fresh food, even though I
wasn’t actually hungry.
A gentle but firm touch on my arm drew me back to
reality.
“He’s not worth it.” Tyrone’s warm brown eyes held
empathy, as well as a glint of amusement. Maybe even regret for what might have
been, but I may have been overthinking that one. “Tempting, I’m sure. But much
as I’d like to do so, I can’t treat him like that other one, alas. He’s family,
even if he is an asshole.”
The realization that he meant last night’s
dinner/this morning’s breakfast entrée hit me a moment later. As did the
reality of what had come too close to happening right here and now.
I’d almost killed someone in anger, a course of
action I normally abhorred. Bad enough that I managed to do it accidentally on
occasion, but on purpose? I was suddenly grateful for Tyrone’s thoughtful
intervention on my behalf, as well as his unexpectedly not-unwelcome presence.
So much had changed in such a very short period of time, I honestly didn’t know
what to think, or how to feel.
“I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a
drink,” Tyrone interrupted my reverie.
Didn’t that sound like a great idea? But where? We
were in the middle of nowhere.
“I know a little place in Cabool. We’re not that far
from it now.”
I glanced around, but saw no sign of his vehicle. “Are
you proposing we walk there?” That seemed unlikely. Well, I could do it easily,
but I didn’t see him being up for such an expenditure of energy, although I had
to admit he did possess a strength I wouldn’t have thought him capable of
before. And then I remembered the car I’d heard but dismissed earlier. “Let me
guess, you’re actually parked nearby?”
He favored me with a sheepish grin. “I am,” he
admitted. “Just over the hill, in fact. I thought I could get the drop on them
better if I didn’t announce my presence first.”
That only added more questions to my growing list. What
in the world was going on here? And how had I become involved in it? A small
moan from below reminded me I was still stepping on Tyrone’s cousin. I should
probably remedy that. I moved my foot and he rolled over onto his back, gasping
and sputtering, and looking thoroughly miserable. But at least he had nothing
more to say, offensive or otherwise.
“A drink,
yes,” I acceded to Tyrone’s request. “Lead on, MacDuff.” All right, maybe that
was a misquote, one that should actually be Lay
on MacDuff. But people had been usurping
the line for years until it had taken on a life of its own—don’t blame me for
doing the same.
“As you will, MacBeth,” Tyrone quipped.
I was favorably impressed that he was at least
somewhat familiar with the Bard. That just went to show that he was different
from these others.
Tyrone’s gaze flickered to his moaning cousin. “Later, Frank. Try to be good, won’t you?”
Not waiting for a response, we quickly repaired to
Tyrone’s vehicle. I couldn’t help but notice it was the same nondescript sedan
he’d offered me a ride in earlier. “I see you haven’t upgraded to a different
model,” I joked.
He laughed as he pulled the car back onto the road.
“Not yet. And not here. I know too many people here. That could be a problem.
Besides, there’s no rush. I’ll get to it sooner or later.”
Did that mean he lived near here? Fairly safe
assumption to make. Maybe. I still didn’t have enough information to know for
sure. But I could look up the town, anyway, so I pulled out my phone.
Smaller than Mason Springs, Cabool was a largely
rural area possessed of a number of businesses of varying sizes as well as a
school, police department, and library. Should I be worried that we might get
caught driving around town in a stolen vehicle? Tyrone didn’t seem concerned,
so I decided to follow his lead for now.
We ended up near the end of a small strip mall that
contained a large grocery store, a gift shop, and a clothing consignment shop.
There was a moderate amount of foot traffic for late afternoon. People stopping
on their way home from work, perhaps, to pick up a few things. Tyrone parked
near the other vehicles and we headed toward our destination. Hannibal’s Hideaway was spelled out in
subdued neon lights on the window, along with stickers bearing the name of
various types of beer that were no doubt available within.
Tyrone turned to me, grinning. “Like the name?”
What?
“Hannibal. It’s an inside joke. You know. Hannibal
Lecter.”
“Who’s that?”
He rolled his eyes as he held open the front door.
“Dude, you have so much to learn.”
Excuse me?
to be continued
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