Wednesday, 24 October 2012

Flash Fiction Friday: A Little R and R - the final chapter

I hope nobody minds this digression away from the brief suggested by Michael Juzwik this week. Going back to FFF Cycle 95 the challenge set by Michael's grandmother, Joyce (J.F. Juzwik), led to an impromptu collaboration with the latter contributing the most recent episode in the guise of Chapter 4. My FFF effort this week is in the form of the fifth and final chapter (apologies, Michael, for not having the time to do something underground as well).

So, if you haven't been following the series and have a little extra time to spare please use the links below to access the earlier chapters and enjoy our 'novella'.


A LITTLE R AND R

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4


Chapter 5


Teddy Cornmow picked up after the third ring. I had decided George's voicemail message could wait. The priority was to get the ball rolling and unravel this mess.

I kept the pleasantries to a minimum. Teddy is astute and it didn't take him long to realise I was seriously worried. I gave him the bullet points of the story so far. My old associate had just got started on the obvious questions when there was a sudden bang from the direction of the boat house. I swivelled round to see the door rebounding back off the wall after being thrown open. Clearly, the building was not as deserted as I had led myself to believe.

The double barrels of a shotgun were pointed in my direction. Holding the firearm was a female. I recognised the face from the photos in George's cabin. The cell was still in my right hand as I raised my arms.

"Janine, I presume?" I asked while glancing involuntarily to where I had propped George's gun against a mooring bollard.

"Don't give it another thought. I see you as much as flinch and you're getting both barrels."

I froze.

"Good boy. Now we're going to take this nice and easy. No sudden moves. We'll be going on a little voyage together in that yacht but first I need to make you nice and secure."

Janine took a couple of paces forward and said, "Ok, keep your hands up and turn so that you're facing away from me. Good. Now throw the cell into the water."

As the phone disappeared I hoped Teddy had picked up enough of the gist to understand what was happening. It looked as though I would never know what the message was from George.

Next I felt the barrels of what I assumed to be the shotgun press up against the back of my head. Janine told me to bring my arms down slowly and cross my hands behind my back. As I did so she deftly slipped a plastic cable tie over my wrists and tightened it.

On board the yacht Janine sat me down in the cockpit. Keeping one eye and the gun trained on me she cast off fore and aft. She then produced an ignition key and started the yacht's engine. I got the impression she had done this before.

In silence Janine manoeuvred the boat away from the jetty then pointed it between the red and green buoys forming a channel out of the inlet. As we exited into open water the chill wind returned. I couldn't quite determine whether it was this or my situation that sent the shiver down my spine.

"So it's going to be a double burial at sea then, Janine?" I asked. "Presumably, Danny and I will be keeping each other company in the briny at some point?"

"Not while you have some value to me." Janine said. There was a glimmer of hope in this comment but I didn't place a lot of faith in any possibility that she intended seeing me live to tell this one to the grandchildren. Janine didn't deny knowing that the recently deceased Danny was taking up bunk space down below.

"What possible value could I be to you?" I asked. It seemed like I'd nothing to lose by testing the water and seeing how far Janine was prepared to let me swim.

"Well, let me explain it like this. I've only started to realise over the last 24 hours just how much of a slime ball George is but both you and me are going to take a gamble that even he will not want to see his little brother joining Tommy and Danny on the roll call of the recently deceased. I'm hoping there are two things on this boat he is willing to pay a million bucks for - a large quantity of cocaine and you, Frank."

Janine pointed the nose of the yacht into the wind and dropped the engine revs so that it was standing virtually still in the swell. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a cell.

"George, it's Janine ... Just shut up and listen. I'm on the yacht and I think you will be interested in the passenger manifest. Danny is down below with a chest full of lead and getting stiffer by the minute, the packages are in the forward locker and, get this, Frank is enjoying the cruise despite being trussed up like a turkey at Christmas ... What do I want? Well if you'll shut up I'll tell you. That mil you think is stashed for a rainy day will sort everything out nicely ... Yeah, that's right; I saw the statements in those nice neat folders last night after I took care of Slick ... Danny? Well I didn't like his attitude when I got to the yacht and challenged him about why he was intent on casting off with the cargo by himself. Listen, you've got my account details. I will check via my banking app in 30 minutes whether a nice fat one million transfer has appeared and call you back." With that Janine hung up and pocketed the cell. She gunned the yacht's engine and set the auto-pilot to due south.

"I'm no Sherlock, Janine," I said, "But it sounds like the little gang is falling apart. I'm assuming you righteous officers of the law got together when you saw an opportunity to turn a profit on some cocaine but the boys have been shafting you, possibly in both senses of the phrase."

"First off, Frank darling, the only shafting I've experienced at the hands of either of those faggots is of the financial variety. If you weren't aware of Georgie-boy's proclivities it's time for a reality check. He and Danny have been an item for a long time. Danny is a little more prone to swinging both ways and when he started to show some interest in me George saw the green-eyed hobgoblin. Could explain why your brother has been only too willing to do me out of what is rightfully mine."

"So, Janine, I'm dying to know. What happened after the phone conversation I overheard between you and Danny during the storm?"

