Diana sipped her coffee, felt the sun beat down on her broad-brimmed hat, resigned to weeks of boredom while the InterPol situation died down.
An enormous explosion blew out one of the building walls. The streets were filled with smoke and dust in an instant. Diana, already on her feet, pulled the small pistol from her purse and charged into the fray.
And collided with a large, muscular man, running in the opposite direction. His shirt was torn nearly off his torso, blonde hair caked with dust, eyes gleaming-
"Hammer!"
"Fancy meeting you here," Dirk Hammer said. He lunged past her and put a guard down with a single blow to the temple. "Not to be rude, but we need to be going."
Diana asked, almost in a shriek as they ran, "What happened in there?"
"Job went bad," Hammer replied. "I delivered my message – don't worry, it has nothing to do with you – but somebody recognized me."
"Why blow up the building?"
"Ah, now that wasn't me," Hammer said. "You were involved in guarding the building, right?"
They turned a corner. The air was clearer here. The stone streets echoed with another explosion, and Hammer pulled them both into a cul-de-sac in the wall.
"Well, let's just say the opium trade is out one of their biggest stockpiles," Hammer said, grinning. "I was just going to confirm the building, but the people you were guarding against got past you."
Diana looked past him into the street. All the commotion was a block away, but Diana heard sirens.
"You're pretty good," Hammer continued. He pulled the remains of his shirt around his chest, but the garment was clearly done for. "I didn't even notice you until last week."
"I never saw you at all," Diana admitted reluctantly.
"I'm also pretty good," Hammer said. He pulled her into an embrace. "Play along."
The street outside the cul-de-sac grew busy with police, on foot and in ancient cars painted a sickly blue.
"Where will you go now?" Diana whispered into his ear.
"I have to turn in my report, but then I'm free. We should take some time to catch up; we have a lot to talk about."
"I thought we'd covered everything."
"Your moral compass needs a little adjustment," Hammer said. "Although I expect you to be an unwilling student."
"How about a cruise?"
"Nothing better," Hammer said. "Too bad about your job here."
"It was almost over anyway," Diana said. "I guess it's karma; I mess up one of your jobs, you mess up one of mine."
Hammer pulled his face back a little. "What?"
"The Rubáiyát?"
"Oh, of course." The sirens and commotion had all centered around the shattered building, and the street was clear. Hammer let go of the embrace and pulled a wrapped package from the small of his back, where it had been tucked in his waistband.
"I got that back weeks ago," he said, and grinned. "Anyway I hear Jamaica is lovely this time of year?"
BIO:
Asher Wismer is an Educator for eNotes.com, living and working in Maine, USA. He has had flash fiction featured on the website 365tomorrows.com, as well as short stories published in the following venues:
"December in Florida," Holiday of the Dead, from Wild Wolf Publishing
"Jobs Taken," Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Vol. 1, from Matt Hilton
"Safety in Numbers," Hunger Pangs: Dark Confessions, from The MayDay Collective
"Evil and Life," Weird Noir, from Fox Spirit Press
"Norm," thewifiles.com
"Hurting People for Fun and Profit," serial novel on Jukepopserials.com
"True to the Song," Fox Pockets Piracy, from Fox Spirit Press (upcoming) "Best of Show," Twisted Tales, from Wild Wolf Publishing
"War Most Willing," Fox Pockets Shapeshifters, from Fox Spirit Press (upcoming)
WHEN THE DEVIL CATCHES UP By Lee Hughes
Alice Cotton danced under the name Savannah and showed tits and pussy at the 'Shhh! Club' five nights a week. The music started up and she got her hips on the swivel, inching closer to the punter, waiting for something as simple as a smile. Savannah unhooked her bra and tossed it onto the seat beside the man. He was making her feel a little uncomfortable. His gaze remained on hers, not straying, not even to have a gander at her tits, nor did he seem eager to see what she shaved. She moved closer, close enough so her mouth was nearly at the hole of his ear. “Don't you like the music?”
Harry gave a shrug after giving her question a moment's worth of thought. He conceded to himself that music had never had any importance in his life like it had for some. Couldn't remember any big moments that had been accompanied by a soundtrack. Days just happened, shit just happened and all of it was out of tune. Real life was tone deaf, gunshots carried no melody and blood possessed no beauty, it spilled with the damage of an oil slick, tainting all it came into contact with. Harry kept his eyes locked to hers. She had her breasts out and was making them jiggle. He took a turn at her ear as she had done at his. “Turn around, I want to see your ass.” The request tasted sour on his tongue. She smiled, at least he wasn't just sitting there catatonic any more. She turned, bent over and gave her backside a cheeky little wiggle. Harry took in the sight of her ass, said, “Thanks.” tipped a tenner and left.
Savannah had been about to slip out of her thong when she heard him say something behind her. She looked back and saw him fishing a note out of his wallet and gently putting it down on the table before walking out of the private booth to melt into the crowd. She grabbed up her bra and headed off to find another punter, the night was still young and there was good money to be made. Mickey, one of the bouncers cut Savannah off in her tracks. “Savannah, Mr. Thompson wants a quick word up in his office.” The bouncer shouted so as to be heard over the deafening music.
“Know what it's about?” She asked, just as loud.
“He just said he wanted a word is all.”
She put her sultry walk on stand-by, like a taxi turning the 'For Hire' light off. She cut through the club to the private door that led up to Thompson's office. Once in the corridor and with the door closed the thumping music was barely audible, the quiet was always a welcome sound. Savannah rapped on the door.
“Come in.” It was Thompson's voice. There was no mistaking the noise that he called talking, he sounded like a wet and squeaky fart. Thompson was sat in his leather, high-backed office chair. He smiled at her. He was one of those men whose mouth always seemed too wet, verging on a perpetual drool. “Take a seat.” He nodded to the plush sofa. Savannah took the offered seat, but sat in a way that made it clear she wasn't planning on letting herself get comfortable. “Is something the matter?”
He shook his balding head. “With your work? No. You pull more than your weight and you’re popular with the clientèle. I just got given this note.” He held up a piece of folded paper. “I like to know what's going on in the world of all my girls, it's in my…” He paused, licked fresh spittle from his lips before finishing with, “…and your best interest.”
“I'm not following,” Savannah admitted.
So Thompson elaborated. “You'd be surprised how many fuck-heads hand over notes for you girls to the waitresses, bar staff and even to security. I like to make sure there's no liabilities and such, so I have a little read of them…”
Savannah couldn't contain her outrage and interrupted him. “That's an invasion of…”
He held up his hand. “Nothing’s private in my club. Now, do you want to tell me just what the fuck the 'Foundation of the Kingdom's Rise is?”
Savannah had been on the verge of telling the sleaze just where he could stick his fucking job but hearing that name caused her tongue to freeze and shrivel on the floor of her mouth. She was still muted in shock as she pried herself up off the couch and strode over to Thompson's desk with a hand held out. Thompson saw the look on her face and without a word passed over the note. With the slip of paper pinched between her thumb and forefinger she started to tremble, so much so that it took her some time to work the note open. Her eyes ran over the words, each syllable like a pothole, each one jolting and threatening to break the suspension on her mind. She more staggered than walked back to the couch, lowering herself down on to it. She looked at Thompson. She'd built up an act of being bolshy, forged a protective barrier between herself and the world. She'd made herself Alice Cotton, known at work as Savannah, now after reading that note she was back to being Alice Henley, a girl she thought she'd left behind, to wither and die as the years grew larger between them. All those years, all those walls, torn down and destroyed by a scrap of paper and a few well-chosen words scribbled upon it.