Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #25 (6.4)

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.  

When we last left Char and Ty, they were going to get a drink at a local bar. See what they're up to in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget, this will be their last appearance in these pages, since I want to write faster than this allows. But never fear, a new story shall begin next week, and you may just recognize some familiar characters you've seen before! Don't forget to check out what the other Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!'

An Unholy Alliance #25 (6.4)

I scowled at Tyrone as I slipped past him into the dimly lit interior of Hannibal’s Hideaway but I fear the effect I was striving for was lost on the man. I didn’t like being made fun of, never had. As a child, this had led to more than a few fisticuffs with my brothers, who were quick to take advantage of my sensitivity to slights and never hesitated to ally themselves against me. Because of such intimidation, as I grew older, I learned to defend myself in any way I could. Being turned only served to enhance what skills I possessed, as my brothers quickly learned to their great chagrin when they no longer held the advantage of their vampirism over me. With time, their attacks became less physical and more verbal. I suffered their slings and arrows and learned to mask my true feelings behind a shell of outward indifference, giving no indication which barbs might have struck home.

Dominique seemed to encourage my siblings, for reasons I couldn’t begin to fathom. When I was very young and unable to adequately defend myself against the four of them, I would run to the kitchen afterward to seek shelter with Mama Lil. She would hold me on her lap while she tended to whatever injuries I’d sustained, dry my tears, and tell me she loved me. She encouraged me to stand up for myself and not accept their bullying.  While she took care of all of us, I was the one who was closest to her. Many times I’d wished she were my mother, instead of Dominique. At first, that thought brought a sense of disloyalty, but with time, I accepted the way things were, even if I didn’t comprehend why.

“C’mon, let’s grab a table in back.” Tyrone touched my arm lightly as he moved past me to take the lead. I shrugged and followed him. We threaded our way between mostly empty close-set square tables before choosing one tucked into the farthest corner.  That was fine with me, as it gave me full command of the room. With my back to the wall, no one was going to come up on me unawares. I wasn’t being paranoid, just cautious. After our little run-in with Tyrone’s cousins, I wanted to be prepared for anything and everything.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about this place that Tyrone had brought us to. Just a typical neighborhood bar with little to commend it. No fancy décor. No selection of slick electronics to catch the eye and drain the pocketbook. But maybe that was the point. This was a place where the locals could feel at home and not necessarily worry about the intrusion of outsiders. Such as me. But then again I found myself an outsider no matter where I went, so what did that really matter?

Quit wallowing in self-pity.

Apparently Tyrone was no stranger in this place. Probably why he’d suggested coming here. I heard the bartender call out to him in greeting when we entered, and some of the other patrons said hello as we passed by, which was impressive as there weren’t that many people there. And yet they knew Tyrone. I didn’t exactly peg him as a barfly, so there had to be another reason.

I pulled out a chair and slid into my seat, surveying my surroundings. One advantage to being a vampire is that my eyesight is better than most people’s, especially in dim light. I sensed no danger, though, and relaxed slightly.

“What would you like?” Tyrone asked. “If you like beer, I recommend the Guinness. I think we have the best draft system in this area, if not the state, if I do say so myself.”

We?

“That’s fine.” I wasn’t about to ask, didn’t mean I wasn’t curious.

He gave me a thumbs up and a grin before heading off to the bar. Mere minutes later he was back, with two frosted glasses of stout in hand. He set one on the table before me then took a seat across from me. When I reached for my wallet, he waved me off.

“Not necessary. There’s no charge.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Since when is a bar a philanthropic institution?”

He laughed. “Since I became part owner, I guess.” He took a good long drink before adding, “Having Guinness on draft was my idea, and it’s actually gone over rather well.”

I regarded him with some surprise, before taking a taste of the beer. I had to admit it was better than I’d expected.

“It’s called a microdraught,” he explained. “The beauty of the system is that it doesn’t require a keg. Makes it handy for smaller bars, like this one. We’re working on updating everything, but it takes time, you know? Time and money.”

Okay, now I had to ask. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a bartender. Sorry, bar owner.”

