Less
More
Archive for August, 2007
(4 votes, average: 4 out of 5)
Loading …Glyph surveyed the bar, moving only his eyes. Deep within a shadow of a shadow, he wanted to avoid attracting any attention to himself. Perhaps only here could his attire not arouse the suspicious eye of others, his clothes covering every bit of him from his neck down in black. This was not the kind of bar you met people socially, nor mingled with women. In fact, the hunter doubted women were even allowed inside, and only insane ones would want to try. This was a place of death, of dirty deals and lives shortened in the pursuit of riches.
A rumor brought Glyph here, hearsay that of course could not be trusted. However the prospect, the mere possibility of truth being intertwined with the whispering of fools was enough for him to take this chance. Glyph feared no man, but he did know fear. He spent some hours drinking the swill, feeling his body pain a little with each pull from the dirty, worn glasses. People came and went, few matched the description he’d been given, and even fewer stayed more than a few moments. Finally his patience exhausted, Glyph stood to leave. He left a bag of coin as payment, definitely worth more than the contents he had imbibed, worth even more than the owner valued the drink.
(3 votes, average: 4 out of 5) Loading …Carlo woke to the feel of the sun on his face. He smiled, took a deep breath, and stretched, his long legs swinging off the side of the bed. He had a full, perfect day with nothing to do ahead of him. The first in a long time. Today was going to be a good day.
He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and sneakers and a shirt plucked at random from the closet. He shrugged into his jacket – it was still early enough to be cool out – and stuffed his money clip in his back pocket. No need for anything else, not now at least. He’d start the day by having espresso at his favorite café in the piazza. Nicoletta worked there on Saturday mornings, and her smiling face would make the morning shine even brighter.
He whistled a happy tune down the two flights of stairs, out the door, and onto the street. First thing first, he needed a paper to read with his coffee. He waited, still whistling, as a produce truck rumbled past on the narrow street, then crossed over to the opposite side toward the newsstand. There was a woman on the corner; she was reading a map and looking up with a confused look on her face. An American tourist, he was sure of it. He stopped in front of the small wooden newsstand, its racks filled with magazines and newspapers in at least six different languages. Piles of tabloids sat in neat stacks in front of the cash register, manned by the ever-present, rain or shine Gianni Verina.
(4 votes, average: 4.25 out of 5) Loading …Ahmed stood with his arms crossed and his back leaning against the Brownstone apartment building. Business was slow for a Wednesday, but it was still only 11:00. The lunch crowd was what drove business in this neighborhood. The more business you got at lunch, the more likely those same people would come back after work to take something home. The forecast showed no rain for the rest of the week. That was promising. What wasn’t promising was the conversation he had two hours ago. A black Lincoln towncar had pulled up to the curb and just sat there. Ahmed was in the process of setting up his storefront for the day. He had caught a glimpse of the car and opened the walkway into the store to show that he was “open for business.” Ahmed tried to catch a glimpse of who sat in the car, but the windows were tinted to the point that he could not see the occupants. Trying not to stare, he continued the act of opening the store.
(4 votes, average: 3.25 out of 5) Loading …Lizzie sat hunched over the computer, straining her eyes to read every word on the screen. The smell of bacon in the kitchen had been heavenly, but was giving way to a light covering of smoke. John ran into the kitchen, smelling the results of Lizzie’s concentration. “Hey!” he yelled.
“Oh, sorry. Can you flip that for me?”
He looked for the spatula, scrounging through all the right drawers until he found it in the wrong place at the end of the counter. He quickly removed the bacon from the pan, gauged whether it could be saved, and placed it face down in the pan to continue its brutal burn.
(3 votes, average: 4.33 out of 5) Loading …When a five year old tells you she has to pee, she isn’t kidding. I have found, to my chagrin, that my daughter can’t hold it till the end of a movie, or until the next rest stop, or even, in one embarrassing and recent instance, all the way down the aisle of an airplane.
Your mileage may vary, but I’ve found that when Daphne suddenly stops whatever she’s doing, concentrates, and then announces to me and everyone else within hearing distance of her powerful little lungs, “Daddy! I’ve gotta pee!” I have about five minutes before the situation reaches the point of no return.
(3 votes, average: 4 out of 5) Loading …Jill ducked into the little market and pretended to examine the juicy nectarines on display. Keeping her ball cap pulled down over her face, she peered over the top of her sunglasses into the flower shop next door. She could see them, Jake, her boyfriend of the past 6 months, and Sara, her supposed best friend, standing together at the counter. She could hear Sara laughing, that cute little fake laugh that guys always seemed to find irresistible. Jill leaned closer over the nectarines, trying to hear what Jake was saying, but her purse slid off her shoulder and into the bin of fruit, spilling nectarines onto the floor. Quickly, she ducked down, trying frantically to stop the cascade before it attracted the attention of the stock boy. She finished just in time to see Jake hand Sara a big bouquet as they turned the corner and disappeared down the street.
“Well, I guess that is that” thought Jill. She had thought that it would be better to know than suspect, but now that her suspicions had been confirmed, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe things would have been simpler if Jake hadn’t left his e-mail open and she accidentally happened to see the e-mail from Sara.
(4 votes, average: 4 out of 5) Loading …Loud noises assaulted his senses. Bright flashing lights. His eyes weren’t even open, but he felt panic, terror. He struggled for recognition. Where was he? Concentrate. Think. Where was he?
Only a moment ago, he had been someplace he recognized. The living room? Yes, he had been watching TV. Okay, he must have fallen asleep. He was sitting down, his hands felt the velvety cloth beneath him. Was he in his recliner? If so, the remote would be close. He reached to the right, feeling for it, and found it right where he expected. Before opening his eyes, he turned off the source of the infernal noise.
He felt the blanket of darkness envelop and caress his senses. His eyes could have been open or closed now, the view would be the same. The silence was a welcome lover, enticing him back into the pleasures of sleep. He didn’t move, not yet. His nerves were still resting from the encounter with later night television.
(5 votes, average: 4.2 out of 5) Loading …FBI agent Stoneman grabbed a blank notepad and pen before lifting the telephone receiver. “Stoneman.”
“Alex Stoneman? Of 815 Morganton Road?” The voice was unfamiliar to Alex. Multiple questions fired in his mind. His address was classified information, as is typical of all FBI agents, or any law enforcement branch for that matter.
“Who is this?” Alex wrote down ‘security breach’.
Subscribe to 52stories by e-mail
Recent Comments