Rat Face, Part 2:
But it never would stop, Rat Face thought. None of it. It was all so goddam rotten. He spat off the ledge and watched the glob smack the roof of a passing car.
Down on the street, Rat Face sauntered through the electric haze, shrill screams, and pounding bass.
"Hey Rat Face," someone yelled from across the busy street.
"Get fucked," he yelled back. He didn't take smack from anyone.
He darted into the alley past the boarded up Korean liquor store. As he turned to give the alley a good look, a blue-white flame erupted into his vision, blinding him.
"Cash now, dirt bag," a little voice said.
Rat Face's vision cleared and he saw a kid wielding a blow torch. The kid was twelve, thirteen at most, his face aglow in the neon lights of the liquor district.
"No can do, little man," Rat Face said.
The kid came at him.
A quick step-and-spin and Rat Face had swatted the torch out of the kid's hand.
"I'm ugly enough," Rat Face said.
"Ya owe me fifteen dollars," the kid said.
"I don't owe you shit. I'm Rat Face."
"Ya broke my torch."
"And I'll break your nose if you don't scram."
The kid tried to look mean, but he was all eyebrows & cheeks. "Ya owe me twenty."
Rat Face grabbed for him, but the kid ducked, rolled, and scampered down the street.
Not a problem, Rat Face thought. Chances were high the kid wouldn't last the season.
And anyway, Rat Face had someone to meet. And that someone wouldn't be too happy if he was late.
But it never would stop, Rat Face thought. None of it. It was all so goddam rotten. He spat off the ledge and watched the glob smack the roof of a passing car.
Down on the street, Rat Face sauntered through the electric haze, shrill screams, and pounding bass.
"Hey Rat Face," someone yelled from across the busy street.
"Get fucked," he yelled back. He didn't take smack from anyone.
He darted into the alley past the boarded up Korean liquor store. As he turned to give the alley a good look, a blue-white flame erupted into his vision, blinding him.
"Cash now, dirt bag," a little voice said.
Rat Face's vision cleared and he saw a kid wielding a blow torch. The kid was twelve, thirteen at most, his face aglow in the neon lights of the liquor district.
"No can do, little man," Rat Face said.
The kid came at him.
A quick step-and-spin and Rat Face had swatted the torch out of the kid's hand.
"I'm ugly enough," Rat Face said.
"Ya owe me fifteen dollars," the kid said.
"I don't owe you shit. I'm Rat Face."
"Ya broke my torch."
"And I'll break your nose if you don't scram."
The kid tried to look mean, but he was all eyebrows & cheeks. "Ya owe me twenty."
Rat Face grabbed for him, but the kid ducked, rolled, and scampered down the street.
Not a problem, Rat Face thought. Chances were high the kid wouldn't last the season.
And anyway, Rat Face had someone to meet. And that someone wouldn't be too happy if he was late.
#newquarantineseries #quarantineprose #ratface #noir #crimefiction #dailywriting #300wordsperday
No comments:
Post a Comment