“I don’t actually work here,” he admitted. “More of a silent partner. But it’s a good place to get a drink. And the money comes in handy too.”

That certainly accounted for the name then.

I remembered how his obnoxious cousin had taunted him regarding his lack of employment. “So, you used to work for your family, right?”

Tyrone nodded. If my question upset him, his demeanor didn’t reflect it. “Up until a couple of years ago. Oh don’t worry, it’s not like we don’t get along or anything. I still love my family. I’m just not interested in carrying on the family tradition.

His words took me aback momentarily. I’d already seen that he was a cannibal, and so were they, so that couldn’t be what he was referring to. Obviously he had no problem with that, as evidenced by our breakfast. So, what…

“I just don’t want to marry one of my cousins.” He shrugged lightly, as if this discussion was entirely natural and normal.

And I thought my family was bad?

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #24 (6.3)

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!

An Unholy Alliance #24 (6.3)

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

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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 #15 (4.3)

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 trying to figure out what Tyrone is doing when Casey brings him some good news,  the name of someone who might have information for him! Of course, Char just lost use of the ride he stole, but that can be overcome, right? 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 #15 (4.3)

Tyrone who?

The next moment, my irritation was a thing of the past. I restrained the impatience that demanded I snatch the paper from Casey’s outstretched hand. They weren’t about to tease me on a matter of such vital importance to me, this much I knew.

“Now, I don’t really know how much information this woman has,” Casey warned me, but I was honestly not foolish enough to hang all my hopes on one particular star, so that didn’t faze me. “I met her on a genealogy forum, and we’ve been talking a little. She’s interested in local history too. Her family has lived in the same place since well before it was Greene County. While they didn’t own slaves themselves, they had neighbors that did, back in the day. Her name is Isabella Buford, and she lives out near Cabool. I’m afraid it’s kind of in the middle of nowhere, but she says you’re welcome to pay her a visit any time. She works from home and doesn’t leave the house very often.”

That’s all I needed to hear. No time like the present. I glanced at the scrap of paper and memorized the address before I tucked it into my pants pocket, then secured my phone. I had gleaned all the information from these two books that I could, so I handed them back to Casey, along with my thanks. She clutched them to her securely. I could tell she seemed as excited about my prospects as I was.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Her voice rang with sincerity. I’d never known a nicer person, outside of Mama Lil. “I’m still looking for more documents, of course. And I hope to hear more from other genealogists, but this sounds like a good lead, doesn’t it?”

“It does indeed,” I concurred. “I’m greatly indebted to you, Casey. Your help has been invaluable. I’m sure I’ll be back before too long. I’ll let you know what I found out, one way or another.” I made a mental note to bring her a gift when I returned. I knew she didn’t expect it, but I was raised to have manners, even if I didn’t always choose to exercise them. And if she wouldn’t take anything for herself—which was always a possibility—she couldn’t object if I contributed to the makeshift food pantry she operated for the benefit of the community inside the library. Regardless, I was determined to do something to show my appreciation.

I murmured my good-bye and headed immediately to the parking lot. Only then did I remember I’d just lost my current mode of transportation, as the LeBaron was now off limits, no doubt waiting to be towed away at the behest of the police officer. The man was nowhere in sight, undoubtedly in hot pursuit of his imaginary young car thieves. Stealing the vehicle again would just be asking for trouble.

“I have a car.”

How did he continue to catch me unawares? That was something few people ever achieved, which only added to my growing irritation with him. And why had he followed me out? I’d certainly not invited him to do so. Not bothering to respond, I glanced about the lot, but I didn’t see the vehicle Tyrone had stolen the night before, the one which he’d acquired from my last meal.

“I ditched that and got another one,” he said, although I hadn’t asked.

“In case you’re wondering why I never get caught, I switch the plates with a different vehicle. Most people don’t bother to look at their own license plates. And I make sure the new ones are from a different make and model, so the police don’t think to run them. Not as long as I obey all traffic laws, anyway.” He gave me a most cheerful grin. “I also make sure not to take vanity plates. They stand out too much. Those are a great deal more noticeable.”