"I already had my suspicions about the possibility George and Danny had been skimming the cream off and that they were about to cut me and the others out altogether. We had berthed the yacht and taken a package up to the cabin to show a buyer. The deal wasn't going to go down for another week. Then I get this crazy call from Danny who was in a total panic because George had told him you were having the cabin for a vacation. Danny wouldn't have it from either me or George that you would be none the wiser if left alone.

"I decided to follow Danny. George called me when I landed on the island. I suppose he decided to follow me. Danny had picked up Slick and ensconced him in the cabin down the track to post sentry on the access route. When Slick told me he couldn't let me continue on to George's cabin I knew then that this was because it was a perfect opportunity for the drugs and the money to be made to disappear. I took out Slick and made it look like a professional hit to put the mounties off my scent.

"By the time I got to George's cabin there was no sign of you, Danny or the package of cocaine. George's bank statements confirmed that money had been hidden from me. I knew that Danny must have made for the yacht and the rest of the stock. When I found him on board he tried to lie his way out of it but things turned ugly and you know how it ended up.

"Because of the stupidity of those two losers there is no way I can go back to my job. George's money is the only way that I can get myself set up."

"Where are you heading, Janine? I asked.

"I'm sure you've realised I'm heading south. So long as George does nothing stupid I'll be in the States in a few hours with a healthy bank balance."

I looked away from Janine and out to sea. She had kept me alive so far but only because I was a card she could make use of in the game she was playing with George. Janine had confessed to two murders. She was perfectly capable of disposing of me as well. What were my chances when either the money showed up in her bank account or George made it plain that his sibling sympathies had their limits?

Whatever Janine's decision in relation to me, there was also the bigger picture. It was plain from the words and actions of the Coast Guard visitors to the yacht that there were others involved. Janine had just made herself their target. I could easily become collateral damage in any war she had started.

It was at this point in my musings that I realised I could have made a big mistake by contacting Teddy. My heart sank as it dawned on me it was almost inevitable that, by now, he would have alerted the authorities. What if, inadvertently, he had spoken directly to the guys who were involved or, as the search teams were dispatched, they got wind of what was happening?

Janine had put the yacht into the wind once again so that she could hoist the sails. I was still seated in the cockpit while she went on deck to winch the mainsail into position. There was a lithe confidence and strength to her as she busied herself with the boom and the sheets.

Back in the cockpit Janine released the jib. With the yacht still pointed into the wind both sails just flapped ineffectually. Janine turned the wheel to return to a southerly tack. As the yacht turned on its axis the stiff breeze swiftly filled the sails and the boat heeled over.

For a moment Janine was off balance. As she tried to recover her stance I took my opportunity and lunged at her. My hands were still tied behind my back but I shoulder barged her as hard as I could towards the rail on the downward side of the boat. Janine lost her grip on the wheel and, screaming, she half-cartwheeled out of the cockpit into the water. My momentum carried me on to the console by the side of the wheel. Dragging myself downwards I was able to pull on the throttle with my chest and open the engine up.

Under sail and full revs the yacht quickly pulled away from Janine. She was not wearing a life jacket or dry suit. In these cold northern waters it was unlikely she would last more than a few minutes.

As Janine became little more than a dot bobbing around in the swell I realised I had some answers but there were now new questions to ask. George had a few too many secrets for me to ever trust him again but had he paid Janine's ransom or written me off as a lost asset? Were his corrupt colleagues now in the hunt for me? Should I make a clean breast of it with the authorities and endeavour to get myself off the hook for Janine's death or start a new life by finding a market for the boat and the stash down below? And, oh yes, there was one other very pressing query.

How the hell do you sail an ocean going yacht with your hands tied behind your back?

Wednesday, 17 October 2012

A Little R and R, Chapter 4

At the hands of J.F. Juzwik Frank's vacation just keeps getting worse. Chapter 4 of a A LITTLE R AND R is now available on her blog. Click the links below for chapters 1 - 3.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Joyce is a great sport for keeping this going despite being so busy with all her other writing projects. I will try to ensure chapter 5 is posted by 28 October.



Tuesday, 16 October 2012

Flash Fiction Friday, Cycle 100

The next "high-falootin, rootin tootin" challenge from Flash Fiction Friday is holed up here. Ride 'em cowboy!





WILD WEST HERO

It was as if Dan had always part-existed in another universe populated by caricatures from the black and white westerns he had watched whenever he could as a boy. He was the first to admit that he lived in a fantasy world of rattlesnakes, six-shooters, gold rush miners, outpost madams, blond haired kids called Dusty who said 'aw shucks' and, of course, sheriffs.

Wish I was, yeah, a wild west hero.

PC Dan Brocklehurst closed his eyes as the first line of his all time favourite ELO track, Wild West Hero, played through the iPhone ear plugs. A cool breeze brushed his cheek. He found himself transported, as was his habit, from the run down housing estate in the small Lancashire town that was his beat to somewhere he saw in broad brush relief as being the 'big country'.

Sometimes I look up high and then I think there might
just be a better life.
Away from all we know, that's where I wanna go,
out on the wild side
and I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.


