- Polite Fictions

Aloysius was tired. He was tired of chasing rumors and ghosts and he was tired of waiting. He was tired of watching the sunrise.

Someone had said too much. Someone had heard just enough. Time was of the essence and the money was the money. All things were valuable now and whispers of spies and lies and cops that were dirty was more than he needed. And Euri. Fucking Euri. Ends were loose and it was time they were tied.

He looked at the clock. Stavi had been gone long enough. He should return with Slick shortly. He should. Stavi was something of an idiot.

Not that Roman was any smarter. Still, he only had to get the girl. How hard could that be? Her father had been easy enough.

Aloysius waited until the sun was well above the horizon, put out his cigarette and closed his eyes. Aloysius was tired.

*************************************

The taste of duct tape is an acquired one. Roman watched the women, the old, ugly woman that he'd probably have to fuck to stay alive, and the beautiful, young one that he'd think of while doing it. Death, as an option, was looking better and better.

He should have kept his mouth shut. He could have grabbed the girl easy enough, but he had to make a scene. Too many movies. Movies had done to organized crime what pornography had done to sex. Everybody needed a money shot now. Everybody needed to be a fucking wiseguy.

The tape was tight and his hands felt like a memory.

*************************************

Claudette sat with her back to the door. Her gun was pointed at the duct taped man. Her mouth was pointed at Charlie. Her lips moved and opened wide and her keyboard smile filled the room. It looked like her tongue was in jail.

Her words were lost in deep, hoarse laughs and even deeper coughs. Her words were thrown into the room and they fell on no one.

*************************************

Charlie looked through her mother and studied the outline of sunlight as it framed the bar door. It was bright like promise.

He had said things like that about the future. He had placed his mouth upon her ear and let his breath glide across the waves of her hair. He had said the future was bright and that it was theirs for the taking. He had said it was a promise. He said lots of things when he thought it was foreplay and then he would follow it all with hands and whiskey-tinged kisses. Then he'd be inside her and they would watch the sunrise over a haze of flour and unkneaded dough. Her face would be cradled by the cups of her hands and his by the small of her neck. He talked a good promise.

But then she heard just enough and the letter wrote itself.