Again, he earned my somewhat grudging admiration. I’d have to remember that technique in the future.

“I can give you a lift wherever you’re going,” he offered, pointing to a nondescript sedan that sat just a few feet from where we stood. “I’m headed that way anyway. Toward Cabool, that is. I would enjoy your company.”

Why was this human so desirous of my companionship? Didn’t he realize that my very proximity had the potential to be fatal to him? That if I chose, I could make him into a midnight snack… or more? Or did he imagine I only drank the blood of people I’d never conversed with? I could certainly disillusion him on that point, as I was no stranger to the art of verbal seduction by any means. I knew how to draw my prey in with pretty words and gestures. Few could resist me when I was at my most charming. When I didn’t lose control—which was most of the time… or close to it—I left my victims with a lingering headache and only vague memories of what transpired between us. They would never remember me, of course. I would be but a hazy image in the back of their mind they could never clearly see. A sweet dream of love’s promise that was never to be, and certainly never consummated. That was never going to happen.

Blood drinking? Ah, that was another story.

“No thank you,” I managed to get out between clenched teeth.

I hesitated for just a moment, and apparently that was all he needed to make his move, taking me by complete surprise.

How, you ask, did he do that? He hugged me. Straight out hugged me.

Before he could utter a single other word, I disentangled myself from his embrace and took my hasty departure.

This Tyrone could be the death of me yet.

 to be continued

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #14 (4.2)

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.  

So Tyrone managed to send the nosy policeman on a wild goose chase? Is that cause for celebration? What is he thinking? 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 happening with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #14 (4.2)

Enough of that. I still had work to do. No time for back-patting or smug self-congratulations, or whatever else Tyrone had in the back of his feeble little mind. After generously acquiescing to the hand gesture, I slid gracefully back into my seat and opened one of the two books that lay on the table. That should give him a clue that I was otherwise engaged and he should now gracefully take his departure from the scene. Ride off into the sunset (figuratively or literally, didn’t matter to me).

Of course that didn’t happen.

“That was a close one!” he exclaimed as he resumed the seat he’d never been invited to take.  “I think we handled that rather nicely, don’t you?”

I made no response as I searched the index of each book for those subjects I was interested in, taking note of the appropriate page numbers. On the whole, the general history book was disappointing. The only information I found of interest concerned the Battle of Wilson’s Creek, which was fought about ten miles outside of Springfield, Missouri in August of 1861. Which was about the time when I lived, and the place where I disappeared from, or so I’d been told. I couldn’t be sure the events were connected, but I also couldn’t swear they weren’t.  Dominique was always tight-lipped when it came to information regarding my origins. As if she had something to hide. I couldn’t imagine what that might be, but I also didn’t put it past her to have lied to me. Deceit came naturally to that woman. Even the Families knew better than to trust her, and they’d known her far longer than I had.

The genealogical history seemed more promising. I pulled out my phone, which I had quickly pocketed when I’d been so rudely interrupted, and began to add names of various families to the spread sheet. I would cross-check that against the census lists later. Reaching for my tea, I took a sip, allowing the warmth to flow through me in a welcome tide.

I wonder if green tea is really better for me.

I shook off the intrusive thought with a growl. The last thing I needed to do was take advice from that clown.

I mentally braced myself for further annoying conversation that I would choose to ignore, considering his tendency to babble. When that wasn’t immediately forthcoming, I briefly glanced his way. I knew he hadn’t gone, as I would have felt his departure. Besides, I was fairly confident that he would have said something to announce the fact he was leaving. To my surprise, he had his nose quietly buried in a book he must have pulled from a nearby shelf. He actually seemed quite engrossed in it.

I peered at the open pages, without the slightest hint of subtlety. From what I could make out, the object of his keen curiosity was a textbook on hematology. I frowned, even as I wondered what his interest in that particular subject was, then decided I didn’t care and returned to my own business.

A few minutes passed in silence between us. I could hear patrons coming and going, interacting with Casey in hushed library voices. I could hear the sounds of motor vehicles on the street, a moderately light day for traffic. And yet Tyrone managed to maintain a level of quietude I was surprised he even possessed.

