Rat Face, Part 5

Rat Face, Part 5:

The Restless Goat was a shit hole, but Rat Face was used to shit holes, and felt at home there. At least the men in the brown coats wouldn't find him. They had no love for this part of town.

Emmie was speaking to two strange looking women when Rat Face stepped up to the bar. Emmie was the stingiest, cruelest bartender in West City.

She made eye contact with Rat Face and frowned.

"I thought I said to stay out," she said as Rat Face found a stool at the bar.

"You said to go die," he said. "I tried and failed."

"You fail at everything," she said without a hint of smile.

Rat Face nodded, looked briefly at his hands.  That one stung a bit.

"What are you having?"

Rat Face ordered a Green Milk. "You see Porks in here recent?"

Emmie grunted. "Porks? Porks is dead."

"What do you mean dead?"

"Dead dead. Run over by a commuter train."

Rat Face shook his head in disbelief. Porks was the most tuned in man Rat Face knew. He'd  lived in Trash Town his whole life; he knew the ins and outs.

"What a bummer," Rat Face said. "He was a good guy. You never do know when your time's gonna come."

"Oh, Porks knew." Emmie said. "He was a suicide."

Rat Face didn't know what to say to this so he said nothing. Instead he eyed the two women across the bar. Two rubber horse masks lay clumped on the bartop next to a pack of smokes. When the woman looked at Rat Face he turned away. Emmie came back with his green milk. You're lucky, he said. "This is the last of the Creme de Menthe."

"What's with the horse masks?" he said.

Emmie looked at where was was nodding.

"They work at Aseop's."

"Aesop's?"

"You know -- Aesop's Stables. The horse bar. It's the new big thing."

"If it's so big why haven't I heard of it?" Rat Face said.

"I guess you ain't big," Emmie said. "It's down on South Block Street. The ladies dress like horses and the men pay to ride them. Porks loved that place."

"Porks was a good man."

"Porks was an asshole," Emmie said.

Rat Face wasn't about to get kicked out again, so he shut up. He was hoping to ask Porks about Lex. They had been pals, those two, back in the day. Some said they were once lovers, but Rat Face couldn't believe that. Maybe Rat Face was a bit homophobic -- in fact, he probably was. He was a lot of things he shouldn't have been. He liked to think he was trying, but he probably wasn't. 

Emmie refilled the ladies' drinks, then came back. "You ain't very thirsty tonight," she said to Rat Face. He'd barely touched his drink. "I've got something on my mind."

"Lex?"

"How'd you know?"

"I hear things."

At that moment, a drunken patron sidled up to the horse women and put his paws on one of them. Emmie stepped away to deal, but she needn't have worried. The women got off their stools and took the man to the ground. There was a scream, the snap of an arm bone. In moments the man had been dragged out the door and the women were back in their seats, enjoying their rum-sprites.

#newquarantineseries #quarantineprose #ratface #noir #crimefiction #dailywriting #300wordsperday

Rat Face, Part 4

Rat Face, Part 4:

Lex. No. This can't be happening, Rat Face thought. After all this time--Lex. The man who saved him from the Camps. The man who raised him.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Wando said.

Rat Face held a hard stare. A stare that meant business. The stare that meant he was in control. But he was slipping, losing it. His face wanted to do things that it wasn't allowed do in front of Wando. He bit his cheek. Bit it hard. Drew blood.

"I ain't seen ghosts," he said. "And I can't kill Lex."

"He broke the rules."

"But--"

"You know the rules, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I know the rules."

"Good. And I told you what needs to be done."

"What'd he do?"

"He betrayed the principles of the Organization."

"How long do I got?"

"24 hours."

"You gotta lead?"

"I figured you'd know where he is."

"I haven't seen 'em in months." Rat Face wasn't about to tell Wando about it--how Rat Face fucked up. How Rat Face always fucked up. No, as far as he was concerned, Wando was dead & buried. She was . . . how could she make him kill Lex?

Wando handed Rat Face a manila envelope. Rat Face opened it. "Trash Town?"

"Last we heard."

"Why Trash Town?" Rat Face said.

"It doesn't matter," Wando said. "By this time tomorrow he won't be anywhere."

On his way out the door, Wando called after him. "And Rat Face," she said. "Quit picking on little girls."

He nodded, smiled falsely, and went out the door.

Big Boy escorted him down the stairs to the exit. At the black door Big Boy said, "Don't be stupid, Rat Face."

"You either, Big Boy."

Big Boy grabbed Rat Face's shoulder. "I mean it," he said, dropping his already low voice. "I see your brain chirping."

Rat Face snorted. "It ain't chirping one cheep."

"Just be careful."

Rat nodded. Big Boy unlatched the door. The alley stink wafted in. Rat stepped out into the night.

As he came to the street, the neversleeping city howled in his ears. His head was spinning. He wasn't ready for this. He needed to clear his head. No, he needed to get drunk. Yeah, he needed to get really drunk. Lucklily he knew just the place.

#newquarantineseries #quarantineprose #ratface #noir #crimefiction #dailywriting #300wordsperday

Rat Face, Part 3

Rat Face, Part 3:

He had been told the door would be easy to find, but didn't see no door.

Rat Face walked cautiously down the alley. The mist was thick and reeked of raw diesel.

Past the wet-meat stink of piled trash, the street noise dampened. Water trickled down the brown brick walls. Tangles of moss clustered in the cracks. It reminded him of his early days in the slave camps of North Florida -- days he tried to forget. But how can you forget shit like that?

A dozen more steps. The mists lifted, and there it was  -- narrow, black, impenetrable.

He knocked. The steel was thick and his knuckles barely made a sound. He rapped until his knuckles bled. He was not going to make the mistakes he'd made in the past -- not today, not with Wando.

