Pulp Starter

She stood holding the gun as the vibration settled in metal and flesh and began to smoke. She eyed her partners from across the room as they drew their rifles from the gunny sacks, but the drop was dead and Jason was no longer. As the last echo faded a radio crackled in a far away car.

"Sheriff, sheriff gun shots-" reason flashed across his face before orgasm collapsed and expanded and flooded the world into body. Who cares who died, it's only life and we're here for such a short time. Then gathered the clouds of depth and darkness, and feeble imbecility. Traveled the hands to the face of the boy he was holding. She wiped her mouth and took the cash.

"I guess you have to go. Tomorrow I'll be off so catch you next week."

The cold engine turned with regret and charm. Sparked the wet in his pants as lights flashed across town. Turning onto the dirt road he could see the headlights coming for him. He slowed to block the road but wasn't insistent, the pickup was. The flash of blonde, black, and red swam in the wind as he was forced into a ditch. Cheryl, Sandy, and Tina he thought as he tasted the faux leather steering wheel cover and blacked out.Wind blew through the butts and ashes of the ashtray. "Goddammit!" Tina wiped ash from her eye and swerved, the gravel and dirt pitched the truck as the flash of lights went over. Tom, she thought, he'll be on us. The other two held on as she rescued the pitch. Fill the tank and head north was the end of the plan, like the end of the page where the writing gets squished up to fit on the page. One by one the guns disembarked into brush, creek, and asphalt.

"Shit! we can't go back. Did you wipe them?"

"It doesn't matter Tom eyed us. Poor bastard, hope he's okay."

"Can't worry about that."

They each cooled in thought. It, was done and that son of a bitch wouldn't blacken air with his fetid breath again. The sun began to open the horizon like a long slumbering giant. Each grin began as an infant and grew into a beautiful woman. Ninety five miles to Canada. Passports in the door pocket. So long to the triple threat misery.

Shadow boxing his sandwich wrapper in the sunshine, the DA sat staring at the ground deep in nowhere. That place where nothing is a respite from all the angling and chatter, that manufactured care about prosecuting. Why. Back to nowhere. Hard bench brain, cool ranch chicken sandwich paper or plastic wrap it's hard to tell these days. Probably more plastic for the earth to choke on.

"Barry." He hears his name called. Goddammit.

"Yes."

"You're on a call."

"Can't I at least finish my lunch?"

"You're going to want to take this."

"Oh yeah, and why's that?"

"It's your brother, he's dead."

Finally, he thinks. They've finally done it. He stops a laugh and passes it off as choking. He'll believe that. Yeah. That'll work. He'll regale his coworkers with how I almost choked hearing about my brother's death. That'll work.

"I'll have to recuse myself."

"Well, that's what the call is about. It's Taylor's jurisdiction."

The bile of competition, there it was raising its head. "Who called it in?"

"Tom."

"I'll be damned if that's not County then."

"I don't know what it is-" Taylor began to reply on the other end of the line.

"Nope, not today!" as the DA slammed down the receiver.

The Waiting Room

The whirr of an air conditioner in the corner window is the only thing that is audible. Occasionally an unintelligible paging of a doctor in the hallway distance. An old water cooler sits in the corner with the too small paper pointed cups that crush when you pull them out. It lets out a burp of water and air.

An old man in a wrinkled suit tugs at his dirty collar. His eyes are tired with the lack of sleep and worry. The old wooden bench from the local church hurts to sit on for too long. He gets up and paces. He looks to be about 70.

A young black girl sits on the other bench opposite swinging her feet.

She laughs at the burp the water cooler made.

The old man looks at her weary wondering what’s funny.

There is a window with a metal grate for a speaking through in the middle, there is no one behind it. The man shuffles to the window to see if there is anyone there.

The little girl begins to play a version of hopscotch on the linoleum floor.

She has a pink dress on and braids. There is a dried blood stain on her arm and blouse.

Whoever carried her in was bleeding badly.

Old man at the window.

Old man: Nurse.

This stops the little girl from hopscotching. She goes to him and reaches for his hand.

The old man jerks his hand away frightened by the intrusion. He soon checks himself and reads the situation more clearly. He tries a smile. It hurts. The little girl leads him back to the bench he was sitting at.

He sits.

She goes to the water cooler, crushes a cup for water. Straightens it out. Turns to look at the old man. He nods. She turns the spigot.

The air conditioner stops

The cup is full.

The glass jug belches.

The little girl laughs, and turns to the old man. He sees her and starts to laugh. They both laugh together. A little bit more

She carefully brings him the cup, already starting to disintegrate.

She smiles at him. She hands it to him. He drinks.

The cooler burps again. The air conditioner turns on.