Perhaps it was this unnatural level of stillness on his part, when heretofore I’d noticed a profound propensity for excessive verbiage, which prompted the question that under other circumstances I would not have deigned to utter.

“Why?”

I had to repeat myself twice before he looked up from his book with a slightly dazed expression, as if he’d been so focused he’d forgotten where he was. He blinked at me a couple of times, resembling a sleepy owl, before he responded.

“Why what, Char?”

I tried to swallow a growl at his persistent familiarity, but I failed somewhat, to my chagrin, and he flashed me a small smile, as though he considered this sign of my perturbation to be… cute, maybe?

Why did he have to push my buttons so easily? Better question was why did I let him?  I’d always considered myself impervious to such machinations. I’d hardened myself at the hands of masters—namely, my mother and brothers.

Forcing myself to regain my composure, I continued. “Why are you studying… that?” I waved one hand blithely toward the tome in question.

“Oh… that,” he echoed. Was it my imagination or did his cheeks just pink a little, as if he’d been caught doing something he’d rather not admit to? I knew I wasn’t imagining the blush. I was an expert when it came to blood flow, after all.

“Just doing a little research,” he finally admitted. Raising one hand to his forehead, he scratched at it lightly. Probably a delaying tactic while he sorted through his thoughts for some reason I would accept and not examine too closely. “I have a theory about something, but I wanted to dig into it a little before I said anything.”

Before he said anything to who… me?

“What the devil are you talking about?” The more he spoke, the more confused I grew, and that was a feeling I did not care for.

He help up both hands now in a defensive posture. “Honestly, just give me a little time. I don’t want to get your hopes up, in case what I’m thinking doesn’t work out.”

I was on the verge of telling him I had no hopes, and nothing he could say or do would dash these nonexistent hopes, but at that serendipitous moment, Casey appeared, obviously excited about something.

She waved a piece of paper at me, even as she cried, “I think I’ve found someone you’ve been looking for!”

to be continued

Now see what's up with the other briefers!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #13 (4.1)

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. 

While researching his roots, Char is annoyed at Tyrone's unexpected appearance at the library. But not as annoyed  as when he sees a policeman who is heading right toward them! 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 #13 (4.1)

Stay calm, stay calm.

I forced myself to quell the rapid beating of my heart. Such wild fluctuations would do me no good and could, in fact, be quite detrimental to my well-being. I kept telling myself I had no real reason to panic. Just because Tyrone said it, didn’t make it so. This could be a mere coincidence. A coincidence of the highest order, I had to admit, but nonetheless a possibility. Still, I had to be prepared for the worst.

“Just a county mounty,” Tyrone continued in a voice barely above a whisper, probably assuming that I could easily hear him while the approaching officer of the law could not. “Probably nothing to do with us. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.”

What reason did I have to believe him? And what did he mean by us? There was no us.

I stiffened in my seat, my fingers quietly digging into the flimsy material of the chair, threatening its integrity. A fight or flight instinct was rapidly gaining ground within me. Fighting was entirely out of the question since I knew, fully blooded as I was, I could do some serious damage. My concern was for Casey. Also for the library and my access to it. I couldn’t and wouldn’t do something like that to her. They’d been nothing but nice to me and didn’t deserve to have their hard work destroyed so cavalierly just to save myself.

On the other hand, I had no intention of submitting to this newcomer’s so-called authority either.

As the man drew closer, I took the opportunity to observe him more carefully. In particular, the weapon in its holster at his hip, which his hand seemed to hover over like an overprotective parent. While I didn’t fear being shot, I didn’t relish it either, and I had no desire to shed any of my hard-earned blood, not for the likes of him. He appeared to be maybe about forty, had a slight paunch and a thinning hairline. Nothing that overtly labeled him as racist. Yet I could see the suspicious look in his eyes when he glanced at me, and not for a moment did I believe my skin color had nothing to do with the unease I saw there. Was he afraid of me, as a black man in a redneck community, or was he afraid of becoming entangled in a racial issue he wasn’t sure how to deal with. Either way, I had no intention of making the situation easy for him.