Finally a thick latch squealed, and the door opened. From it emerged a man the size of a Cadillac.

"You're late."

"No I ain't fucking late. Get your head on straight, Big Boy," Rat Face said.

The big man smiled. Gold teeth.

"Right this way . . . Rat Face."

Wando's office was bigger than Rat Face's dream apartment.

She stood at the window in the red neon glow of the street below. Black hair, white blouse, red slacks, bare feet. Rat Face didn't understand how she could have survived the Plague Years, let alone wield control of West City's Criminal Underworld. It was unbelievable. If he had to bet, he'd bet on her not existing at all. And yet here she was.

"Stealing hotdogs from children," she said, turning to face him. "Is that how you pass the time these days?"

Rat Face flinched. He didn't flinch for nobody, but he flinched.

"How'd you know about that?"

She ignored his question. "I need you to do something for me," she said.

"Do what?"

"I need to you kill Lex."

#newquarantineseries #quarantineprose #ratface #noir #crimefiction #dailywriting #300wordsperday

Rat Face, Part 2

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.

#newquarantineseries #quarantineprose #ratface #noir #crimefiction #dailywriting #300wordsperday

Rat Face, Part 1

Rat Face, Part 1:

Rat Face had one hell of a day, fucking around in the city park, swearing at pigeons, pissing in public. He stole a little girl's kite, broke it, then ate the girl's hotdog.

He hadn't eaten in a while--maybe Tuesday last. It didn't matter when.

After the hotdog he wasn't hungry anymore.

Now it was night fall and he sat on the brownstone roof with his legs dangling over the edge. The sky went like this: purple, pale blue, bright yellow, deep orange, cherry red. Some pink on the fluffy clouds. It was fucked up.

So many cars below--all those bully assholes going nowhere in a hurry. If only it all just. . . stopped.

#newquarantineseries #quarantineprose #ratface #noir #crimefiction #dailywriting #300wordsperday

QUESTION FOR YOU

PEEPS:

Shall I post novel excerpts here?

BLAST BEASTS debut EP

BLAST BEASTS live in the mountains and eat goats they steal from the US Air Force. BLAST BEASTS support the liberation of Palestine and the return of the Americas to its indigenous peoples.

Track list:

1. XXXXXQ 00:10
2. TEEEEEETH 00:14
3. LUNG 00:04
4. i-0-0-0-0-00-00 00:36
5. I HAVE NO ARMS 00:21
6. U THINK U CANT BUT YOU CAN 00:08
7. MOUTHFUL OF SAND 00:45




https://blastbeasts.bandcamp.com/album/blast-beasts

PRESS RELEASE -- local weirdo pens & releases two garage rock records during COVID 19 quarantine

PRESS RELEASE
20 April 2020


FUGUERS COVE -- a one-person garage rock outlet run by Justin Bendell & stationed in the Albuquerque wastelands -- has penned, performed, & released two concept albums during the COVID 19 Quarantine.

The first, "fuguers cove PERFORMS The Marshmen's 'Capitalism is a Virus'" -- released on 31 March 2020 -- is a foray into midwestern communist hockey rock. Per fictional critic Ilsa Welsey of the Ilsa Welsey Emporium, Record & Sundry, "Capitalism is a Virus" is akin to music by "a communist John Cougar Mellencamp."

The Marshmen are a fictional quartet of beer swilling, hockey playing Marxist-Leninists from Horicon, Wisconsin. Their second record -- "Capitalism is a Virus" -- as performed by J. Bendell (aka fuguers cove) during THE QUARANTINE-- is the first fuguers cove album written & recorded during a Pandemic. Get ready to punch Nazis behind the House of Pizza.

Here is a link to the record:

https://fuguerscove1.bandcamp.com/album/performs-the-marshmens-capitalism-is-a-virus

Number 3 in the fuguers cove PERFORMS series, it following "fuguers cove PERFORMS The Marshmen's 'Get Slant, Fucker,'" which came out in 2018.

#

Second, FUGUERS COVE released the thrash-punk scorcher, "fuguers cove PERFORMS The Burning Silo's 'Thrash Wizzaards'," on April 15, 2020.

Have you heard of The Burning Silos? They're a fictional quintet of world weary hellions who wear their battle jackets with pride. Broke and drunk and vicious, they moved into a dilapidated shed in Albuquerque's violence plagued War Zone and, with stolen equipment, turned the amps to 6. There, they churn burnt out Neil Young filtered through Jesus Lizard and Slayer. They likely won't live long enough to finish their second album of stolen material.

Get the record here:

https://fuguerscove1.bandcamp.com/album/performs-the-burning-silos-thrash-wizzaards

Masterminded by weirdo professor Justin Bendell, FUGUERS COVE has been putting out garage, psych, and punk rock records, under various pen names, since 1999, but esp. since 2015.

August Marsh of the The Weekly Alibi named 2017's Colours of our SIckness one of the best Albuquerque releases of the year and about COVE's 2018 release "In Twenty" said, "Much like Bee Thousand, there’s too much delicious stuff on this recording to list all the fabulous flavas."

Contact fuguers.cove(at)gmail.com

New story in Flash Fiction Offensive

Hey! Read this!

I pay and go outside. It’s a cool night, moon up over the air base. Past the newspaper box and the propane tank, I tuck around the corner and listen for Ramon. 

In my vest’s inner pocket is a Taurus 9mm. A gift from my daughter. She hoped that if I had a gun, I’d worry less about her. She was wrong. Not that I’ve ever used the gun. I told Larry I never would. He didn’t believe me. He shrugged and said, “Just a matter of time.”

http://outofthegutter.gutterbooks.com/god-dammed-fool/