Dan knew his days in the 'job' were now numbered. They had sent him out on patrol this morning because of staff shortages but, deep down, he realised there was no way back. He looked at the text message again. His sergeant wanted him back at the station by 3.00pm to '...meet with the brass.' Suspension pending a disciplinary investigation was the least he could expect. Criminal charges seemed likely.

Ride the range all the day till the first fading light,
be with my western girl round the fire, oh, so bright.
I'd be the Indians' friend, let them live to be free,
ridin' into the sunset, I wish I could be.


It had happened the same day as the meeting with the Neighbourhood Watch management committee. PC Brocklehurst had been required to attend in his role as community liaison officer.

He listened to the complaints that nothing was being done about a gang of teenage drug dealers who were making life hell for everyone on the estate. The committee knew that most of the inhabitants were too frightened to give evidence. They just wanted the police to get tough by any means. Dan knew what the legal limits on action were and tried to share the constraints placed on the police with his audience. The bitter cynicism embodied in the responses was plain to all.

I'd ride the desert sands and through the prairie lands,
try'n to do what's right.
The folks would come to me, they'd say, we need you here.
I'd stay there for the night.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.


After the meeting Dan took a walk through the municipal park adjacent to the community centre. It would do no harm to be seen taking an interest by not returning to the station in the comfort of a patrol car.

As it turned out there wasn't a soul in sight until PC Brocklehurst arrived at the children's play area. Dan immediately recognised one of his targets. Shaylon McCalla - 17, mixed race, tall and painfully thin - was surrounded by a small group of younger kids. It was obvious what was going on. McCalla was a known dealer and skunk cannabis would be the drug of choice among this age group.

One of the young kids looked towards Dan and said something. All apart from McCalla ran off. Shaylon stood his ground, a grin spreading from ear to ear.

"Wassup policeman officer Danny-boy?" rapped McCalla as Dan stepped up close and personal to him.

"Wassup, Shaylon? Wassup! Wassup is you dealing drugs to those kids."

"No I ain't and anyways you can't prove nothing. I ain't got nothing on me and those bruvvers ain't goin' to grass. Shit, you're a dick head Brocklehurst. You ain't fuckin' with me on my manor."

What happened next was very quick. A single forearm smash delivered by the police officer to the youth's face and the latter was on his back with his arm bent at a hideous angle having crashed into the seesaw on the way down.

Ride the range all the day till the first fading light,
be with my western girl round the fire, oh, so bright.
I'd be the Indians friend, let them live to be free,
ridin' into the sunset, I wish I could be.


That was it. In an ill-judged flash of temper a career was over. Dan knew the drill. He had infringed Shaylon McCalla's human rights. Dan had assaulted him and caused, as the court would phrase it, grievous bodily harm. The constabulary would not tolerate a loose cannon who could not be trusted to control himself.

Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Oh, I wish I was, o-oo-o-oh, a wild west hero.
Wish I was, o-o-oo-o-o-o-oo, a wild west hero.


As the music faded the taunts penetrated. Dan looked round to see TJ Simpson, one of Shaylon McCalla's crew, shouting at him from across the street. He was making gun signs with both hands.

"Oi copper, you is goin' down. That's right, goin' down blue. If you don't do time me and my boys is going to plug you anyway."

Dan said nothing. A set of brakes squealed as he sprinted across the road.

---

PC Dan Brocklehurst looked down at the body on the floor. He took in the widening pool of blood that poured from Simpson's gaping head wound. Dan slowly lifted the tip of his ASP tactical baton towards his lips and blew as if smoke was wafting from the end. As he holstered the baton Dan touched the brim of his cap.

"Adios, amigo."




If y'all enjoyed the yarn, why not drop in for a hoedown with the boys from ELO?

Wednesday, 10 October 2012

Flash Fiction Friday, Cycle 99

This week's brief can be found here.


THE END

They have made me wait so long for my moment. No matter, I am centre stage now. I will make the most of being in the spotlight at last.

---

From a Staff Reporter

October 10, 2012
Huntsville, Texas

A Texas man convicted of eleven murders, all characterised by sadistic cannibalism, was put to death Wednesday. Yet another prisoner to be executed in America's most active capital punishment state, Tyrone Gardener is said to have modelled himself on fictional serial killer Hannibal Lecter.

As usual, the prison at Huntsville was the scene of protests by anti-death penalty activists in the run up to the 6.00pm execution time. A number of family members of the victims were permitted into the Death House within the so called 'Walls Unit' to witness Gardener being put to death by a single injection of pentobarbital.

Asked by the warden if he wanted to make a statement, Gardener said, "I do not believe in a heaven or a hell. My self-awareness is about to cease but the families of those I have touched will continue to be tortured by memories of the suffering I inflicted. I offer them no comfort about how their delicious loved ones died or false sentiments of regret. I welcome the dark nothingness to come. I am ready."

---

I wake.

The smell of brimstone overpowers. Heat sears my eyes. I cannot close them.

The pain in my stretched eyelids is overwhelming. I have no limbs, no body. I am just a head. It is suspended above a roiling cauldron. The relentless burning melts flesh that is replaced and melts again, over and over in endless agony.

Where is the oblivion I craved before my execution?