Perhaps we could take this fight outside…

“Hey there!” Tyrone interrupted my internal reverie. He’d risen from his seat, usual grin affixed to his face. But I sensed a deeper purpose behind the façade. Something I’d never felt from him before in our heretofore short acquaintance. Whatever it was, his tactic seemed to have worked, as the policeman shifted his attention from me to Tyrone.

“Afternoon, sir,” he returned Tyrone’s greeting, then a few heartbeats later made a minimal nod in my direction.

“Everything all right with the library?” Tyrone continued. “No problem, is there?”

“No, sir. No problem with the library.” The man paused just short of Tyrone, feet planted apart in a way that screamed he was ready to spring into action at any moment before he blurted out what he’d intended to ask from the moment he set eyes on us. Or me, actually.

“Do you know anything about that 1986 blue Chrysler LeBaron settin’ out in the parking lot?”

“Do I know anything about the LeBaron?” Tyrone parroted the question before he turned to me, faux excitement dripping from every orifice, if you can imagine that. At the same time, he surreptitiously motioned to me to stand as well, so I reluctantly acquiesced. “Didn’t I tell you there was something wrong with that car? I told you, I did. I mean the way those kids lit out of here, like they was headin’ to a fire ‘cause they had some wienies they needed to roast.”

What did that even mean? I couldn’t help but notice that the more he spoke, the thicker his accent grew.

 “I heard one of them say something like this here thing’s a piece of shit, and they could do better. You remember that, don’t you, Gordon?”

It took a moment for me to assimilate the fact that Tyrone was indeed addressing me by the fictitious name of Gordon (why Gordon?). I had to hand it to him—that was some pretty quick thinking. He’d just earned a bit of my grudging admiration for that.

The policeman eyed me somewhat suspiciously. Probably because I hadn’t spoken yet. Time to remedy that. “You did, you did, Earl (two could play that name game). I was wrong, I guess. You did say they looked a mite suspicious.” I added a hoosier drawl to my words for added authenticity. I could feel Tyrone stifle a giggle. “Looks like you was right.”

“Looks like you owe me lunch, sugar,” Tyrone added with a wink.

The policeman’s expression instantly changed from mild irritation to repugnance. No mind reader was required to know what he’d inferred from Tyrone’s words, coupled with that saucy wink. I couldn’t care less what he thought, to be honest. My own family could never decide if I was gay or straight, and I had no intention of enlightening them that I was actually ace. First, I considered it none of their business. Secondly, I was still figuring out things in that arena myself.

“How many kids?” He barely listened to Tyrone’s reply—“Two or three. Fast ‘uns, too”—before he lit out as though he was headed to the same fire.

And didn’t Tyrone seem inordinately pleased with himself? That grin just kept getting wider and wider as he turned to me, one hand held up high. What choice did I have? I reluctantly returned his high five. To give the devil his due, he had defused the situation rather handily.

 to be continued

Now visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them!

 Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

Julie Lynn Hayes

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #12 (3.5)

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 is less than pleased when Tyrone shows up at the library where he is trying to research his family. How and why? 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.

An Unholy Alliance #12 (3.5)

The last thing I wanted to do was create a scene. Not there and then. Later? Well, I wouldn’t guarantee anything about what might occur, given the opportunity.

Shelving my irritation, at least for the moment, I gave him a withering look. “Why are you here and how the hell did you find me?” I knew I hadn’t given him any clue as to where I was going when I’d received the text from Casey. I mean, why would I have? I hadn’t even said good-bye, or any variation thereof.

“Pure dumb luck,” he chuckled. “And a little bit of deductive reasoning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I caught him eyeing my tea a bit too suspiciously for my taste, so I protectively moved it closer to me, just in case he had designs on it. Let him ask Casey for a cup and see how far that got him. Although they were nice, and might just give him one, not knowing how annoying he truly was.

“What kind of tea is that?” He was glancing more openly at my cup now. I shot him a baffled look at the way he’d not-so-subtly changed the subject. Like I’d forget what I’d asked.

