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October 2, 2006

10.02.06

Let's call this the Raymond Chandler Special:

Two men burst into the room with guns.

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Jim: Marlowe Meets Maker

The first room we smashed through was loaded to the rafters with swords and knives. “That’s a lot of cutlery,” my partner said.

The next room was full of guns. Crates of guns, from Saturday Night Specials up to bazookas, were stacked along all four walls.

And the dame was there, too. I didn’t need to know body language to see that her body spelled trouble.

“What’s with all the artillery, Toots?” I asked.

I heard the gunshots and felt the warm slap of lead before I even saw the pistol in her hand. “A girl needs protection,” she purred.

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David: Bystander

I looked up stoically at the pair of gentlemen suddenly waving firearms at me.

One of them started, “Don’t move, Mar—“

“Wrong office,” I said simply.

“Don’t—what?”

“You’re looking for the PI, right? His office is 1403 West Sunset. This is 1403 East Sunset.”

The men looked at each other, then back at me. “Oh.” One scratched his head with his gun. “Um, sorry.”

“No problem. Happens all the time.”

“We’ll be on our way, then, I guess. Do us a favor, and don’t let him know we’re coming.”

“He’s never done anything for me. You boys have fun.”

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Michele: Might as Well Jump

Guy in black on the right. Guy in red shirt on the left.

They came at me so fast my mind only registered something about a checkerboard before I realized they had guns pointed.

I was standing on top of a ladder, hanging the pinata for my daughter's birthday. Great time for a home invasion, eh? Barney hanging from my hands. Red and black coming at me, armed and dangerous.

I stared down. red and black. Checkerboard.

Jumped off the ladder, over their heads and ran out the door before they could turn their guns on me.

King me, bitches.

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Ted: Fifty bucks, same as in town

I heard the punchline through the door, wondering if I had somehow stepped into a bad 80's sit-com that was trying too hard to be hip and edgy. You can never tell exactly where you're gonna wind up when the Doc sends you on one of his little trips.

But the Doc, he don't pay us to get spooked easy. Our job was busting guys up, sometimes gettin' a little more personal than that. That's why we always packed heaters.

We kicked in the door just as the judge was letting some hooker off with fifty bucks and time served.

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Stacy: Beauty Sleep

Poundin’ at the door, sounded like it was gonna to cave in. Just as I had finally gone ta asleep, too.

It wuddn’t like I hadn had a shitty day already, what with Joey Donuts buyin’ it like he had. I mean, c'mon, who had that many sheep in da city, seriously?

The poundin’ kept on, the door creakin’ as the hinges worked loose. Whoever dese boys were, they weren’t smart, dat was for sure.

The door finally gave up and two Sout Joisey punks fell in, waving der little .38s around. I shot ‘em and went back to sleep.

Read more from Stacy's .

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The Eschatologist: El Paso

He tickled the ivories like they were a lover, softly, gentle sweet nothings whispered in their ear.

Working with his hands came naturally to Ben; that's why it was so easy for him to set up shop in this dusty old corner of west Texas, far from the trouble that chased him from Missouri.

It was also easy to pull the twin Colts out of his lap, spin the stool, and shoot unerringly when the two bounty chasers burst into the saloon.

It was equally easy to spin back around and resume the sonata as the bodies hit the floor.

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