SAMPLE: ANOTHER’S ARM
And finally, we’ll top it off with something a little more grounded. This modern crime piece was written as a side project for character-building, and this piece in-particular is one I am happy with.
ANOTHER’S ARM
As he left the bar, Avery caught himself in the window. Slip-on shoes, slim fit chinos, and a Christmas jumper. He looked ridiculous. But clearly, not ridiculous enough for this fine gentleman to turn him down. To be fair, he’d been a bit more of a challenge than most, and Avery’s pockets were much lighter after their six rounds of drinks. But as they staggered out into the street, he knew it was going to be worth it. From the bruise over his eye, to the stories he’d spun over the last few hours, it was obvious this guy had his fair share of enemies. All the better for him, of course. Jobs like this fetched a prettier price than most, and he was happy to collect. His friend for the evening had a few redeeming qualities, at least. The casual suit and converse combo was something he’d appreciated the moment he’d seen him, and his taste in films was something special. The Road, Reservoir Dogs, and, naturally, The Silence of the Lambs. Thinking on it, Avery almost felt bad about this. And it had been a while since he’d thought about anything. In fact, who was this man, to make him think? What gave him the right? Just like that, the thoughts were gone, and he let the door close behind them, shutting them out in the world. “You got a car?” The man had been speaking since they’d stood from their table, but to Avery, it was the first thing he’d said. “Just round the corner,” he answered. He smiled. He thought he’d like that. He was right. So he kept smiling, and they made their way through a poor excuse for rainfall. Each step seemed to bring this man closer to him, and before long, Avery found another’s arm slung over his shoulder. He thought he should speak now, so he did. “You’re drunk,” he said. All that did was make the man laugh. Avery supposed that was good enough. In the end, this wasn’t going to be the part he’d remember. They walked almost to the end before the suited man tripped over some non-existent obstacle. Avery decided to laugh, and helped him to his feet. They looked each other in the eyes then. A good thing too; he’d almost forgotten what his new friend looked like. It was as good a time for a double-check as any. Fluffy brown hair – check. Brown-green eyes – check. A beard you only expect to see on a fifteen year old – check. Well, that settled it. This was his guy. Silently, Avery said goodbye. He rushed him when more people left the bar. His job wasn’t a spectator sport. They were in the car quickly, then. His new best friend seemed impressed. “Damn,” he groaned, in an adorable attempt to sound enticing. “This is fucking nice, man. Chevrolet?” Avery didn’t answer. Still, he was pleased at least someone liked this thing. His red El Camino didn’t exactly fit with his wealth, and in the end, that was the point. The man must have imagined a reply, because he didn’t shut up. “Yeah, I thought so. I have an eye for that shit.” He seemed content to talk to himself. Avery let him, for however long the journey took. Before then, he was annoyed. Count down from ten, he decided. Just like he always did. Ten, nine eight… …three, two, one. He might have made more than one count, but at least they were here. The suit kept talking, even when Avery pulled him from the car, and the two of them staggered toward a single light in an empty building. Windows were smashed, doors missing, but one room here was his. “We’re almost there, mate,” he cut in, as the suit trailed off from his rant about some show or another. They were in, now. The hard part was over, and his catch took a look around. A red armchair, a red blanket, red walls. “This is pretty fuckin’ dirty, man.” He laughed, and made a sound not dissimilar to a pig. “I can’t wait.” He smiled, and Avery smiled too. “Oh, you’ve got nothing on me,” he replied, and like that his jumper was on the floor. It was cold, but he reckoned it’d be warmer soon. “Your turn.” The jacket came off. The man sat down. Avery didn’t. “How about some music?” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer. The rest was routine. He didn’t even have to listen to him. The conversation played out in his head. “Is that Ted Nugent?” “Yes, it is!” “Is that a tennis racket?” “Yes! IT IS!” The first hit was good – a strong backhand, that sent a flurry of blood and teeth flying. The second came down on his falling head like a guillotine. The third cracked his skull, and then he lost count. The body lay in the same place as many had before, and Avery let the crimson pool around his feet. Disposal was always easiest. A saw and acid from behind the chair, and the hard part was over. Back, forth, back, forth. Each motion brought him closer to escape. And before long, he found another’s arm slung over his shoulder.