“What difference does that make?” I countered. “And you didn’t answer my question. How did dumb luck, which I suspect is something you’re more than passing familiar with, and a bit of deductive reasoning lead you here, of all places?”

Again he ignored me. “You should probably drink green tea. It’s rich in antioxidants. Do you know what those are?”

“Do I look stupid?” I snapped.

He shook his head. “No, of course not. I just don’t like to assume anything. Then you know that antioxidants, like those found in green tea, help to improve blood circulation. Considering your condition, I assume you need all the help you can get in that area.”

“It’s not a condition,” I blurted out without thinking through my words. And now I’d just admitted to being what I am… and didn’t I feel stupid. I felt my temper begin to flare. How was he able to manipulate me so easily? I found him…that is, Tyrone was… damn the man, he was very… infuriating.

I was beginning to lose my words, and that I would not countenance.

“I don’t need lessons in biology from someone like you! I’ve studied at more universities than you can even imagine. What have you done? Graduated from tech school?” Now who was making assumptions? I couldn’t believe I’d let myself be goaded into engaging in a battle of wits with this… this… person. To what end? I could leave here at any time and never see him again. And yet I didn’t.

I told myself that was because this was my library, not his. If anyone was going to leave, it would be him. But if I were to be completely honest with myself, that wasn’t the truth. Whether I was willing to admit it then or not.

“Sorry,” he chuckled again. His hand seemed to snake toward me, as if he intended to pat my arm, perhaps in some manner calculated to soothe the savage breast. I jerked back, maintaining a respectable distance between us. That should let him know I didn’t want to be touched. Not that I owed him an explanation, I just wanted things to be clear between us.

“I guess it’s the biologist in me,” he explained. “I love talking about it. Well, you may have noticed I just enjoy talking…”

Isn’t that the truth?

“…and most of the people I talk to don’t have a science background, so I kind of take that into account and I end up explaining things more often than not. I certainly didn’t intend to insult you, I promise. I have no doubt you know many things, probably a lot more than I do. I mean, you’ve been studying for a lot longer than I have, so it’s only natural. Plus you sound very well educated, if you don’t mind my saying so. I can hear it in your voice. You have a very nice voice, by the way.”

I couldn’t decide if I was more flattered or insulted, or some combination of the two. And this conversation was drifting farther and farther afield.

As if he could read my mind (something I was beginning to wonder about, I admit), he finally answered my question. “I heard it on the police scanner. The BOLO.”

The what? What language was he speaking? And what did he hear?

“You know. Be on the lookout.” He must have noticed the blank look in my eyes and forged ahead. “The car. The Chrysler I spotted in the parking lot. The timing was too perfect. I mean you take off, the car gets stolen, here it is and here you are…” He made a hand gesture and his face wore a you see what I mean expression.

“The blind luck came in that I just happened to be coming this way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen it and figured out it might be you. I wasn’t positive, but I was fairly sure. And of course, as you can clearly see, I was right.”

I couldn’t tell if he looked more complacent or smarmy or just plain pleased with himself. A desire to leave was growing within me, but I couldn’t. At least not until I finished looking through the books Casey had found. The papers I could keep, they were just print-outs she’d made for me. But not the books. I couldn’t check them out, not being an actual patron, not even a resident of the area.

“Damn!” Tyrone whistled under his breath.

What now?

I glanced up sharply to find what appeared to be a policeman heading our way with undoubtedly foul intent.

What had Tyrone just brought upon me?

 to be continued

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #7 (2.4)

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 doesn't know what to make of what Tyrone just told him about his family. Cannibals? What? Maybe it's time to make a quick exit. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #7 (2.4)

I have to confess that I didn’t see that coming. His whole family… cannibals… what? Like Mom and Dad and all the fine young cannibals? Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I was flummoxed, at a momentary loss for words. Congrats to him on that, doesn’t happen very often.

Gathering my wits, I blurted out, “Isn’t that dangerous?”

He arched surprised eyebrows at me. “For who?”

Okay, stupid question, I know. Like asking a man about to devour a steak which one of them is in mortal peril.

I began to pace back and forth beside the dead man’s car, trying to formulate my thoughts. I really needed to get going. I had things to do that didn’t include having this conversation. I wasn’t here in the Ozarks on a mere whim or even on holiday, I was searching for information. Personal information of the utmost importance. And yet, I found myself with too many burning questions that required answers regarding what Tyrone had just said. He’d ignited my curiosity, loath as I am to admit it. But first things first. I ceased my pacing and paused just beside him in order to give him my full attention. Or maybe I intended to intimidate him slightly by looming above him, since I easily had six inches on him.

“Have you… disposed of all the evidence?” I made some no doubt misguided attempt at being delicate. Not that I was trying to spare his feelings or mine, mind you, but to come out and ask what he did with the leftovers seemed a bit gauche.

“Gotcha covered, my man.” He thrust out one clenched fist toward me. Did he really expect me to fist bump him over his disposal of the remains of the day? I gave him my best disdainful look even as I took a step away from him. He didn’t appear to be the least bit offended. Did nothing ever rattle this guy? Or wipe the goofy grin from his face?

“I have everything packed up and in the trunk. Meat’s in a cooler, I put the rest in bags.”

“What do you intend to do with it?”

His response is to reach into his back pocket. I wasn’t concerned that he might be going for a weapon. I was undoubtedly faster than he was even at my weakest, and I was fully fed at this point.  But even saying that, a bullet could do potential injury should he manage to get off a lucky shot. More about that later. Let’s just say there are some ridiculous myths about vampires out there. Like we’re indestructible or something. I wish that were true, but alas, it’s not.

Right then, I was simply curious, despite the adage about curiosity and cats.

Neither a gun or knife. Tyrone held a dark brown wallet, which may or may not have been leather (and I was trying not to think about the implications of that). From this, he pulled out a card and handed it to me.

I know, such an anticlimax.

Well, no harm in looking, right? Turned out to be a business card. Nothing fancy or special. No pretty pictures, the text a straightforward Times New Roman.

Jackson Family Meats.

 No logo, no physical address. Not even a phone number. Just a website link with the same name.

“What is this, Soylent Green?” I asked as I handed the card back. Not as though I had a use for it.

He laughed again, a sound I was growing disturbingly used to.

“No, my family does meat processing. Have for years.”

Meat processing? Cannibals? Was he kidding me? “How is that even legal?” I might have been on shaky ground there, considering I’d just killed someone the night before, but I wasn’t about to split hairs. What I’d done was unintentional; this was a whole other matter entirely.

“No, no, not like that. We work with local restaurants, and also people order online. We have a few locations, actually. My family roots go all the way back to Colonial times, before the US even was the US.”

That was surprising. Maybe I’d made assumptions I shouldn’t have made. But considering what we’d had for breakfast, was that really such a stretch?

“Okay, so you don’t process human meat. How humane of you.”

Don’t judge me.

He laughed again. “I didn’t say that. Of course we do. I mean, not everyone’s good at butchering and stuff. We sell that to other family members. At a discount, of course. Those are the special orders. We make a great pemmican. That’s one of our big sellers. The secret’s in the spices.”

So he wasn’t just the backwoods Julia Child, he was the backwoods cannibal Julia Child. Good to know.

I wasn’t sure what my next question would have been. Did I intend to ask him about pricing? He had pulled a pen from his pocket and was writing something on the back of his card, before handing it back to me. Of course I looked to see what he’d added. Turned out to be his name and an email address.

“So we can stay in touch,” he said, rather unnecessarily. Obviously that’s what email was for. The question remained why would I want to?

But before I could frame an appropriate response—and by appropriate, I mean incredibly rude and condescending—I heard a familiar tone emanating from my cell phone.  I knew who that was, and I knew it was definitely time to go.

Conversation postponed for now. No, not just for now. For always. I had no intention of seeing Tyrone Jackson ever again.

I glanced between him and the car, which belonged to neither one of us. My first thought was to take it, but not with all that meat inside. Not to mention the car was probably hot by now, or would be soon.

Without thinking, I slid the card into my pocket, gave him a quick salute, and vanished into the woods.

 to be continued

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb